GARDENING.
"THINK you've been at it long enough, Billy; you'd better rest a bit."
Billy was having his first lesson in gardening. His grandfather had
shown him the proper way to use his spade, and for the last half hour
he had been labouring on a patch of ground which had to be dug up and
prepared for spring tillage. Now, as his grandfather spoke, he ceased
work and stood leaning on his spade, viewing the freshly turned soil
with great satisfaction.
"It's very warm," he remarked, "but it's grand weather, isn't it,
Grandfer?"
"That it is!" agreed William Brown. "We often get fine weather like
this hereabouts in November; it gives one an opportunity of preparing
for the winter. Golden days I call these, and one must make the most
of them, for there are days coming when there'll be no working on the
land. The leaves are hanging late on the trees this year, but the first
night's sharp frost will bring them down in a hurry—they're ripe to
fall. Why, who's this I see?"
As if he did not recognise the little figure that had entered the
garden and was hastening towards them with light, tripping steps.
"It's May," said Billy. "Do you think she has come all the way from the
village by herself?"
"Yes," nodded his grandfather. "I thought she might be here to-day,
for I knew the fine weather would make her restless and long to be
out-of-doors. When she's like that she doesn't want to go to school,
and the teacher agrees it's better not to send her. Well, May, my pet!
Come and look at Billy's beautiful tools. Show them to her, Billy."
Billy was very proud and pleased to do so. May examined each tool
separately with the greatest interest.
"Are they your very, very, own, Billy?" she inquired.
"Yes," he answered, "my very, very own. And I can use them quite
easily—they're so light. Mr. Tom Turpin gave them to me. Wasn't it kind
of him? I turned up that ground—look!"
"I think you've done enough for this morning," remarked William Brown.
"You'd better clean off your spade, and put your tools away."
Billy obeyed. His arms and shoulders were aching, but he had no
intention of admitting that. Accompanied by May he left the garden, and
put his tools in the out-house where he had been told to keep them. He
intended returning at once to his grandfather, but May took him by the
hand and led him into the orchard, saying that she wanted to speak to
Jenny and he must come with her. When Jenny saw the children she began
to bray and walk towards them.
"She's saying 'Good morning,'" declared May. "Oh, dear, dear Jenny!"
Dropping Billy's hand she ran to the donkey, clasped her around the
neck, and talked to her in a whisper so low that the little boy could
not hear a word. Then Scout came up, and he, too, had to be noticed.
He looked at May with a wealth of love in his brown eyes, and kept
close to her side when, having said all she wanted to say to Jenny, she
beckoned Billy to follow her across the orchard. In a sheltered corner
she paused, and pointed at the ground.
"This is where the snowdrops are, underneath the grass," she said
gravely. Then suddenly, to Billy's astonishment, she dropped on her
knees, bent her head low, and cried softly: "Little snowdrops, little
snowdrops, are you still asleep?" She listened a minute, then rose, a
finger on her lips.
"Still asleep!" she murmured, "still asleep!"
"Asleep?" Billy echoed wonderingly. "Snowdrops don't go asleep, May!"
He smiled at the idea.
"Oh, yes, they do!" she corrected. "Didn't you know? Mr. Singleton
told me. I was, oh, so sorry when they died! Then Mr. Singleton told
me they'd gone deep, deep into the ground, and would sleep, sleep,
sleep till the spring came again, and God would say: 'Little snowdrops,
awake!' It's so sunny and warm to-day, I thought p'r'aps the spring had
come."
"Why, it's November, May!" exclaimed Billy, full of amazement. "It
won't be spring for months and months."
The little girl heaved a gentle sigh and rose from her knees. For a
minute her face wore a slightly clouded expression, then it smiled and
became contented again.
"Never mind," she said, "never mind! Mr. Singleton says God'll remember
them—He never forgets."
They returned to the garden, where William Brown had stirred up the
bonfire which had smouldered through the night. May clapped her hands
with delight when she saw the flames, and she and Billy set to work
collecting more rubbish to keep the bonfire burning.
At one o'clock Mrs. Brown came and called them in to dinner. She was
evidently pleased to see May. Billy noticed that her face softened as
she kissed the little girl and inquired if her mother knew where she
was.
"Oh, yes!" the child answered, adding: "I can stay till Harold fetches
me, Granny."
Harold did not arrive at Rowley Cottage till half-past four o'clock.
He had been told he must not stop to tea, he said, as it got dark so
early now, so May must please come at once. May told him of Billy's
gardening tools, and he lingered to have a look at them. The sight of
them evidently made him a little envious, for he did not express the
admiration Billy had expected he would.
"Oh, they'll do," he said, "but they've had a good bit of wear."
"Grandfer says they're none the worse for that," replied Billy. "See
how sharp the spade is! That's from use, Grandfer says. I think they're
beautiful tools."
"What made Master Tom give them to you?" asked Harold.
"Oh, he thought they would be just the right weight for me," explained
Billy, "and so they are."
"He never gave me anything," remarked Harold, in a decidedly grudgeful
tone, "and he's always known me, whilst you—why, you're almost a
stranger to him! However, I don't want gardening tools; I've some of my
own that father gave me last birthday."
"But they're not such nice ones as yours," May told Billy.
Harold glanced at his little sister with a frown, and flushed angrily.
"I wouldn't change my tools for Billy's!" he exclaimed.
"Of course you wouldn't, as your father gave them to you," Billy said
quickly. "I suppose you know all about gardening?" he suggested.
"Rather!" Harold replied. "Father's got an allotment, and I help him
work it. We won several prizes at the vegetable and flower show last
August—the show's held in the Vicarage grounds every year. You haven't
seen the allotment gardens yet, I suppose? No? Well, you'd better come
and have a look at them on Saturday—there's no school then, and I can
show you about."
"Oh, thank you!" cried Billy. "I'll come—that is if Grandfer and Granny
will let me."
"Oh, they'll let you," declared Harold.
"Grandfer's so good-natured he generally lets people do as they like;
and Granny—well, I expect she'll be glad to get you out of her way. She
was vexed you had to come here, you know."
"I didn't know," said Billy. He felt hurt, but somehow he was not in
the least surprised. "How do you know?" he inquired.
"Oh, I heard her talking about you to mother before you came," Harold
replied; "she said you'd be more trouble than enough, she expected."
"Why should she have said that?" cried Billy indignantly, adding, as
Harold shook his head, "I think it was an unkind thing to say, and—and
an unkind thing to repeat!"
Harold looked rather ashamed.
"Now you're angry," he said, "and won't come on Saturday, I suppose.
Well, do as you like!"
He went off, leading May, who had listened to the conversation between
the two boys in puzzled silence. Billy watched them through the orchard
with a swelling heart. As they passed through the gateway into the
pathfields May looked back and waved her hand.
"Good-bye, Billy!" she cried; "I'll come again to-morrow if mother'll
let me! I like you, Billy, I do!"
Billy nodded and smiled. Then a cold nose touched his hand, and Scout
rubbed against him. He bent to caress the dog, and as he did so, heard
his grandfather's voice calling him to come in to tea. It sounded so
hearty that he felt quite cheered by it.
"At any rate he isn't vexed I had to come here!" he said to himself.