Brownsmith's Boy Part 27

"So do I. So do he. Rare and frightened they _was_ too. Why, o'

course boys will steal apples. I dunno how it is, but they always would, and will."

"But these were pears," I said.

"All the same, only one's longer than t'other. Apples and pears. He won't do nothing."

Ike was right, for the matter was soon forgotten, and Mrs Dodley his housekeeper used the pillow-case as a bag for clothes-pegs.

Those were bright and pleasant days, for though now and then some trouble came like a cloud over my life there was more often plenty of sunshine to clear that cloud away.

My uncles came to see me, first one and then the other, and they had very long talks with Mr Brownsmith.

One of them told me I was a very n.o.ble boy, and that he was proud of me.

He said he was quite sure I should turn out a man.

"Talks to the boy as if he felt he might turn out a woman," Old Brownsmith grumbled after he was gone.

It was some time after before the other came, and he looked me all over as if he were trying to find a hump or a crooked rib. Then he said it was all right, and that I could not do better.

One of them said when he went away that he should not lose sight of me, but remember me now and then; and when he had gone Old Brownsmith said, half aloud:

"Thank goodness, I never had no uncles!" Then he gave me a comical look, but turned serious directly.

"Look here, Grant," he said. "Some folk start life with their gardens already dug up and planted, some begin with their bit of ground all rough, and some begin without any land at all. Which do you belong to?"

"The last, sir," I said.

"Right! Well, I suppose you are not going to wait for one uncle to take a garden for you and the other to dig it up?"

"No," I said st.u.r.dily; "I shall work for myself."

"Right! I don't like boys to be c.o.c.ky and impudent but I like a little self-dependence."

As the time went on, Old Brownsmith taught me how to bud roses and prune, and, later on, to graft. He used to encourage me to ask questions, and I must have pestered him sometimes, but he never seemed weary.

"It's quite right," he used to say; "the boy who asks questions learns far more than the one who is simply taught."

"Why, sir?" I said.

"Well, I'll tell you. He has got his bit of ground ready, and is waiting for the seed or young plant to be popped in. Then it begins to grow at once. Don't you see this; he has half-learned what he wants to know in the desire he feels. That desire is satisfied when he is told, and the chances are that he never forgets. Now you say to me--What is the good of pruning or cutting this plum-tree? I'll tell you."

We were standing in front of the big red brick wall one bright winter's day, for the time had gone by very quickly. Old Brownsmith had a sharp knife in his hand, and I was holding the whetstone and a thin-bladed saw that he used to cut through the thicker branches.

"Now look here, Grant. Here's this plum-tree, and if you look at it you will see that there are two kinds of wood in it."

"Two kinds of wood, sir?"

"Yes. Can't you tell the difference?"

"No, sir; only that some of the shoots are big and strong, and some are little and twiggy."

"Exactly: that is the difference, my lad. Well, can you see any more difference in the shoots?"

I looked for some moments, and then replied:

"Yes; these big shoots are long and smooth and straight, and the little twiggy ones are all over sharp points."

"Then as there is too much wood there, which had we better cut out.

What should you do?"

"Cut out the scrubby little twigs, and nail up these nice long shoots."

"That's the way, Grant! Now you'll know more about pruning after this than Shock has learned in two years. Look here, my lad; you've fallen into everybody's mistake, as a matter of course. Those fine long shoots will grow into big branches; those little twigs with the points, as you call them, are fruit spurs, covered with blossom buds. If I cut them out I should have no plums next year, but a bigger and a more barren tree. No, my boy, I don't want to grow wood, but fruit. Look here."

I looked, and he cut out with clean, sharp strokes all those long shoots but one, carefully leaving the wood and bark smooth, while to me it seemed as if he were cutting half the tree away.

"You've left one, sir," I said.

"Yes, Grant, I've left one; and I'll show you why. Do you see this old hard bough?"

I nodded.

"Well, this one has done its work, so I'm going to cut it out, and let this young shoot take its place."

"But it has no fruit buds on it," I said quickly.

"No, Grant; but it will have next year; and that's one thing we gardeners always have to do with stone-fruit trees--keep cutting out the old wood and letting the young shoots take the old branches' place."

"Why, sir?" I asked.

"Because old branches bear small fruit, young branches bear large, and large fruit is worth more than twice as much as small. Give me the saw."

I handed him the thin-bladed saw, and he rapidly cut out the old hard bough, close down to the place where it branched from the dumpy trunk, and then, handing me the tool, he knelt down on a pad of carpet he carried in his tremendous pocket.

"Now look here," he said; and taking his sharp pruning-knife he cut off every mark of the saw, and trimmed the bark.

I looked on attentively till he had ended.

"Well," he said, "ain't you going to ask why I did that?"

"I know, sir," I said. "To make it neat."

"Only partly right, Grant. I've cut that off smoothly so that no rain may lodge and rot the place before the wound has had time to heal."

"And will it heal, sir?"

"Yes, Grant. In time Nature will spread a ring of bark round that, which will thicken and close in till the place is healed completely over."