CHAPTER FIVE.
BEGINNING A NEW LIFE.
I don't want to say much about a sad, sad time in my life, but oldBrownsmith played so large a part in it then that I feel bound to set itall down.
I saw very little more of George Day, for just about that time he wassent off to another school; and I am glad to recollect that I wentlittle away from the invalid who used to watch me with such wistfuleyes.
I had no more lessons in swimming, but I saved up a shilling for aparticular purpose, and that was to give to Shock; but though I tried toget near him time after time when I was in the big garden with mymother, no sooner did I seem to be going after him than the boy went offlike some wild thing--diving in amongst the bushes, and, knowing thegarden so well, he soon got out of sight.
I did not want to send the present by anybody, for that seemed to melike entering into explanations why I sent the money; and I knew that ifthe news reached my mother's ears that I had been half-drowned, it wouldcome upon her like a terrible shock; and she was, I knew now, too ill tobear anything more.
So though I was most friendly in my disposition towards Shock, andwanted to pay him in my mild way for saving my life, he persisted inlooking upon me as an enemy, and threw clay, clods, and, so to speak,derisive gestures, whenever we met at a distance.
"I won't run after him any more," I said to myself one day. "He's halfa wild beast, and if he wants us to be enemies, we will."
I suppose I knew a good deal for my age, as far as education went. If Ihad been set to answer the questions in an examination paper I believe Ishould have failed; but all the same I had learned a great deal ofFrench, German, and Latin, and I could write a fair hand and expressmyself decently on paper. But when I sat at our window watching Shock'swonderful activity, and recalled how splendidly he must be able to swim,I used to feel as if I were a very inferior being, and that he was along way ahead of me.
As the time went on our visits to the garden used to grow less frequent;but whenever the weather was fine and my mother felt equal to the task,we used to go over; and towards the end old Brownsmith's big armedWindsor chair, with its cushions, used to be set under a big quince treein the centre walk, just where there were most flowers, and as soon aswe had reached it the old fellow used to come down with a piece ofcarpet to double up and put beneath my mother's feet.
"Used to be a bit of a spring here," he said with a nod to me; "might bea little damp."
Then he would leave a couple of cats, "just for company like," he wouldsay, and then go softly away.
I did not realise it was so near when that terrible time came and Ifollowed my poor mother to her grave, seeing everything about me in astrange, unnatural manner. One minute it seemed to be real; then againas if it were all a dream. There were people about me in black, and Iwas in black, but I was half stunned, listening to the words that weresaid; and at last I was left almost alone, for those who were with mestepped back a yard or two.
I was gazing down with my eyes dimmed and a strange aching feeling at myheart, when I felt someone touch my elbow, and turning round to followwhoever it was, I found old Brownsmith there, in his black clothes andwhite neckerchief, holding an enormous bunch of white roses in his arms.
"Thought you'd like it, my lad," he said in a low husky voice. "Sheused to be very fond o' my white roses, poor soul!"
As he spoke he nodded and took his great pruning-knife from his coatpocket, opened it with his teeth, and cut the strip of sweet-scentedRussia mat. Then holding them ready in his arms he stood there while Islowly scattered the beautiful flowers down more and more, more andmore, till the coffin was nearly covered, and instead of the black clothI saw beneath me the fragrant heap of flowers, and the dear, loving facethat had gazed so tenderly in mine seemed once more to be looking in myeyes.
I held the last two roses in my hand for a moment or two, hesitating,but I let them fall at last; and then the tears I had kept back so longcame with a rush, and I sank down on my knees sobbing as if my heartwould break.
It was one of my uncles who laid his hand upon my shoulder and made mestart as he bent over me, and said in a low, chilling voice:
"Get up, my boy; we are going back. Come!--be a man!"
I did get up in a weary, wretched way, and as I did so I looked roundafter old Brownsmith, and there he was a little distance off, watchingme, it seemed. Then we went back, my relatives who were there takingvery little notice of me; and I was made the more wretched by hearingone cousin, whom I had never seen before, say angrily that he did notapprove of that last scene being made--"such an exhibition with thoseflowers."
It was about a month after that sad scene that I went over to see oldBrownsmith. I was very young, but my life with my invalid mother had, Isuppose, made me thoughtful; and though I used to sit a great deal atthe window I felt as if I had not the heart to go into the great garden,where every path and bed would seem to bring up one of the days whensomebody used to be sitting there, watching the flowers and listening tothe birds.
I used to fancy that if I went down any of her favourite walks I shouldburst out crying; and I had a horror of doing that, for the knowledgewas beginning to dawn upon me that a great change was coming over mylife, and that I must begin to think of acting like a man.
As I turned in at the gate I saw Shock at the door of one of the loftsover the big packing-sheds. He had evidently gone up there after somebaskets, and as soon as I saw him I walked quickly in his direction; buthe darted out of sight in the loft; and if I had any idea of scaling theladder and going up to him to take him by storm, it was checked at once,for a half-sieve basket--one of those flat, round affairs in which fruitis packed--came flying out of the door, and then another and another,one after the other, at a tremendous rate, quite sufficient to haveknocked me backwards before I was half-way up.
"A brute!" I said angrily to myself. "I'll treat him with contempt;"and striding away I went down the garden, with the creaking, banging ofthe falling baskets going on. And when I turned to look, some fiftyyards away, there was a big heap of the round wicker-work flats at thefoot of the ladder, and others kept on flying out of the door.
I had not gone far before I saw old Brownsmith busy as usual amongst hiscats; and as he rose from stooping to tie up a plant he caught sight ofme, and immediately turned down the path where I was.
He held out his great rough hand, took mine, and shook it up and downgently for quite a minute, just as if it had been the handle of a pump.
"Seen my new pansies?" he said.
I shook my head.
"No, of course you haven't," he said. "Well, how are you?"
I said I was pretty well, and hoped he was. "Middling," he replied."Want more sun. Can't get my pears to market without more sun."
"It has been dull," I said.
"Splendid for planting out, my lad, but bad for ripening off. Well, howare you?"
I said again that I was very well; and he looked at me thoughtfully, putone end of a bit of matting between his teeth, and drew it out tightlywith his left hand. Then he began to twang it thoughtfully, and made itgive out a dull musical note.
"Seen my new pansies?" he said--"no, of course not," he added quickly;"and I asked you before. Come and look at them."
He led me to a bed which was full of beautifully rounded,velvety-petalled flowers.
"What do you think of them?" he said--"eh? There's a fine one,_Mulberry Superb_; rich colour--eh?"
"They are lovely," I said warmly.
"Hah! yes!" he said, looking at me thoughtfully; "she liked white roses,though--yes, white roses--and they are all over."
My lip began to quiver, but I mastered the emotion and he went on:
"Thought I should have seen you before, my lad. Didn't think I shouldsee you for some time. Thought perhaps I should never see you again.Thought you'd be sure to come and say `Good-bye!' before you went.Contradictions--eh?"
"I always meant to come over and see you, Mr Brownsmith," I said.
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"Of course you did, my lad. Been damp and cold. Want more sun badly."
I said I hoped the weather would soon change, and I began to feeluncomfortable and was just thinking I would go, when he thrust the pieceof matting in his pocket, and took up and began stroking one of thecats.
"Ah! it's a bad job, my lad!" he said softly--"a terrible job!"
I nodded.
"A sad job, my lad!--a very sad job!"
I nodded again, and waited till a choking sensation had gone off.
"Boys don't think enough about their mothers--some boys don't," he wenton. "I didn't, till she was took away. You did--stopped with her adeal."
"I'm afraid,"--I began.
"I'm not," he said, interrupting me hastily. "I notice a deal--weather,and people, and children, and boys, and things growing. Want sunbadly--don't we?"
"Yes, sir," I said; and I looked up in his florid face, with its bushywhite whiskers; and then I looked at his great bulging pockets, and nextdown lower at his black legs, which the cats were turning intorubbing-posts; and as they served me the same in the most friendlymanner I began wondering whether he ever brushed his black trousers, andthought of what a job I should have to get all the cats' hairs off mine.
For there they all were, quite a little troop, arching their backs andpurring, sticking their tails straight up, and every now and then givingtheir ends a flick.
They were so friendly in their rubbings against me that I did not liketo refuse to accept their salutes; but it seemed to me as if only thelight-coloured hairs came off, and in a short time I was furry from theknees of my black trousers down to my boots.
There was something, too, of welcome in their ways that was pleasant tome in my desolate position, for just then I seemed as if I had not onefriend in the world; and even Mr Brownsmith seemed strange and cold,and as if he would be very glad when I was gone and he could get alongwith his work.
"There, there," he cried suddenly, "we mustn't fret about it, you know.It's what we must all come to, and I don't hold with people making itout dreadful. It's very sad, boy, so it is. Dull weather too. Whenall my trees and plants die off for the winter, we don't call thatdreadful, because we know they'll all bud and leaf and blossom againafter their long sleep; and so it is with them as has gone away. There,there, there, you must try to be a man."
"Yes, sir," I said; "I am trying very hard."
"That's the way," he cried; "that's the way;" and he clapped me on theshoulder. "To be sure it is hard work, though, when you are on'y twelveor thirteen years old."
"Yes, sir."
"But look here, boy, there's a tremendous deal done by a lad who makesup his mind to try; do you see?"
"Yes sir, I see," I said, looking at him wonderingly, for he did notseem to want to get rid of me now, as he was holding me tightly by thearm.
"'Member coming for the strawberries?" he said drily.
"Yes, sir."
"Thought me a disagreeable old fellow, didn't you then?"
I hesitated, but he looked at me sharply.
"Yes, sir, I did then," I said. "I did not know how kind you could be."
"That's just what I am," he said gruffly; "very disagreeable."
I shook my head.
"I am," he said. "Ask any of my men and women. Here--what's going tobecome of you, my lad--what are you going to be--soldier like yourfather?"
"Oh no!" I said.
"What then?"
"I don't know, sir. I believe I am to wait till my uncles and myfather's cousin have settled."
"How many of them are to settle it, boy?"
"Four, sir."
"Four, eh, my boy! Ah, then I suppose it will take a lot of settling!You'll have to wait."
"Yes, sir, I've got to wait," I said.
"But have you no prospects?"
"Oh yes, sir!" I said. "I believe I have."
"Well, what?"
"My uncle Frederick said that I must make up my mind to go somewhere andearn my own living."
"That's a nice prospect."
"Yes, sir."
He was silent for a moment or two, and then smiled.
"Well, you're right," he said. "It is a nice prospect, though you and Iwere thinking different things. I like a boy to make up his mind toearn his living when he is called upon to do it. Makes him busy andself-reliant--makes a man of him. Did he say how?"
"Who, sir--my uncle Frederick?"
"Yes."
"No, sir, he only said that I must wait."
"Like I have to wait for the sun to ripen my fruit, eh? Ah, but I don'tlike that. If the sun don't come I pick it, and store it under cover toripen as well as it will."
I looked at him wonderingly.
"That waiting," he went on, "puts me in mind of the farmer and his cornin the fable--get out, cats!--he waited till he found that the properthing to do was to get his sons to work and cut the corn themselves."
"Yes, sir," I said smiling; "and then the lark thought it was time totake her young ones away."
"Good, lad; right!" he cried. "That fable contains the finest lesson aboy can learn. Don't you wait for others to help you: help yourself."
"I'll try, sir."
"That's right. Ah! I wish I had always been as wise as that lark."
"Then you would not wait if you were me, sir?" I said, looking up athim wonderingly.
"Not a week, my lad, if you can get anything to do. Fact is, I've beenlooking into it, and your relations are all waiting for each other totake you in hand. There isn't one of them wants the job."
I sighed, and said:
"I'm afraid I shall be a great deal of trouble to them, sir, and anenormous expense."
"Oh, you think so, do you!" he said, stooping down and lifting up firstone cat and then another, stroking them gently the while. Then one ofthem, as usual, leaped upon his back. "Well, look here, my boy," hesaid thoughtfully, "that's all nonsense about expense! I--"
He stopped short and went on stroking one cat's back, as it rubbedagainst his leg, and he seemed to be thinking very deeply.
"Yes, all nonsense. See here; wait for a week or two, perhaps one ofyour uncles may find you something to do, or send you to a good school,eh?"
"No, sir," I said; "my uncle Frederick said I must not expect to be sentto a school."
"Oh he did, did he?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, then, if nothing better turns up--if they don't find you a goodplace, you might come and help me."
"Help you, sir!" I said wonderingly; "what, learn to be amarket-gardener?"
"Yes, there's nothing so very dreadful in that, is there?"
"Oh no, sir! but what could I do?"
"Heaps of things. Tally the bunches and check the sieves, learn to budand graft, and how to cut young trees, and--oh, I could find you enoughto do."
I looked at him aghast, and began to see in my mind's eye rough, dirtyShock, crawling about on his hands and knees, and digging out the weedsfrom among the onions with his fingers.
"Oh, there's lots of things you could do!" he continued. "Why, of anight you might use your pen and help me do the booking, and read andimprove yourself while I sat and smoked my pipe. Cats don't come intothe house."
"Do you mean that I should come and live with you, sir?" I said.
"That's it, my boy, always supposing you couldn't do any better. Couldyou?"
I shook my head. "I don't think so, sir," I said dismally.
"Not such a good life for a boy in winter when things are bare, as insummer when the flowers are out and the fruit comes on. Like fruit,don't you?"
"Yes, sir, but you don't let your boys eat the fruit."
"Tchah! I should never miss what you would eat," he said with a laugh,"and you would soon get tired of the apples and pears and gooseberries.Think you'd like to come, eh-em? You don't know; of course you don't.Wouldn't make a gentleman of you. I never heard of a gentlemangardener; plenty of gentlemen farmers, though."
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p; "Yes, sir," I said, with my heart beating fast, "I've heard of gentlemenfarmers."
"But not of gentlemen market-gardeners, eh? No, my boy, they don't callus gentlemen, and I never professed to be one; but a man may be agentleman at heart whatever his business, and that's better than being agentleman in name."
I looked up in his fresh red face, and there was such a kindly look init that I felt happier than I had been for weeks, and I don't know whatmoved me to do it, but I laid my hand upon his arm.
He looked down at me thoughtfully as he went on.
"People are rather strange about these things. Gentleman farmercultivates a hundred acres of land that he pays a hundred and fiftypounds a year for say: market-gardener cultivates twenty acres that hepays two or three hundred for; and they call the one a gentleman, theother a gardener. But it don't matter, Master Dennison, a bit. Doesit?"
"No, sir," I said, "I don't think so."
"Old business, gardening," he went on, with a dry look at me--"very old.Let me see. There was a man named Adam took to it first, wasn't there?Cultivated a garden, didn't he?"
I nodded and smiled.
"Ah, yes," he said; "but that was a long time ago, and you've not beenbrought up for such a business. You wouldn't like it."
"Indeed, but I should, sir," I cried enthusiastically.
"No, no," he said, deliberately. "Don't be in a hurry to choose, myboy. I knew a lad once who said he would like to be a sailor, and hewent to sea and had such a taste of it from London to Plymouth that hewould not go any farther, and they had to set him ashore."
"He must have been a great coward," I said.
"To be sure he was; but then you might be if you pricked your fingerwith the thorns of a rose, or had to do something in the garden when itwas freezing hard, eh?"
"I don't think I should be," I replied.
"But you must think," he said. "It's very nice to see flowers bloomingand fruit fit to pick with the sun shining and the sky blue; but life isnot all summer, my boy, is it? There are wet days and storms, and roughtimes, and the flowers you see blossoming have been got ready in thecold wintry weather, when they were only seeds, or bare shabby-lookingroots."
"Yes, I know that," I said.
"And you think you would like to come?"
"Yes, sir."
"What for? to play in the garden, and look on while the work is done?"
"I think I should be ashamed to do that," I said; "it would be so lazy.If you please, Mr Brownsmith, I've got to work and do something, and ifyou will have me, I should like to come."
"Well, well," he said, "mine's a good business and profitable andhealthy, and there are times when, in spite of bad crops, bad weather,and market losses, I thank God that I took to such a pleasant andinstructive way of getting a living."
"It is instructive then, sir?" I said.
"Instructive, my lad!" he cried with energy. "I don't know any businessthat is more full of teaching. I've been at it all my life, and theolder I grow the more I find there is to learn."
"I like that," I said, for it opened out a vista of adventure to me thatseemed full of bright flowers and sunshine.
"A man who has brains may go on learning and making discoveries, notdiscoveries of countries and wonders, but of little things that may makematters better for the people who are to come after him. Then he mayturn a bit of the England where he works into a tropical country, bycovering it over with glass, and having a stove; then some day, if hegoes on trying, he may find himself able to write FRHS at the end of hisname."
"And did you, sir?"
"No," he said, "I never did. I was content with plodding. I'm aregular plodder, you see; so's Samuel."
"Is he, sir?" I said, for he evidently wanted me to speak.
"Yes, a regular plodder. Well, there, my boy, we'll see. Don't you bein a hurry; wait and see if your relatives are going to do anythingbetter for you. If they are not, don't you be in a hurry."
But I was in a hurry, for the idea of coming to that garden, livingthere, and learning all about the flowers and fruit, excited me, longingas I was for some change.
"Yes, yes," he said, "wait, wait;" and he looked at me, and then abouthim in the slow meditative manner peculiar to gardeners; "we'll see,we'll see, wait till you know whether your people are going to doanything for you."
"But, indeed, sir," I began.
"Yes, yes, I know, boy," he replied; but we must wait. "Perhaps they'veplanted a business bulb for you, and we must wait and see whether it isgoing to shoot and blossom. You're impatient; you want to pull up thebulb and see if it has any roots yet."
I looked at him in a disappointed way, and he smiled.
"Come, come," he said; "at your age you can afford to wait a few days,if it is for your good. There, wait and see, and I'll be plain withyou; if they do not find you something better to do, I'll take you onhere at once, and do the best I can for you, as far as teaching you tobe a gardener goes."
"O, thank you, sir!" I cried.
"Wait a bit," he said quietly, "wait a bit. There I'm going to be verybusy; I've got a cart to load. So now suppose you be off."
I shook hands with him and walked away surprised and pleased, but at thesame time disappointed, and as I neared the end of the big loft I heardtwo or three more baskets come rattling down.
Brownsmith's Boy: A Romance in a Garden Page 5