Nat the Naturalist | Page 2

wretched when I was alone with uncle in the garden, where
he would talk to me about his peas and potatoes and the fruit-trees,
show me how to find the snails and slugs, and encourage me to shoot at
the thieving birds with a crossbow and arrow; but I was miserable
indeed when I went in, for my aunt was a very sharp, acid sort of
woman, who seemed to have but one idea, and that was to keep the
house so terribly tidy that it was always uncomfortable to the people
who were in it.
It used to be, "Nat, have you wiped your shoes?"
"Let me look, sir. Ah! I thought so. Not half wiped. Go and take them
off directly, and put on your slippers. You're as bad as your uncle, sir."
I used to think I should like to be as good.
"I declare," said my aunt, "I haven't a bit of peace of my life with the
dirt and dust. The water-cart never comes round here as it does in the
other roads, and the house gets filthy. Moil and toil, moil and toil, from
morning to night, and no thanks whatever."
When my aunt talked like this she used to screw up her face and seem
as if she were going to cry, and she spoke in a whining, unpleasant tone
of voice; but I never remember seeing her cry, and I used to wonder
why she would trouble herself about dusting with a cloth and feather
brush from morning to night, when there were three servants to do all
the work.
I have heard the cook tell Jane the housemaid that Mrs Pilgarlic was
never satisfied; but it was some time before I knew whom she meant;
and to this day I don't know why she gave my aunt such a name.

Whenever aunt used to be more than usually fretful, as time went on
my uncle would get up softly, give me a peculiar look, and go out into
the garden, where, if I could, I followed, and we used to talk, and weed,
and train the flowers; but very often my aunt would pounce upon me
and order me to sit still and keep out of mischief if I could.
I was very glad when my uncle decided to send me to school, and I
used to go to one in our neighbourhood, so that I was a good deal away
from home, as uncle said I was to call his house now; and school and
the garden were the places where I was happiest in those days.
"Yes, my boy," said my uncle, "I should like you to call this home, for
though your aunt pretends she doesn't like it, she does, you know, Nat;
and you mustn't mind her being a bit cross, Nat. It isn't temper, you
know, it's weakness. It's her digestion's bad, and she's a sufferer, that's
what she is. She's wonderfully fond of you, Nat."
I remember thinking that she did not show it.
"And you must try and get on, Nat, and get lots of learning," he would
often say when we were out in the garden. "You won't be poor when
you grow up, for your poor mother has left you a nice bit of money, but
you might lose that, Nat, my boy; nobody could steal your knowledge,
and-- ah, you rascal, got you, have I?"
This last was to a great snail which he raked out from among some
tender plants that had been half eaten away.
"Yes, Nat, get all the knowledge you can and work hard at your books."
But somehow I didn't get on well with the other boys, for I cared so
little for their rough games. I was strong enough of my age, but I
preferred getting out on to Clapham Common on half-holidays, to look
for lizards in the furze, or to catch the bright-coloured sticklebacks in
the ponds, or else to lie down on the bank under one of the trees, and
watch the efts coming up to the top to make a little bubble and then go
down again, waving their bodies of purple and orange and the gay
crests that they sometimes had all along their backs in the spring.

When I used to lie there thinking, I did not seem to be on Clapham
Common, but far away on the banks of some huge lake in a foreign
land with the efts and lizards, crocodiles; and the big worms that I
sometimes found away from their holes in wet weather became
serpents in a moist jungle.
Of course I got all these ideas from books, and great trouble I found
myself in one day for playing at tiger-hunting in the garden at home