Burr Junior | Page 9

any fresh gingerbread?"
This was to a stoutish, dark-eyed woman of about one-and-twenty, as we entered the cottage, in one of whose windows there was a shelf with a row of bottles of sweets and a glass jar of biscuits.
"Yes, sir, quite new--fresh from Hastings," said the girl eagerly. And she produced a box full of brown, shiny-topped squares.
"Was it some of this old Dicksee had yesterday?" said Mercer.
"Yes, sir. I opened the fresh box for him, and he had four tuppenny bits."
"Then we will not," said my companion sharply. "Let's have biscuits instead."
The biscuits were placed before us, and the keeper's daughter then took a couple of tied-down stone bottles from a shelf.
"I say," cried Mercer, "I didn't introduce you. Burr junior, this is Polly Hopley. Polly, this is--"
"Yes, sir, I know. I heard you tell father," said the woman quickly, as she cut the string.
Pop!
Out came the opal-looking, bubbling liquid into a grey mug covered with stripes, and then Pop! again, and a mug was filled for my companion, ready for us to nod at each other and take a deep draught of the delicious brewing--that carefully home-made ginger-beer of fifty years ago--so mildly effervescent that it could be preserved in a stone bottle, and its cork held with a string. A very different beverage to the steam-engine-made water fireworks, all wind, fizzle, cayenne pepper, and bang, that is sold now under the name.
"Polly makes this herself on purpose for us," said Mercer importantly. "We boys drink it all."
"And don't always pay for it," said Polly sharply.
I saw Mercer's face change, and I recalled what he had said about credit.
"Why--er--" he began.
"Oh, I don't mean you, sir, and I won't mention any names, but I think young gen'lemen as drinks our ginger-beer ought to pay, and father says so too."
I glanced at Mercer, whose face was now scarlet, and, seeing that he was thinking about what he had said respecting credit, I quietly slipped my hand into my pocket and got hold of a shilling.
"It is beautiful ginger-beer," I said, after another draught.
"Beautiful," said Mercer dismally, but he gave quite a start and then his eyes shone brightly as he glanced at me gratefully, for I had handed the shilling to the keeper's daughter, who took it to a jug on the chimney-piece, dropped it in, and then shook out some half-pence from a cracked glass and gave me my change.
"Here, put your biscuits in your pocket, Burr," cried Mercer, "and we'll go on now."
Saying which, he set the example, finished his ginger-beer, and made the keeper's daughter smile by declaring it was better than ever.
"Glad you like it, sir; and of course you know I didn't mean you, as I've trusted before, and will again, because you always pay."
"Thank-ye. I know whom you mean," he replied. "Come on."
As soon as we were out of sight of the cottage, Mercer laid an arm on my shoulder.
"I can't say what I want to," he said quickly, "but I liked that, and I won't ever forget it. If ever old Eely hits you, I'll go at him, see if I don't, and I don't care how hard he knocks me about, and if ever I can do anything for you, to save you from a caning, I will, or from any other trouble. You see if I don't. I like you, Burr junior, that I do, and--and do come along, or we shall be late."
CHAPTER THREE.
"What a fuss about nothing!" I thought to myself, as we went on, down a beautiful lane, with tempting-looking woods on either side, and fox-gloves on the banks, and other wild-flowers full of attractions to me as a town boy. There was a delicious scent, too, in the air, which I had yet to learn was from the young shoots of the fir-trees, growing warm in the sunshine.
I had made no boy friendships up to then, and, as I glanced sideways at the pleasant, frank face of the lad walking quickly by me, just at a time when I had been oppressed by the loneliness of my position, fresh from home and among strangers, a strong feeling of liking for him began to spring up, and with it forgetfulness of the misery I had suffered.
"Hi! look! there he goes," cried Mercer just then, and he pointed up into an oak tree.
"What is it?" I said excitedly.
"He's gone now; wait a minute, and you'll soon see another. There he is--listen."
He held up his hand, and I stood all attention, but there was no sound for a few minutes. Then from out of the woods came plainly.
Chop chop, chop chop.
"I can't see him," I said. "Some one's cutting down a tree."
Mercer burst into a roar of laughter.
"Oh, I say, you are a Cockney!" he cried. "Cutting down a