"Why, of course not, my lad. Didn't I trust you, and send you in among
my choice grapes, and ripe figs, and things. There, say no more about
it. Gardeners don't grow fruit to satisfy their mouths, but their eyes,
and their minds, my lad. Eat away. Don't let a squabble with a
schoolboy who hasn't learned manners spoil your supper. We've never had
any children; but if we had, Grant, I don't think they would be like
that."
"They make me miserable when they are at home," said Mrs Solomon,
speaking almost for the first time.
"Don't see why they should," said Mr Solomon, with his voice sounding
as if his tongue were a little mixed up with his supper. "Why, they
don't come here."
"They might be made such different boys if properly trained."
"They'll come right by and by, but for the present, Grant, you steer
clear of them. They're just like a couple of young slugs, or so much
blight in the garden now."
The supper was ended, and Mrs Solomon, in a very quiet, quick way,
cleared the cloth, and after she had done, placed a Bible on the table,
out of which Mr Solomon read a short chapter, and then shook hands with
me and sent me away happy.
"Good night, my lad!" he said. "It's all strange to you now, and we're
not noisy jolly sort of people, but you're welcome here, and we shall
get on."
"Yes," said Mrs Solomon in a very cold stern way that did not seem at
all inviting or kind. "Come along and I'll show you your bed-room."
I followed her upstairs and into a little room with a sloping ceiling
and a window looking out upon the garden; and at the sight of the neat
little place, smelling of lavender, and with some flowers in a jug upon
the drawers, the depression which kept haunting me was driven away.
Everything looked attractive--the clean white bed and its dainty
hangings, the blue ewer and basin on the washstand, the picture or two
on the wall, and the strips of light-coloured carpet on the white floor,
all made the place cheerful and did something to recompense me for the
trouble of having to leave what seemed to be my regular home, and come
from one who had of late been most fatherly and kind, to people who were
not likely to care for me at all.
"I think there's everything you want," said Mrs Solomon, looking at me
curiously. "Soap and towel, and of course you've got your hair-brush
and things in your box there."
She pointed at the corded box which stood in front of the table.
"If there's anything you want you can ask. I hope you'll be very
clean."
"I'll try to be, ma'am," I said, feeling quite uncomfortable, she looked
at me so coldly.
"You can use those drawers, and your box can go in the back room.
Good-night!"
She went away and shut the door, looking wonderfully clean and prim, but
depressing instead of cheering me; and as soon as she was gone I
uncorded my box, wondering whether I should be able to stay, and wishing
myself back at Isleworth.
I had taken out my clothes and had reached the bottom of my box, anxious
to see whether the treasures I had there in a flat case, consisting of
pinned-out moths and butterflies, were all right and had not been shaken
out of place by the jolting of the cart, when there was a sharp tap at
the door and Mr Solomon came in.
"Hullo!" he said; "butterflies and moths!--eh?"
He spoke quite angrily, as it seemed to me, and chilled me, as I felt
that he would not like me to do such a thing as collect.
"Hah!" he said. "I used to do that when I was a boy. There's lots
here; but don't go after them when you're at work."
"No, sir," I said.
"Thought I'd come up, my lad, as it's all strange to you. I haven't
much to say to you, only keep away from those boys. Let 'em talk, but
never you mind."
"I'll try, sir."
"That's right. Work to-morrow morning at six. You may begin sooner if
you like. I often, do. Breakfast at eight; dinner at twelve; tea at
five, and then work's supposed to be done. I generally go in the houses
then. Always something wants doing there."
He stood thinking and looking as cold and hard as could be while I
waited for him to speak again; but he did not for quite five minutes,
during which time he stood picking up my comb and dropping it back into
the hair-brush.
"Yes," he said suddenly, "I should go in for those late lettuces if I
was Ezra. He'd find a good sale for them when salads were getting
scarce. Celery's very good, but people don't like to be always tied
down to celery and endives--a tough kind of meat at the best of times.
If you write home--no, this is home now--if you write to Brother Ezra,
you say I hope he'll keep his word about the lettuces. Good-night!"
I felt puzzled as soon as he had gone, and had not the slightest idea
how I felt towards the people with whom I was to pass months--perhaps
years.
"I shall never like Mrs Solomon," I said to myself dolefully; "and I
shall only like him half and half--liking him sometimes and not caring
for him at others."
I was very tired, and soon after I was lying in the cool sweet sheets
thinking about my new home, and watching the dimly-seen window; and then
it seemed to be all light and to look over Old Brownsmith's garden,
where Shock was pelting at me with pellets of clay thrown from the end
of a switch. And all the time he came nearer and nearer till the
pellets went right over my shoulder, and they grew bigger till they were
peaches that he kept sticking on the end of the switch, and as he threw
them they broke with a noise that was like the word _Push_!
I wanted to stop him, but I could not till he threw one peach with all
his might, and the switch caught me across the back, and I retaliated by
taking it away and thrashing him.
Then I woke with a start, and found I had been dreaming. I lay for a
few minutes after that in the darkness thinking that I would learn all I
could about fruit-growing as fast as possible, so as to know everything,
and get back to Old Brownsmith; and then all at once I found myself
sitting up in bed listening, with the sun shining in at one side of my
blind, while I was wondering where I was and how I had come there.