_ CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. I BEGIN WORK
Boys like sleep in the morning, but the desire to cuddle up for a few minutes more and to go back to dreamland is not there on the first morning at a new home or at a fresh school.
On that particular morning I did not feel in the least sleepy, only uncomfortably nervous; and, hearing voices through the wall, I jumped up and dressed quickly, to find on going down that Mr Solomon was in the kitchen putting on his thick boots.
"Just coming to call you," he said, nodding. "Harpus five. Hah! change coming," he cried, stamping his feet in his boots; "rain--rain. Come along."
He unbolted the door and I followed him out, drawing a breath of the sweetly fragrant air as we stepped at once into the bright sunshine, where the flowers were blooming and the trees were putting forth their strength.
But I had no opportunity for looking about the garden, for Mr Solomon led the way at once to the stoke-holes down behind the glass-houses, rattled open the doors, and gave a stoke here with a great iron rod, and a poke there where the fires were caked together; while, without waiting to be asked, I seized upon the shovel I saw handy and threw on some coke.
"Far back as you can, my lad," said Mr Solomon. "Seems a rum time of year to be having fires; but we're obliged to keep up a little, specially on cloudy days."
This done, he led the way into one of the sunken pits where the melons were growing, and after reaching in among them and snipping off a runner or two he routed out a slug and killed it.
Then turning to me:
"First thing in gardening, Grant, is to look out for your enemies. You'll never beat them; all you can do is to keep 'em down. Now look here," he said, picking off a melon leaf and holding it before me, "What's the matter with that?"
"I don't see much the matter," I said, "only that the leaf looks specked a little with yellow, as if it was unhealthy."
"Turn it over," he said.
I did, and looked at it well.
"There are a few red specks on it--very small ones," I said.
"Good eyes," he said approvingly. "That's what's the matter, my lad. You've seen the greatest enemy we have under glass. Those red specks, so small that you can hardly see them, cover the lower parts of the leaves with tiny cobwebs and choke the growth while they suck all the goodness out, and make the yellow specks on the top by sucking all the sap from the leaves."
"What, those tiny specks!"
"Yes, those little specks would spoil all our melon plants if we did not destroy them--melons, cucumbers, vines, peaches, and nectarines-- anything almost under glass. But there's your gun and ammunition; load up and shoot 'em. Never give them any rest."
I looked at him wonderingly, for he was pointing at a syringe standing in a pail of soapy-looking water.
"Yes," he continued, "that's right--kill 'em when you can. If you leave them, and greenfly, and those sort of things, alone till to-morrow, by that time they're turned into great-grandfathers, and have got such a family of little ones about 'em that your leaves are ten times worse."
"But what are those red specks?" I said.
"Red spider, boy. Now I'll show you. This is my plan to keep my plants healthy: have a bucket of soap and water in every house, and a syringe in it. Then you take it up as soon as you see the mischief and kill it at once. It's all handy for you, same as it is to have a bit of matting hanging up on a nail, ready to tie up the stem that wants it. Somebody said, Grant, 'A stitch in time saves nine,' it ought to have been, 'A washed leaf keeps off grief.' See here."
He took the syringe, filled it, and sent a fine shower beneath the leaves of the melons, where they were trained over a trellis, thoroughly washing them all over.
"Now you try," he said, and taking off my jacket I syringed away vigorously, while with matting and knife he tied in some loose strands and cut off others, so as to leave the vines neat.
"That'll do for the present," he said; "but mind this, Grant, if ever you see an enemy, shoot him while he's a single man if you can. Wait till to-morrow, you'll have to shoot all his relations too."
He led the way out of the pit, and round by the grounds, where different men were at work mowing and sweeping, the short cut grass smelling delicious in the morning air. He spoke to first one and then another in a short business-like way, and then went on with me to one of the great conservatories up by the house.
"I might put you to that sort of work, Grant," he said, giving his head a backward jerk; "but that wants no brains. Work under glass does. You want to work with your hands and your head. Now we'll have a tidy up in here. Sir Francis likes plenty of bright flowers."
I should have liked to stop looking about as soon as we were in the large glass building, which was one mass of bloom; but following Mr Solomon's example I was soon busily snipping off dead flowers and leaves, so as to make the various plants tidy; and I was extremely busy in one corner over this when I suddenly found that Mr Solomon was watching me, and that a big bell was ringing somewhere.
"That's right," he said, nodding his head in a satisfied way. "That's what I want. You don't know much yet, but you will. If I was to set one of those men to do that he'd have knocked off half the buds, and-- what have you been doing there?"
"I tied up those two flower-stems," I said. "Wasn't it right, sir?"
"Right and wrong, my lad," he said, whipping out his knife and cutting them free. "Look here."
He took a piece of wet matting--a mere strip--and tied them up again, with his big fingers moving so quickly and cleverly that I wondered.
"There, that's the way. Looks the same as you did it, eh?"
"Yes," I said, smiling.
"No, it isn't. You tied yours in front of the stem, with an ugly knot to rub and fret it, and make a sore place when the windows were open. I've put a neat band round mine, and the knot rests on the stick."
"Oh, I see!" I cried.
"Yes, Grant, there's a right way and a wrong way, and somehow the natural way is generally the wrong. Never saw one tried, but I believe if you took a savage black and told him to get up on a horse, he would go on the wrong side, put his left foot in the stirrup, and throw his right leg over, and come down sitting with his face to the tail. Breakfast."
"What! so soon?" I said.
"Soon! Why, it's past eight."
I was astounded, the time had gone so quickly; and soon after I was saying "good morning" to Mrs Solomon, and partaking of the plain meal.
"Well?" said Mrs Solomon in her cold impassive way.
Mr Solomon was so busy with a piece of cold bacon and some bread that he did not look up, and Mrs Solomon waited patiently till he raised his head and gave her a nod.
"I am glad," she said, giving a sigh as if she were relieved; and then she turned to me and looked quite pleasantly at me, and taking my cup, refilled it with coffee, and actually smiled.
"Notice the missus?" said Mr Solomon, as, after a glance at his big silver watch, he had suddenly said "Harpusate," and led the way to the vineries.
"Notice Mrs Brownsmith?" I said.
"Yes; see anything about her?"
"I thought she looked better this morning than she did last night. Was she ill?"
"Yes," he said shortly. "Get them steps."
I fetched _them_ steps, and thought that a gardener might just as well be grammatical.
He opened them out, and opening his knife, cut a few strands of matting ready, stuck them under one of his braces, after taking off his coat, and then climbed up to the top to tie in a long green cane of the grape-vine.
"Hold the steps steady," he said; and then with his head in amongst the leaves he went on talking.
"Bit queer in the head," he said slowly, and with his face averted. "Shied at you."
I stared. His wife was not a horse, and I thought they were the only things that shied; but I found I was wrong, for Mr Solomon went on:
"I did, too. Ezra said a lot about you. Fine young shoot this, ain't it?"
I said it was, for it was about ten feet long and as thick as my finger, and it seemed wonderful that it should have grown like that in a few months; but all the time my cheeks were tingling as I wondered what Old Brownsmith had said about me.
"Sounded all right, but it's risky to take a boy into your house when you are comfortable without, you see."
I felt ashamed and hurt that I should have been talked of so, and remained silent.
"The missus said you might be dirty and awkward in the house. This cane will be loaded next year if we get it well ripened this year, Grant. That's why I'm tying it in here close to the glass, where it'll get plenty of sun and air."
"What! will that bear grapes next year, sir?" I said, for I felt obliged to say something.
"Yes; and when the leaves are off you shall cut this one right out down at the bottom yonder."
He tapped a beautiful branch or cane from the main stem, which was bearing about a dozen fine bunches of grapes, and it seemed a pity; but of course he knew best, and he began cutting and snapping out shoots and big leaves between the new green cane and the glass.
"She was afraid you'd be a nuisance to me, and said you'd be playing with tops, and throwing stones, and breaking the glass. I told her that Brother Ezra wouldn't send me such a boy as that; but she only shook her head. 'I know what boys are,' she said. 'Look at her ladyship's two.' But I said that you wouldn't be like them, and you won't, will you?"
I laughed, for it seemed such a comical idea for me to be behaving as Mrs Solomon had supposed.
"What are you laughing at?" he said, looking down at me.
"I was thinking about what Mrs Brownsmith said," I replied.
"Oh yes! To be sure," he continued. "You'll like her. She's a very nice woman. A very good woman. I've known her thirty years."
"Have you had any children, sir?" I said.
"No," he replied, looking at me with a twinkle in his eye; "and yet I've always been looking after nurseries--all my life."
In about an hour he finished his morning work in the vinery, and I went out with him in the garden, where he left me to tidy up a great bed of geraniums with a basket and a pair of scissors.
"I've got to see to the men now," he said. "By-and-by we'll go and have a turn at the cucumbers."
The bed I was employed upon was right away from the house in a sort of nook where the lawn ran up amongst some great Portugal laurels. It was a mass of green and scarlet, surrounded by shortly cropped grass, and I was very busy in the hot sunshine, enjoying my task, and now and then watching the thrushes that kept hopping out on to the lawn and then back under the shelter of the evergreens, when I suddenly saw a shadow, and, turning sharply, found that my friend of the peach-house had come softly up over the grass with another lad very much like him, but a little taller, and probably a couple of years older.
"Hullo, pauper!" said the first.
I felt my cheeks tingle, and my tongue wanted to say something very sharp, but I kept my teeth closed for a moment and then said:
"Good morning, sir!"
He took no notice of this, but turned to his brother and whispered something, when they both laughed together; and as I bent down over my work I felt as if I must have looked very much like one of the scarlet geraniums whose dead blossom stems I was taking out.
Of course, a boy with a well-balanced brain and plenty of sound, honest, English stuff in him ought to be able to treat with contempt the jeering and laughter of those who are teasing him; but somehow I'm afraid that there are very few boys who can bear being laughed at with equanimity. I know, to be frank, I could not, for as those two lads stared at me and then looked at each other and whispered, and then laughed heartily-- well, no; not heartily, but in a forced way, I felt my face burn and my fingers tingle. My mouth seemed to get a little dry, too, and the thought came upon me in the midst of my sensations that I wanted to get up and fight.
The circumstances were rather exceptional, for I was suffering from two sore places. One started from my shoulder and went down my back, where there must have been the mark of the cane; the other was a mental sore, caused by the word _pauper_, which seemed to rankle and sting more than the cut from the cane.
Of course I ought to have treated it as beneath my notice, but whoever reads this will have found out before now that I was very far from perfect; and as those two lads evidently saw my annoyance, and went on trying to increase it, I bent over my work in a vicious way, and kept on taking out the dead leaves and stems as if they were some of the enemies Mr Solomon had been talking about in the pits.
All at once, as I was bending down, I heard Courtenay, the elder boy, say:
"What did he say--back to school and be flogged?"
"Yes," said Philip aloud; "but he didn't know. They only flog workhouse boys and paupers."
"I say, though," said Courtenay, "who is that chap grubbing out the slugs and snails?"
My back was turned, and I went on with my work. "What! that chap I spoke to?" said Philip; "why, I told you. He's a pauper."
"Is he?"
"Yes, and Browny fetched him from the workhouse. Brought him home in the cart. He's going to be a caterpillar crusher."
I felt as if I should have liked to be a boy crusher, and have run at him with my fists clenched, and drubbed him till he roared for mercy, but I did not stir.
"Then what's he doing here?" said Courtenay in a sour, morose tone of voice. "He ought to be among the cabbages, and not here."
This was as if they were talking to themselves, but meant for me to hear.
"Old Browny was afraid to put him there for fear he'd begin wolfing them. I caught him as soon as he came. He got loose, and I found him in the peach-house eating the peaches, but I dropped on to him with the cane and made the beggar howl."
"Old Browny ought to look after him," said Courtenay.
"Don't I tell you he ran away. I expect Browny will have to put a dog-collar and chain on him, and drive a stake down in the kitchen-garden to keep him from eating the cabbages when he's caterpillaring. These workhouse boys are such hungry beggars."
"Put a muzzle on him like they do on a ferret," said Courtenay; and then they laughed together.
"Hasn't he got a rum phiz?" said Philip, who, I soon found, was the quicker with his tongue.
"Yes; don't talk so loud: he'll hear you. Just like a monkey," said Courtenay; and they laughed again.
"I say, is he going to stop?" said Courtenay.
"I suppose so. They want a boy to scrape the shovels and light the fires, and go up the hothouse chimneys to clear out the soot. He's just the sort for that."
"He'll have to polish Old Browny's boots, too."
"Yes; and wash Mother Browny's stockings. I say, Court, don't he look a hungry one?"
"Regular wolf," said Courtenay; and there was another laugh.
"I say," said Courtenay, "I don't believe he's a workhouse."
"He is, I tell you; Browny went and bought him yesterday. They sell 'em cheap. You can have as many as you like almost for nothing. They're glad to get rid of 'em."
"I wonder what they'd say to poor old Shock!" I thought to myself. "I'm glad he isn't here."
"I don't care," said Courtenay; "I think he's a London street boy. He looks like it from the cut of his jib."
I paid not the slightest heed, but my heart beat fast and I could feel the perspiration standing all over my face.
"I don't care; he's a pauper. I wonder what Old Browny will feed him on."
"Skilly," said Courtenay; and the boys laughed again. All at once I felt a push with a foot, and if I had not suddenly stiffened my arms I should have gone down and broken some of the geraniums, but they escaped, and I leaped to my feet and faced them angrily.
"Here, what's your name?" said Courtenay haughtily.
I swallowed my annoyance, and answered:
"Grant."
"What a name for a boy!" said Courtenay. "I say, Phil, isn't his hair cut short. He ought to have his ears trimmed too. Here, where are your father and mother?"
I felt a catch in my throat as I tried to answer steadily:
"Dead."
"There, I told you so," cried Philip. "He hasn't got any father or mother. Didn't you come out of the workhouse, pauper?"
"No," I said steadily, as my fingers itched to strike him.
"Here, what was your father?" said Courtenay.
I did not answer.
"Do you hear? And say 'sir' when you speak," cried Courtenay with a brutal insolent manner that seemed to fit with his dark thin face. "I say, do you hear, boy?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Yes, _sir_, you beggar," cried Courtenay. "What was your father?"
"He don't know," cried Philip grinning. "Pauper boys don't know. They're all mixed up together, and they call 'em Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or names of streets or places, anything. He doesn't know what his father was. He was mixed up with a lot more."
"I'll make him answer," said Courtenay. "Here, what was your father?"
"An officer and a gentleman," I said proudly.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Philip, dancing about with delight, and hanging on to his brother, who laughed too. "Here's a game--a gardener's boy a gentleman! Oh my!"
I was sorry I had said those words, but they slipped out, and I stood there angry and mortified before my tormentors.
"I say, Court, don't he look like a gentleman? Look at the knees of his trousers, and his fists."
"Never mind," said Courtenay, "I want to bat. Look here, you, sir, can you play cricket?"
"Yes," I said, "a little."
"Yes, _sir_, you beggar; how many more times am I to tell you! Come out in the field. You've got to bowl for us. Here, catch!"
He threw a cricket-ball he had in his hand at me with all his might, and in a nasty spiteful way, but I caught it, and in a jeering way Philip shouted:
"Well fielded. Here, come on, Court. We'll make the beggar run."
I hesitated, for I wanted to go on with my work, but these were my master's sons, and I felt that I ought to obey.
"What are you standing staring like that for, pauper?" cried Philip. "Didn't you hear Mr Courtenay say you were to come on and bowl?"
"What do you want, young gentleman?" said a voice that was very welcome to me; and Mr Solomon came from behind the great laurels.
"What's that to you, Browny? He's coming to bowl for us in the field," said Courtenay.
"No, he is not," said Mr Solomon coolly. "He's coming to help me in the cucumber house."
"No, he isn't," said Philip; "he's coming to bowl for us. Come along, pauper."
I threw the ball towards him and it fell on the lawn, for neither of the boys tried to catch it.
"Here, you, sir," cried Courtenay furiously, "come and pick up this ball."
I glanced at Mr Solomon and did not stir.
"Do you hear, you, sir! come and pick up this ball," said Courtenay.
"Now, pauper, look alive," said Philip.
I turned and stooped down over my work.
"I say, Court, we're not going to stand this, are we?"
"Go into the field and play, boys," said Mr Solomon coldly; "we've got to work."
"Yes, paupers have to work," said Courtenay with a sneer.
"If I thought that worth notice, young fellow, I'd make you take that word back," said Mr Solomon sternly.
"Yes, it's all right, Courtenay; the boy isn't a pauper."
"You said he was."
"Yes, but it was a mistake," sneered Philip; "he says he's a gentleman."
The two boys roared with laughter, and Mr Solomon looked red.
"Look here, Grant," he said quietly, "if being a gentleman is to be like these two here, don't you be one, but keep to being a gardener."
"Ha, ha, ha!--ho, ho, ho!" they both laughed. "A gentleman! Pretty sort of a gentleman."
"Pauper gentleman," cried Philip maliciously. "Yes, I daresay he has got a title," said Courtenay, who looked viciously angry at being thwarted; and he was the more enraged because Mr Solomon bent down and helped me at the bed, taking no notice whatever of the orders for me to go.
"Yes," said Philip; "he's a barrow-net--a wheelbarrow-net. Ha, ha, ha!"
"With a potato-fork for his crest."
"And ragged coat without any arms," said Philip.
"And his motto is 'Oh the poor workhouse boy!'" cried Courtenay.
"There, that will do, Grant," said Mr Solomon. "Let these little boys amuse themselves. It won't hurt us. Bring your basket."
"Yes, take him away, Browny," cried Philip.
"Ah, young fellows, your father will find out some day what nice boys you are! Come along, Grant and let these young _gentlemen_ talk till they're tired."
"Yes, go on," cried Philip; while I saw Courtenay turn yellow with rage at the cold bitter words Mr Solomon used. "Take away your pauper--take care of your gentleman--go and chain him up, and give him his skilly. Go on! take him to his kennel. Oh, I say, Courtenay--a gentleman! What a game!"
I followed Mr Solomon with my face wrinkled and lips tightened up, till he turned round and looked at me and then clapped his hand on my shoulder.
"Bah!" he said laughing; "you are not going to mind that, my lad. It isn't worth a snap of the fingers. I wish, though, you hadn't said anything about being a gentleman."
"So do I, sir," I said. "It slipped out, though, and I was sorry when it was too late."
"Never mind; and don't you leave your work for them. Now come and have a look at my cucumber house, and then--ha, ha, ha! there's something better than skilly for dinner, my boy."
I found out that Mr Solomon had another nature beside the one that seemed cold. _