"What! I caught you then, did I?" cried a sharp unpleasant voice.
"Just dropped upon you, did I, my fine fellow? You scoundrel, how dare
you steal our peaches!"
The speaker was a boy of somewhere about my own age, and as I faced him
I saw that he was thin, and had black hair, a yellowish skin, and dark
eyes. He was showing his rather irregular teeth in a sneering smile
that made his hooked nose seem to hang over his mouth, while his
high-pitched, harsh, girlish voice rang and buzzed in my ears in a
discordant way.
I did not answer; I felt as if I could not speak. All I wanted to do
was to fly at him and strike out wildly, while something seemed to hold
me back as he stood vapouring before me, swishing about the thin, black,
silver-handled cane he carried, and at every swish he cut some leaf or
twig.
"How dare you strike me?" I cried at last furiously, and I advanced
with my teeth set and my lists clenched, forgetting my position there,
and not even troubling myself in my hot passion to wonder who or what
this boy might be.
"How dare I, you ugly-looking dog!" he cried, retreating before me a
step or two. "I'll soon let you know that. Who are you, you thief?"
"I'm not a thief," I shouted, wincing still with the pain.
"Yes, you are," he cried. "How did you get in here? I've caught you,
though, and we shall know now where our fruit goes when we get the
blame. Here, out you come."
The boy caught me by the collar, and I seized him by the arms with a
fierce, vindictive feeling coming over me; but he was very light and
active, and, wresting himself partly free, he gave the cane a swing in
the air, raised it above his head, and struck at me with all his might.
I hardly know how it all occurred in the hurry and excitement, but I
know that I gave myself a wrench round, driving him back as I did so,
and making a grasp at the cane with the full intention of getting it
from him and thrashing him as hard as I could in return for his blow.
He missed his aim: I missed mine. My hand did not go near the cane; the
cane did not come down as he intended upon my back, but with a fierce
swish struck the branch of one of the peaches, breaking it so that it
hung by the bark and a few fibres, while three or four of the ripe fruit
fell with heavy thuds upon the ground.
"There, now you've done it, you young rough!" he cried viciously. "Come
out."
His dark eyes glowed, and he showed his white teeth as he struck at me
again and again; but I avoided the blows as I wrestled with him, and at
last my sturdy strength, helped by the work I had had in Old
Brownsmith's garden, told, and I got hold of the cane, forced open his
hand, and wrested it away.
I remember very well the triumphant feeling that came over me as I
raised the cane and was in the act of bringing it down with all my
might, when there was a strong hand from behind upon my shoulder, and
another caught my arm, ran down it to the wrist and hand, wrested the
cane away, and swung me round.
It was Mr Solomon, looking very red in the face, and frowning at me
severely.
"What are you doing?" he cried. "Do you know who that is?"
"He struck me with the cane."
"He was stealing peaches."
"I was not; I was picking one up."
"He was stealing them. Just look what he has done."
"I did not do it, Mr Solomon," I cried. "It was he."
"Oh, what a cracker, Brownie! I came and caught him at it; and because
I said he was a thief he hit at me with that cane."
"How did he get the cane? Why, it's yours," said Mr Solomon; "and I
believe you broke that young peach."
"Get out! It was he. Take him to the police. I caught him at it."
Mr Solomon stooped and picked up the bruised and fallen peaches, laid
them on a shelf, and then took out his knife and cut away the broken
bough neatly.
Then he stood and looked at it for a moment, and the sight of the damage
roused up a feeling of anger in him, for he turned sharply.
"Here, you be off!" he said, advancing on the boy with the cane under
his arm.
For answer the boy snatched the cane away. "What do you say?" he cried
haughtily.
"I say you be off out of my glass-houses, Master Philip. I won't have
you here, and so I tell you."
"How dare you talk to me like that?" cried the boy.
"Dare! I'll dare a deal more than that, young fellow, if you are not
off," cried Mr Solomon, who was a great deal more excited and animated
than I should have imagined possible. "I'm not going to have my fruit
spoiled like this."
"Your fruit indeed! I like that," cried the boy. "Yours?"
"See what you've done to my Royal George!"
"See what I've done to your Royal George!"--mockingly.
"Now be off," cried Mr Solomon. "Serves me right for not keeping the
houses locked up. Now, then, you be off out."
"Sha'n't," said the boy. "I shall stop here as long as I like. You
touch me if you dare. If you do I'll tell papa."
"I shall tell him myself, my lad," cried Mr Solomon.
"You forget who I am," cried the boy.
"I don't know anything about who you are when my show of fruit's being
spoiled," replied Mr Solomon. "A mischievous boy's a boy doing
mischief to me when I catch him, and I won't have him here."
"Turn him out, then," cried the boy; "turn out that rough young
blackguard. I came in and caught him picking and stealing, and I gave
him such a one."
He switched his cane as he spoke, and looked at me so maliciously that I
took a step forward, but Mr Solomon caught me sharply by the shoulder
and uttered a low warning growl.
"I don't believe he was stealing the fruit," said Mr Solomon slowly.
"He has got a good character, Master Philip, and that's what you haven't
been able to show."
"If you talk to me like that I'll tell papa everything, and have you
discharged."
"Do!" said Mr Solomon.
"And I'll tell papa that you are always having in your friends, and
showing 'em round the garden. What's that beggar doing in our
hothouses?"
"I'm not a beggar," I cried hotly.
"Hold your tongue, Grant," said Mr Solomon in a low growl as he trimmed
off a broken twig that had escaped him at first.
"It was lucky I came in," continued the boy, looking at me tauntingly.
"If I hadn't come I don't know how many he wouldn't have had."
"Mr Brownsmith," I said, as I smarted with pain, rage, and the desire
to get hold of that cane once more, and use it, "I found a peach lying
on the ground, and I was going to pick it up."
"And eat it?" said the gardener without looking at me.
"Eat it! No," I said hotly, "I can go amongst fruit without wanting to
eat it like a little child."
I looked at him indignantly, for he seemed to be suspecting me, he was
so cold and hard, and distant in his manner.
"Mr Brownsmith always trusted me amongst his fruit," I said angrily.
"Humph!" said Mr Solomon, "and so you weren't going to eat the peach?"
"He was; I saw him. It was close up to his mouth."
"It is not true," I cried.
"He isn't fit to be trusted in here, and I shall tell papa how I saved
the peaches. He won't like it when he hears."
"I won't stop a day in the place," I said to myself in the heat of my
indignation, for Mr Solomon seemed to be doubting me, and I felt as if
I couldn't bear to be suspected of being a thief.
My attention was taken from myself to the boy and Mr Solomon the next
moment, for there was a scene.
"Now," said Mr Solomon, "I want to lock up this house, young gentleman,
so out you go."
"You can come when I've done," said the boy, poking at first one fruit
and then another with the cane, as he strutted about. "I'm not going
yet."
He was in the act of touching a ripe nectarine when Mr Solomon looked
as if he could bear it no longer, and he snatched the cane away.
"Here, you give me my cane," cried the boy. "You be off out, sir."
"Sha'n't!"
"Will you go?"
"No. Don't you push me!"
"Walk out then."
"Sha'n't. It's our place, and I sha'n't go for you."
"Will you go out quietly?"
"No, I shall stop as long as I like."
"Once more, Master Philip, will you go?"
"No!" yelled the boy; "and you give me back my cane."
"Will you go, sir? Once more."
"Send that beggar away, and not me," cried the boy.
"I shall stop till I choose to go, and I shall pick the peaches if I
like."
Mr Solomon looked down at him aghast for a few moments, and then, as
the boy made a snatch at his cane, he caught him up, tucked him under
his arm, and carried him out, kicking and struggling with all his might.
I followed close behind, thoroughly enjoying the discomfiture of my
enemy, and was the better satisfied for seeing the boy thrown down
pretty heavily upon a heap of mowings of the lawn.
"I'll pay you for this," cried the boy, who had recovered his cane; and,
giving it a swish through the air, he raised it as if about to strike
Mr Solomon across the face.
I saw Mr Solomon colour up of a deeper red as he looked at the boy very
hard; and then he said softly, but in a curious hissing way:
"I shouldn't advise you to do that, young sir. If you did I might
forget you were Sir Francis' boy, and take and pitch you into the
gold-fish pond. I feel just as if I should like to do it without."
The boy quailed before his stern look, and uttered a nasty sniggering
laugh.
"I can get in any of the houses when I like, and I can take the fruit
when I like, and I'll let papa know about your beggars of friends
meddling with the peaches."
"There, you be off," said the gardener. "I'll tell Sir Francis too, as
sure as my name's Brownsmith."
"Ha--ha--ha! There's a name!" cried the boy jeeringly. "Brownsmith.
What a name for a cabbage-builder, who pretends to be a gardener, and is
only an old woman about the place! Roberts's gardener is worth a
hundred Sol Brownsmiths. He grows finer fruit and better flowers, and
you'll soon be kicked out. Perhaps papa will send you away now."
Mr Solomon bit his lips as he locked the door, for he was touched in a
tender place, for, as I found out afterwards, he was very jealous of the
success of General Roberts's gardener.
His back was turned, and, taking advantage of this, the boy made a dash
at me with his cane.
This was too much in my frame of mind, and I went at him, when the head
gardener turned sharply and stood between us.
"That'll do," he cried sternly to us both.
"All right!" said the boy in a cool disdainful manner. "I'll watch for
him, and if ever he comes in our garden again I'll let him know. I'll
pay the beggar out. He is a beggar, isn't he, old Solomon?"
"Well, if I was asked which of you was the young gentleman, and which
the ill-bred young beggar, I should be able to say pretty right,"
replied the gardener slowly.
"Oh! should you? Well, don't you bring him here again, or I'll let him
know."
"You'd better let him know now, boy, for he's going to stop."
"What's he, the new boy?" said the lad, as if asking a very innocent
question. "Where did you get him, Brownsmith? Is he out of the
workhouse?"
Mr Solomon smiled at the boy's malice, but he saw me wince, and he drew
me to his side in an instant. I had been thinking what a cold, hard man
he was, and how different to his brother, who had been quite fatherly to
me of late; but I found out now that he was, under his stern outward
seeming, as good-hearted as Old Brownsmith himself.
He did not speak, but he laid one hand upon my shoulder and pressed it,
and that hand seemed to say to me:
"Don't take any notice of the little-minded, contemptible, spoiled cub;"
and I drew a deep breath and began to feel that perhaps after all I
should not want to go away.
"I thought so," cried the boy with a snigger--"he's a pauper then. Ha,
ha, ha! a pauper! I'll tell Courtenay. We'll call him pauper if he
stops here."
"And that's just what he is going to do, Master Philip," said the head
gardener, who seemed to have recovered his temper; "and that's what,
thank goodness, you are not going to do. And the sooner you are off
back to school to be licked into shape the better for you, that is if
ever you expect to grow into a man. Come along, my lad, it's getting
late."
"Yes, take him away," shouted the boy as I went off with Mr Solomon, my
blood seeming to tingle in my veins as I heard a jeering burst of
laughter behind me, and directly after the boy shouted:
"Here, hi! Courtenay. Here's a game. We've got a new pauper in the
place."
Mr Solomon heard it, but he said nothing as we went on, while I felt
very low-spirited again, and was thinking whether I had not better give
up learning how to grow fruit and go back to Old Brownsmith, and Ike,
and Shock, and Mrs Dodley, when my new guide said to me kindly:
"Don't you take any notice of them, my lad."
"Them?" I said in dismay.
"Yes, there's a pair of 'em--nice pair too. But they're often away at
school, and Sir Francis is a thorough gentleman. They're not his boys,
but her ladyship's, and she has spoiled 'em, I suppose. Let 'em grow
wild, Grant. I say, my lad," he continued, looking at me with a droll
twinkle in his eye, "they want us to train them, and prune them, and
take off some of their straggling growths, eh? I think we could make a
difference in them, don't you?"