Brownsmiths Boy | Page 5

saw my
mother seated with her pale cheek resting upon her hand, looking out

over old Brownsmith's garden, which was just then at its best. It was
summer time, and wherever you looked there were flowers--not neat
flower-beds, but great clumps and patches of roses, and sweet-williams
and pinks, and carnations, that made the air thick with their sweet
odours. Her eyes were half closed, and every now and then I saw her
draw in a long breath, as if she were enjoying the sweet scent.
As I said, I had an idea, and the idea was that I would slip out quietly
and go and spend that sixpence.
Which sixpence?
Why, that sixpence--that red-hot one that tried so hard to burn a hole
through my pocket.
I had had it for two days, and it was still at the bottom along with my
knife, a ball of string, and that piece of india-rubber I had chewed for
hours to make a pop patch. I had nearly spent it twice--the first time on
one of these large white neatly-sewn balls, with "Best Tennis" printed
upon them in blue; the second time in a pewter squirt.
I had wanted a squirt for a long time, for those things had a great
fascination for me, and I had actually entered the shop door to make my
purchase when something seemed to stop me, and I ran home.
And now I thought I would go and spend that coin.
I slipped quietly to the other window, and had a good look round, but I
could not see that boy, for if I had seen him I don't think I should have
had the heart to go, feeling sure, as I did, that he had a spite against me.
As I said, though, he was nowhere visible, so I slipped downstairs, ran
along the lane to the big gate, and walked boldly in.
There were several people about, but they took no notice of me--stout
hard-looking women, with coarse aprons tied tightly about their waists
and legs; there were men too, but all were busy in the great sheds,
where they seemed to be packing baskets, quite a mountain of which
stood close at hand.

There were high oblong baskets big enough to hold me, but besides
these there were piles upon piles of round flat baskets of two sizes, and
hanging to the side of one of the sheds great bunches of white wood
strawberry pottles, looking at a distance like some kind of giant flower,
all in elongated buds.
Close by was a cart with its shafts sticking up in the air. Farther on a
wagon with "Brownsmith" in yellow letters on a great red band; and
this I passed to go up to the house. But the door was closed, and it was
evident that every one was busy in the garden preparing the night's load
for market.
I stood still for a minute, thinking that I could not be very wrong if I
went down the garden, to see if I could find Mr Brownsmith, and my
heart began to beat fast at the idea of penetrating what was to me a land
of mystery, of which, just then, I held the silver pass-key in the shape
of that sixpence.
"I'll go," I said. "He can't be very cross;" and, plucking up courage, but
with the feeling upon me that I was trespassing, I went past the cart,
and had gone half-way by the wagon, when there was a creaking,
rattling noise of baskets, and something made a bound.
I started back, feeling sure that some huge dog was coming at me; but
there in the wagon, and kneeling on the edge to gaze down at me with a
fierce grin, was that boy.
I was dreadfully alarmed, and felt as if the next minute he and I would
be having a big fight; but I wouldn't show my fear, and I stared up at
him defiantly with my fists clenching, ready for his first attack.
He did not speak--I did not speak; but we stared at each other for some
moments, before he took a small round turnip out of his pocket and
began to munch it.
"Shock!" cried somebody just then; and the boy turned himself over the
edge of the wagon, dropped on to the ground, and ran towards one of
the sheds, while, greatly relieved, I looked about me, and could see Mr

Brownsmith some distance off, down between two rows of trees that
formed quite an avenue.
It seemed so beautiful after being shut up so much in our sitting-room,
to walk down between clusters of white roses and moss roses, with
Anne Boleyne pinks scenting the air, and far back in the shade bright
orange double wallflowers