Brownsmiths Boy | Page 8

back: for no one can put your cap on for you as you do it yourself. "You live over yonder at the white house with the lady who is ill?"
I nodded.
"The widow lady?"
"I live with mamma," I said shortly.
"Been very ill, hasn't she?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ah! bad thing illness, I suppose. Never was ill, only when the wagon went over my leg."
"Yes, sir, she has been very bad."
I was fidgeting to go, but he took hold of one of the ends of my little check silk tie, and kept fiddling it about between his finger and thumb.
"What's the matter?"
"Dr Morrison told Mrs Beeton, our landlady, that it was decline, sir."
"And then Mrs Beeton told you?"
"No, sir, I heard the doctor tell her."
"And then you went and frightened the poor thing and made her worse by telling her?"
"No, I did not, sir," I said warmly.
"Why not?"
"Because I thought it might make her worse."
"Humph! Hah! Poor dear lady!" he said more softly. "Looked too ill to come to church last Sunday, boy. Flowers and fruit for her?"
I nodded.
"She send you to buy 'em?"
I shook my head, for I was so hurt by his abrupt way, his sharp cross-examination, and the thoughts of my mother's illness, that I could not speak.
"Who sent you then--Mrs Beeton?"
"No, sir."
"Who did?"
"Nobody, sir. I thought she would like some, and I came."
"For a surprise, eh?"
Yes, sir.
"Own money?"
I stared at him hard.
"I said, Own money? the sixpence? Where did you get it?"
"I have sixpence a week allowed me to spend."
"Hah! to be sure," he said, still holding on by my tie, and staring at me as he fumbled with one hand in his trousers pocket. "Get out, Dick, or I'll tread on you!" this to one of the cats, who seemed to think because he was black and covered with black fur that he was a blacking-brush, and he was using himself accordingly all over his master's boots.
"If you please, I want to go now," I said hurriedly.
"To be sure you do," he said, still holding on to the end of my tie--"to be sure you do. Hah! that's got him at last."
I stared in return, for there had been a great deal of screwing about going on in that pocket, as if he could not get out his big fist, but it came out at last with a snatch.
"Here, where are you?" he said. "Weskit? why, what a bit of a slit it is to call a pocket. Hold the sixpence though, won't it?"
"If you please I'd rather pay for the flowers," I cried, flushing as he held on by the tie with one hand, and thrust the sixpence back in my pocket with the other.
"Dessay you would," he replied; "but I told you before I'm market grower and dursen't take small sums. Not according to Cocker. Didn't know Cocker, I suppose, did you?"
"No, sir."
"Taught 'rithmetic. Didn't learn his 'rithmetic then?"
"No, sir," I replied, "Walkinghame's."
"Did you though? There, now, you play a walking game, and get home and count your strawberries."
"Yes, sir, but--"
"I say, what a fellow you are to but! Why, you're like Teddy, my goat, I once had. No, no! No money. Welcome to the fruit, ditto flowers, boy. This way."
He was leading me towards the gate now like a dog by a string, and it annoyed me that he would hold me by the end of my tie, the more so that I could see Shock with a basket turned over his head watching me from down amongst the trees.
"Come on again, my lad, often as you like. Lots growing--lots spoils."
"Thank you, sir," I said diffidently, "but--"
"Woa, Teddy," he cried, laughing. "There; that'll do. Look here, why don't you bring her for a walk round the garden--do her good? Glad to see her any time. Here, what a fellow you are, dropping your strawberries. Let it alone, Dick. Do for Shock."
I had let a great double strawberry roll off the top of my heap, and a cat darted at it to give it a sniff; but old Brownsmith picked it up and laid it on the top of a post formed of a cut-down tree.
"Now, then, let's get a basket. Look better for an invalid. One minute: some leaves."
He stooped and picked some strawberry leaves, and one or two very large ripe berries, which he told me were Myatt's.
Then taking me to a low cool shed that smelt strongly of cut flowers, he took down a large open strawberry basket from a nail, and deftly arranged the leaves and fruit therein, with the finest ripened fruit pointing upwards.
"That's the way to manage it, my lad," he said, giving me a queer look; "put all the bad ones at the bottom and the good ones at the top. That's what you'd better do with your qualities, only never