The Vast Abyss Part 44

David laughed, and shook his head.

"Tends on what sort it is, sir. Some's at their best in September, and some in October. Then you goes on to December and January, and right on to April. Why the round pears on that little tree yonder don't get ripe till April and May. Like green bullets now, but by that time, or even June, if you take care on 'em, they're like brown skins' full o' rich sugary juice."

"But these must be ripe, David."

"Nay, sir, they're not. As I told you afore, if you pick 'em too soon they srivels. When they're quite ripe they're just beginning to turn creamy colour like."

"Well, they're a very nice lot, David."

"Yes, sir; and what am I to do?"

"Let 'em hang."

"I wish I could, sir, but I feel as if I dursn't."

"Dare not! Why?"

"Fear they might walk over the wall."

"What, be stolen?"

"Ay, my lad. I come in at that gate at six this morning, and was going gently down the centre walk, when it was like having a sort o' stroke, for there was a head just peeping over the wall."

"A stranger?"

"I couldn't quite see, sir; but I'm 'most ready to swear as it was Pete Warboys, looking to see if they was ready to go into his pockets."

"Then let's pick them at once," cried Tom.

"Dear lad, what is the use o' my teaching of you," said David reproachfully. "Don't I keep on telling o' you as they'd srivel up; and what's a pear then? It ain't as if it was a walnut, where the srivel's a ornyment to the sh.e.l.l."

"Then let's lie wait for my gentleman with a couple o' sticks."

David's wrinkled face expanded, and his eyes nearly-closed.

"Hah! Now you're talking sense, sir," he said, in a husky whisper, as if the idea was too good to be spoken aloud. "Hazel sticks, sir--thick 'uns?"

"Hazel! A young scoundrel!" cried Tom.

"Nay, he's an old 'un, sir, in wickedness."

"Hazel is no good. I'd take old broomsticks to him," cried Tom indignantly. "Oh, I do hate a thief."

"Ay, sir, that comes nat'ral, 'speshly a thief as comes robbin' of a garden. House-breakers and highwaymen's bad enough; but a thief as come a-robbin' a garden, where you've been nussin' the things up for years and years--ah! there's nothing worse than that."

"You've got some old birch brooms, David," cried Tom, without committing himself to the gardener's sentiments.

"Birch, sir? Tchah! Birch would only tickle him, even if we could hit him on the bare skin."

"Nonsense! I didn't mean the birch, I meant the broomsticks."

"Oh, I see!" said David. "But nay, nay, sir, that wouldn't do. You see, when a man's monkey's up he hits hard; and if you and me ketched Pete Warboys over in our garden, and hit as hard as we could, we might break him; and though I says to you it wouldn't be a bit o' consequence, that there old rampagin' witch of a granny of his would come up here cursing every one, and making such filliloo that there'd be no bearing it."

"Well, that wouldn't harm anybody."

"I dunno, sir; I dunno," said David thoughtfully.

"Why, David, you don't believe in witches and ill-wishing, and all that sort of stuff, do you?"

"Me, sir?" cried the gardener; "not likely. But it's just as well to be the safe side o' the hedge, you know, in case there might be something in it."

Tom laughed, and David shook his head solemnly.

"Why, I believe you do believe in it all," said Tom.

"Nay, sir, I don't," cried the old fellow indignantly; "and don't you go saying such things."

"Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Tom.

"Ah, you may laugh, sir; but Parson Maxted's handsome young Ja.r.s.ey cow did die."

"Well, all cows die some time," cried Tom.

"Ay, sir, that's true; but not after old Mother Warboys has stood cussin' for ever so long about the milk."

"And did she?"

"Ay, that she did, sir, right in the middle o' the road, because the cook give her yes'day's skim-milk instead o' to-day's noo."

Tom laughed again.

"I say, what about the pears?"

"Ay, what about the pears? You wouldn't come down in the dark and keep watch."

"Wouldn't I!" cried Tom excitedly.

"Besides, we might ketch him, and him fly at you."

"I wish he would," said Tom.

"And then it would be in the dark."

"Of course."

"Not till late at night, perhaps."

"Well, what of that?"