Brownsmith's Boy: A Romance in a Garden

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  MAKING THINGS RIGHT.

  Just at that moment I fancied that I heard a sort of laugh from up inthe other tree, but my eyes were fixed upon Old Brownsmith, and I had alarge piece of apple in my mouth that I dared not begin to chew.

  He stood looking at me as I stood there, feeling three of his cats comeand begin rubbing themselves up against my legs in the most friendlyway, while I felt as if my misfortunes were being piled up one on thetop of the other.

  From previous conversations I had gathered that he expected the boys tonow and then eat a little fruit, and there was no harm in it; but itseemed so hard that the very first time I tasted an apple he should bestanding there watching me.

  "Dinner's ready," he said suddenly; "come along."

  "Shall I leave the baskets here, sir?" I said.

  "Yes; just as they are."

  He stooped down and examined the apples, turning them over a little.

  "Hah! yes," he said; "nicely picked. That will do. You've got on too."

  He went on, and I was following behind the cats, but he drew on one sideto let me walk by him.

  "Eat your apple," he said smiling, as he looked sidewise at me. "Onlywe always pick out the ugliest fruit and vegetables for home use, andsend the best-looking to market."

  "I'll remember that, sir," I said.

  "Do, Grant, my lad. You will not lose by it, for I'll tell yousomething. The shabbiest-looking, awkwardly-grown apples, pears, andplums are generally the finest flavoured."

  "Are they, sir?" I said.

  "That they are, my boy. If you want a delicious pear don't pick out thegreat shapely ones, but those that are screwed all on one side andcovered with rusty spots. The same with the plums and apples. They arealmost always to be depended upon."

  I had finished my mouthful of apple, and thrust the fruit in my jacketpocket.

  "It is often the same with people in this life, my boy. Many of theplain-looking, shabby folks are very beautiful everywhere but outside.There's a moral lesson for you. Save it up."

  I said I would, and looked at him sidewise, hesitating, for I wanted tospeak to him. I was wondering, too, whether he knew that I had beenfighting with Shock, for my hands were very dirty and my knuckles werecut.

  He did not speak any more, but stooped and took up one of the cats, tostroke it and let it get up on his shoulder, and we had nearly reachedthe house before I burst out desperately:

  "If you please, Mr Brownsmith--"

  Then I stopped short and stared at him helplessly, for the words seemedto stick in my throat.

  "Well," he said, "what is it? Want to speak to me?"

  "Yes, sir," I burst out; "I want to tell you that I--that I broke--"

  "The ladder, eh?" he said smiling. "That's right, Grant; always speakout when you have had an accident of any kind. Nothing like beingfrank. It's honest and gives people confidence in you. Yes, I know allabout the ladder. I was coming to see if you wanted it moved when I sawyou overcome by it. Did Ike trim off that branch?"

  "Yes, sir," I cried hastily. "I'm very sorry, sir. I did not knowthat--"

  "It was so heavy, Grant. Leverage, my boy. A strong man can hardlyhold a ladder if he gets it off the balance."

  "Will it cost much to--"

  "It was an old ladder, Grant, and I'm not sorry it is broken; for therewas a bad crack there, I see, covered over by the paint. We might havehad a nasty accident. It will do now for the low trees. Look here."

  He led me into the shed where the ladders hung, and showed me the brokenladder, neatly sawn off at the top, and thinned down a little, andtrimmed off with a spokeshave, while a pot of lead-coloured paint and abrush stood by with which the old gentleman had been going over thefreshly-cut wood.

  "My job," he said quietly. "Dry by to-morrow. You were quite right totell me."

  Then there was a pause.

  "How many apples does that make you've had to-day?" he said, suddenly.

  "Apples, sir? Oh! that was the first."

  "Humph!" he ejaculated, looking at me sharply. "And so you've beenhaving a set-to with Shock, eh?"

  "Yes, sir," I said in an aggrieved tone; "he--"

  "Don't tell tales out of school, Grant," he said. "You've had yourfight, and have come off better than I expected. Don't let's have anymore of it, if you can help it. There, have a wash; make haste.Dinner's waiting."

  The relief I felt was something tremendous, and though five minutes orso before I had not wanted any dinner, I had no sooner had a good washin the tin bowl with the clean cold water from the pump, and a good rubwith the round towel behind the kitchen door, than I felt outrageouslyhungry; and it was quite a happy, flushed face, with a strapped-up woundon the forehead and a rather swollen and cut lip, that looked out at mefrom the little square shaving glass on the wall.

  That morning I had been despondently thinking that I was making no endof enemies in my new home. That afternoon I began to find that thingswere not so very bad after all. Shock was sulky, and seemed to delightin showing me the roots of his hair in the nape of his neck, alwaysturning his back; but he did not throw any more apples and he played nomore pranks, but went on steadily picking.

  I did the same, making no further advances to him, though, as I recalledhow I hammered his body and head, and how he must have been pricked byfalling into the gooseberry bush, I felt sorry, and if he had offered toshake hands I should have forgotten how grubby his always were, and heldout mine at once.

  As the afternoon wore on we filled our baskets, and more had to befetched. Then, later on, I wanted my ladder moved to another tree, andcame down and called Ike, but he was not there, so I asked one of theother men, who came and did it for me, and then moved Shock's.

  I was just mounting again when Ike came up, taking long strides andscowling angrily.

  "S'pose you couldn't ha' waited a moment, could you?" he growled. "Ididn't move the ladder just as you wanted, I suppose. You're preciouspartickler, you are. Now, look here, my fine gentleman, next time youwant a ladder moved you may move it yourself."

  "But I did call you, Ike," I said; "and you weren't there."

  "I hadn't gone to get another two hundred o' plarnts, I suppose, and wascomin' back as fast as I could, I s'pose. No, o' course not. I oughtto ha' been clost to your elber, ready when you called. Never mind;next time you wants the ladder moved get some one else, for I sha'n't doit;" and he strode away.

  Half an hour later he was back to see if I wanted it moved, and waitedtill I had finished gathering a few more apples, when, smiling quitegood-humouredly, he shifted the ladder into a good place.

  "There," he said, "you'll get a basketful up there.

  "Shock, shall I shift yours 'fore I go? That's your sort. Well, youtwo chaps have picked a lot."

  I soon grew quite at home at Old Brownsmith's, and found him very kind.Ike, too, in his rough way, quite took to me--at least if anything hadto be done he was offended if I asked another of the men. I worked hardat the fruit-picking, and kept account when Ike laid straw or fern overthe tops of the bushel and half-bushel baskets, and placed sticksacross, lattice fashion, to keep the apples and pears in. Then of anight I used to transfer the writing on the slate to a book, and tellOld Brownsmith what I had put down, reading the items over and summingup the quantities and the amounts they fetched when the salesmen'saccounts came from Covent Garden.

  The men and women about the place--all very quiet, thoughtful people--generally had a smile for me when I said good-morning, and I went oncapitally, my old troubles being distant and the memories less painfulday by day.

  But somehow I never got on with Shock. I didn't want to make acompanion of him, but I did not want him to be an enemy, and that healways seemed to be.

  He never threw lumps of soil or apples or potatoes at me now; but hewould often make-believe to be about to hurl something, and if he couldnot get away because of his work he always turned his back.

  "He does
n't like me, Ike," I said to the big gardener one day.

  "No, he don't, that's sartain," said Ike. "He's jealous of you, like,because the ganger makes so much of you."

  "Mr Brownsmith would make as much of him if he would be smart andclean, and act like other boys," I said.

  "Yes, but that's just what he won't do, won't Shock. You see, young'un, he's a 'riginal--a reg'lar 'riginal, and you can't alter him.Ain't tried to lick you again, has he?"

  "Oh, no!" I said; "and he does not throw at me."

  "Don't shy at you now! Well, I wonder at that," said Ike. "He's awunner at shying. He can hit anything with a stone. I've seen himknock over a bird afore now, and when he gets off in the fields of anevening I've often knowed him bring back a rabbit."

  "What does he do with it?"

  "Do with it! Come, there's a good 'un. Cook it down in the shed, andeat it. He'd eat a'most anything. But don't you mind him. It don'tmatter whether he's pleased or whether he ain't. If he's too hard onyou, hit him again, and don't be afraid."

  In fact the more I saw of Shock, the more distant he grew; and though Itried to make friends with him by putting slices of bread and butter andbits of cold pudding in the shed down the garden that he used to like tomake his home at meal-time and of an evening, he used to eat them, andwe were as bad friends as ever.

  One morning, when there was rather a bigger fire than usual down in theold tool-shed, I walked to the door, and found Shock on his kneesapparently making a pudding of soft clay, which he was kneading andbeating about on the end of the hearthstone.

  I looked round for the twig, for I felt sure that he was going to usethe clay for pellets to sling at me, but there was no stick visible.

  As I came to the doorway he just glanced over his shoulder; and then,seeing who it was, he shuffled round a little more and went on.

  "What are you doing, Shock?" I asked.

  He made no reply, but rapidly pinched off pieces of the clay and roughlyformed them into the head, body, legs, and arms of a human being, whichhe set up against the wall, and then with a hoarse laugh knocked into ashapeless mass with one punch of his clay-coated fist.

  "He meant that for me," I said to myself; and I was going to turn awaywhen I caught sight of something lying in the shadow beneath the littleold four-paned window.

  It was something I had never seen before except in pictures; and I wasso interested that I stepped in and was about to pick up the object, butShock snatched it away.

  "Where did you get it?" I said eagerly.

  He did not answer for a few moments, and then said gruffly, "Fields."

  "It's a hedgehog, isn't it?" I said. "Here, let me look." He slowlylaid the little prickly animal down on the earthen floor and pushed ittowards me--a concession of civility that was wonderful for Shock; and Ieagerly examined the curious little creature, pricking my fingers a gooddeal in the efforts to get a good look at the little black-faced animalwith its pointed snout.

  "What are you going to do with it?" I said.

  Shock looked up at me in a curious half-cunning way, as he beat out hisclay into a broad sheet; and then, as if about to make a pudding, hemade the hedgehog into a long ball, laid it on the clay, and covered itup, rolling it over and over till there was nothing visible but a clayball.

  "What a baby you are, Shock, playing at making mud puddings!" I said.

  He did not reply, only smiled in a half-pitying way, took an oldbroomstick that he used for a poker, and scraping the ashes of the fireaside rolled the clay pig-pudding into the middle of the fire, and thencovered it over with the burning ashes, and piled on some bits of woodand dry cabbage-stumps, making up a good fire, which he set himself towatch.

  It was a wet day, and there was nothing particular to do in the garden;so I stood looking at Shock's cookery for a time, and then grew tiredand was coming away when for a wonder he spoke.

  "Be done soon," he said.

  Just then I heard my name called, and running through the rain I foundthat Old Brownsmith wanted me for a while about some entries that hecould not find in the book, and which he thought had not been made.

  I was able, however, to show him that the entries had been made; and assoon as I was at liberty I ran down the garden again to see how thecookery was going on.

  As I reached the door the little shed was all of a glow, for Shock wasraking the fire aside, but, apparently not satisfied, he raked it allback again, and for the next half hour he amused himself piling upscraps of wood and refuse to make the fire burn, ending at last byraking all away, leaving the lump of clay baked hard and red.

  I had been standing by the door watching him all the time; and now hejust turned his head and looked at me over his shoulder as he rose andtook a little old battered tin plate from where it stuck beneath therough thatch, giving it a rub on the tail of his jacket.

  "Like hedgehog?" he said grimly.

  "No," I cried with a look of disgust.

  "You ain't tasted it," he said, growing wonderfully conversational as hetook a hand-bill from a nail where it hung.

  Then, kneeling down before the fire, he gave the hard clay ball a sharpblow with the hand-bill, making it crack right across and fall open,showing the little animal steaming hot and evidently done, the bristlyskin adhering to the clay shell that had just been broken, so that therewas no difficulty in turning it out upon the tin plate, the shell in twohalves being cast upon the fire, where the interior began to burn.

  It seemed very horrible!

  It seemed very nice!

  I thought in opposite directions in the following moments, and all thetime my nose was being assailed by a very savoury odour, for the cookerysmelt very good.

  "You won't have none--will you?" said Shock, without looking at me.

  "No," I said shortly; "it isn't good to eat. You might as well eatrats."

  "I like rats," he replied, coolly taking out his knife from one pocket,a piece of bread from the other; and to my horror he rapidly ate up thehedgehog, throwing the bones on the fire as he picked them, and endingby rubbing the tin plate over with a bit of old gardener's apron whichhe took from the wall.

  "Well," I said sarcastically, "was it nice?"

  "Bewfle!" he said, giving his lips a smack and then sighing.

  "Did you say you eat rats?" I continued.

  "Yes."

  "And mice too?"

  "No; there ain't nuffin' on 'em--they're all bones."

  "Do you eat anything else?"

  "Snails."

  "Yes, I've seen you eat the nasty slimy things."

  "They ain't nasty slimy things; they're good."

  "Do you eat anything else?"

  "Birds."

  "What?" I said.

  "Birds--blackbirds, and thrushes, and sparrers, and starlings. Ketches'em in traps like I do the rats."

  "But do you really eat rats?"

  "Yes--them as comes after the apples in the loft and after the corn.They are good."

  "But don't you get enough to eat at home?" I asked him.

  "Home!--what, here?"

  "No, I mean your home."

  "What, where I sleeps? Sometimes."

  "But you're not obliged to eat these things. Does Mr Brownsmith know?"

  "Oh! yes, he knows. I like 'em. I eat frogs once. Ain't fish good? Iketch 'em in the medders."

  "Where you saved me when I was drowning?" I said hastily.

  Shock turned his face away from me and knelt there, throwing scraps ofwood, cinder, and dirt into the fire, with his head bent down; andthough I tried in all kinds of ways to get him to speak again, not asingle word would he say.

  I gave him up as a bad job at last and left him.

  That night, just before going to bed, Old Brownsmith sent me out to oneof the packing-sheds to fetch the slate, which had been forgotten. Itwas dark and starlight, for the wind had risen and the rain had beenswept away.

  I found the slate after fumbling a little about the bench, and was on myway back to
the door of the long packing-shed when I heard a curiousrustling in the loft overhead, followed by a thump on the board as ifsomething had fallen, and then a heavy breathing could be heard--aregular heavy breathing that was almost a snore.

  For a few moments I stood listening, and then, feeling veryuncomfortable, I stole out, ran into the house, and stood before OldBrownsmith with the slate.

  "Anything the matter?" he said.

  "There's someone up in the loft over the packing-shed--asleep," I saidhoarsely.

  "In the loft!" he said quickly. "Oh! it is only Shock. He often sleepsthere. You'll find his nest in amongst the Russia mats."

  Surely enough, when I had the curiosity next morning to go up the ladderand look in the loft, there was Shock's nest deep down amongst the matsthat were used to cover the frames in the frosty spring, and some ofthese were evidently used to cover him up.

  I came down, thinking that if I were Old Brownsmith I should make MasterShock go to his lodging and sleep of a night, and try whether I couldnot make him live like a Christian, and not go about feeding on snailsand hedgehogs and other odds and ends that he picked up in the fields.