Brownsmith's Boy Part 57

"Yes," I said dismally; "and they'll tell Sir Francis, and I shall have to go."

"Not you," said Bunce. "They're awful curs, but they're beaten, and they won't tell."

"Hallo! what's all this?" said Mr Solomon, coming up.

Bunce told him.

"And did he thrash 'em well?" said Mr Solomon, looking rather angry, "the pair of them?"

"No. They were too strong both at once, but that Ragged Jack of a chap that's been hanging about--him as I told you of this morning--he come out and tackled young Phil when he was on Grant's back, and my word those two have gone off with their tails between their legs. Licked, sir, licked out and out."

"I suppose I shall be sent away, sir," I said, wringing the water out of my shirt-sleeves.

"I suppose you won't," said Mr Solomon sharply. "I've seen a deal, my lad, and I wondered you didn't have a turn at them before. I didn't think you'd got the stuff in you, to tell you the truth."

"Oh, but he had!" said Bunce. "I wish you'd ha' seen."

"Well, I'm sorry," said Mr Solomon. "No, I'm not; I'm glad. They'll leave you alone now. There, go and change your things. It was time you did strike. Here, I'll go with you, or you'll frighten the missus into fits. I say," he shouted back, "keep a sharp look-out for that boy, and catch him if you can. I must have him stopped."

"Poor old Shock!" I thought, as I felt grateful to him for what he had done.

The next minute I was at the gardener's cottage, being scolded and wiped by Mrs Solomon, who said she had never seen such a sight in her life, and who was not happy till she had me down-stairs in dry things, bathing one of my eyes, putting a leech on the other, and carefully strapping up a cut on the back of my head.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

I HAVE A DIFFICULT TASK.

The gardener was right. The fight was a lesson for the boys, who kept at a distance from me, during the next few days, while our scratches and bruises grew faint and began to heal.

We had expected they would have been off to school; but for some reason, illness I believe, the holidays were extended for a month, and so they stayed, but I was pretty well left in peace.

My first hint of Sir Francis' return was given by that gentleman himself, who came upon me suddenly as I was busy in the peach-house. I was painting away at the branches that had become infected with a tiresome kind of blight, when I heard a sharp quick step behind me, and my heart quailed, for I felt that it was Sir Francis about to take me to task for my encounter with his sons.

I kept busily on with my work, in the faint, hope that he might pa.s.s me and say nothing, but he stopped short, and looked on as I busied myself with my brush and the poisonous decoction that was to kill the insects.

I was in agony, for I felt that he was looking me through and through, and when he did speak at last I gave quite a jump.

"Hah!" he exclaimed, "rather hard upon the insects. Well, Grant, how are you getting on?"

"Very well, Sir Francis, I think," I said.

"Seen any more of that boy?"

"Yes, Sir Francis," I said, colouring.

"Climbed up the wall, has he?"

"I don't know, Sir Francis," I replied; "but he has got into the garden lately."

"That's right, my lad, be frank," he said. "I know he has got into the garden. I caught my young gentleman and took him to task. He says he came because you were here."

"I'm afraid that is why he did come, Sir Francis," I said.

"Did you tell him to come?"

"No, Sir Francis. We were never very friendly."

"Ho!" he said, and he walked on looking at the peaches for a few minutes, and then went away, leaving me to wipe the cold perspiration off my forehead, for I had fully expected a severe scolding.

I finished my task in the peach-house, and then went to see how the celery was getting on, for I found that when Mr Solomon gave me a task he expected me to continue to watch, whatever it was.

"So that I may feel that when I have put anything in your hands it will be properly done," he said more than once; so, feeling that I was responsible for the success of the celery plants, I was on my way to the bottom garden by the pond, thinking of the encounter I had when I was busy watering there that day, when, as I turned down one of the alleys of the garden, I saw a man in the distance digging up a piece of ground with a broad spade, and turning over the soil in that easy regular way, levelling it as he went, that experienced gardeners acquire.

There was something in his way of digging that seemed familiar, and I stopped and stared. The man stopped too, and glanced in my direction; but he only sc.r.a.ped his spade and went on, while, as soon as I had seen his profile I ran up to him and held out my hand.

"Why, Ike!" I cried, "is that you?"

He paused for a few moments, ran his hand over his nose, involuntarily, I'm sure, glanced down at first one leg, and then the other, after which he went on digging.

"Yes," he said; "it's me."

"Why, what are you doing here?"

"Digging," he said gruffly, and, turning up a spadeful of earth, he gave it a blow with the spade, as if he were boxing its ears, and levelled it smoothly.

"I know that," I cried; "but how is it you're here?"

"Got took on."

"Oh! I am glad," I cried.

He looked up at me sidewise, and drove his spade in again.

"No, you ain't," he said gruffly.

"Indeed I am, Ike," I cried, "though you wouldn't say good-bye."

"Now--now--now--now!" he cried; "don't go on that how."

"Did you come this morning?" I said.

"Been here 'most a week."

"And I didn't know! But why did you leave Mr Brownsmith?"

"I left Old Brownsmith because I wanted to leave him."