Brownsmith's Boy Part 18

"And never goes to school?"

"Never, Grant, I tried to send him, but I could only get him there by blows, and I gave that up. I don't like beating boys."

I felt a curious shiver run through me as he said this, and I saw him smile, but he made no allusion to me, and went on talking about Shock.

"Then I tried making a decent boy of him, giving him clothes, had a bed put for him in the attic, and his meals provided for him here in the kitchen."

"And wasn't he glad?" I said.

"Perhaps he was," said Old Brownsmith, quietly, "but he didn't show it, for I couldn't get him to sleep in the bed, and he would not sit down to his meals in the kitchen; so at last I grew tired, and took to paying him wages, and made arrangements for one of the women who comes to work, to find him a lodging, and he goes there to sleep sometimes."

I noticed that he said _sometimes_, in a peculiar manner, looking at me the while. Then he went on:

"I've tried several times since, Grant, my lad, but the young savage is apparently irreclaimable. Perhaps when he gets older something may be done."

"I hope so," I said. "It seems so dreadful to see a boy so--"

"So dirty and lost, as the north-country people call it, boy. Ah, well, let him have his way for a bit, and we'll see by and by! You say he has not annoyed you?"

"No, no," I said; "I don't think he likes me though."

"That does not matter," said the old gentleman, rising. "There, now, I'm going to shave."

I looked at him in wonder, as he took a tin pot from out of a cupboard, and brought forth his razors, soap, and brush.

"Give me that looking-gla.s.s that hangs on the wall, my lad; that's it."

I fetched the gla.s.s from the nail on which it hung, and then he set it upright, propped by a little support behind, and then I sat still as he placed his razor in boiling water, soaped his chin all round, and sc.r.a.ped it well, removing the grey stubble, and leaving it perfectly clean.

It seemed to me a curious thing to do on a breakfast-table, but it was the old man's custom, and it was not likely that he would change his habits for me.

"There," he said smiling, "that's a job you won't want to do just yet awhile. Now hang up the gla.s.s, and you can go out in the garden. I shall be there by and by. Head hurt you?"

"Oh no, sir!" I said.

"Shoulder?"

"Only a little stiff, sir."

Then I don't think we need have the doctor any more.

I laughed, for the idea seemed ridiculous.

"Well, then, we won't waste his time. Put on your hat and go and see him. You know where he lives?"

I said that I did; and I went up to his house, saw him, and he sent me away again, patting me on the shoulder that was not stiff.

"Yes, you're all right," he said. "Now take care and don't get into my clutches again."

CHAPTER NINE.

GATHERING PIPPINS.

I did not understand it at the time, but that accident made me a very excellent friend in the shape of Ike, the big ugly carter and packer, for after his fashion he took me regularly under his wing, and watched over me during the time I was at Old Brownsmith's.

I'm obliged to stop again over that way of speaking of the market-gardener, but whenever I write "Mr Brownsmith," or "the old gentleman," it does not seem natural. Old Brownsmith it always was, and I should not have been surprised to have seen his letters come by the postman directed _Old Brownsmith_.

Ike used to look quite pleasant when I was busy near him, and while he taught me all he knew, nothing pleased him better than for me to call him from his digging, or hoeing, or planting, to move a ladder, or lift a basket, or perform some other act that was beyond my strength.

All the same, though, he had a way of not showing it.

I had been at the garden about a week when Old Brownsmith began talking about picking some of his pippins to send to market.

"I hear they are making a good price," he said, "and I shall try a few sieves to-morrow morning, Grant."

"Yes, sir," I said, for the sound of apple-picking was pleasant.

"I suppose if I were to send you up one of the apple trees with a basket, you would throw yourself out and break one of your limbs."

"Oh no, sir!" I said. "I could climb one of the trees and pick the apples without doing that."

"Thank you," he replied; "that's not the way to pick my apples. Why, don't you know that the fruit does not grow in the middle of a tree, but round the outside, where the sun and wind can get at the blossom?"

"I didn't know it," I said rather ruefully. "I seem to be very ignorant. I wish I had been more to school."

"They wouldn't have taught you that at school, my lad," he said smiling.

"Why, of course you did not know it. I didn't know such things when I was your age. Look here. You must have a ladder put for you against a tree, and take a basket with a hook to the handle. There, I'll show you; but you are sure you will not tumble?"

"I'll take care, sir," I said. "I'll be very careful."

It was a sunny morning, and leading the way, Old Brownsmith went out to where Ike was busy putting in plants with a dibber, striding over a stretched-out line, making holes, thrusting in one of the plants he held in his left hand, and with one thrust or two of the dibber surrounding it with the soft moist earth.

He raised himself unwillingly, and went off to obey orders; one of the work-women was sent to fetch some flat sieves; while from one of the sheds I brought a couple of deep cross-handled baskets to each of which a wooden hook was attached.

By the time we had walked to where the king-pippin trees stood with their tall straight branches, Ike was before us with a ladder, with the lower rounds made of great length, so as to give width to the bottom.

I had noticed this before when I had seen the ladders hanging up in the long shed, and now asked the reason why they were so made.

"To keep them from tilting over when you are up there," said Old Brownsmith. "Gently, Ike, don't bruise them. Ah! there they go."

For, as Ike thumped down the bottom of the ladder, and then let the top lean against the tree, a couple of apples were knocked off, to come down, one with a thud on the soft soil, the other to strike in the fork of the tree and bound to my feet.

"Some on 'em's sure to get knocked off," growled Ike. "Who's agoin' to pick?"

"He is," said Mr Brownsmith shortly.