Brownsmith's Boy Part 11

"No," he said, "I never did. I was content with plodding. I'm a regular 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 be in a hurry; wait and see if your relatives are going to do anything better 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, living there, and learning all about the flowers and fruit, excited me, longing as I was for some change.

"Yes, yes," he said, "wait, wait;" and he looked at me, and then about him in the slow meditative manner peculiar to gardeners; "we'll see, we'll see, wait till you know whether your people are going to do anything for you."

"But, indeed, sir," I began.

"Yes, yes, I know, boy," he replied; but we must wait. "Perhaps they've planted a business bulb for you, and we must wait and see whether it is going to shoot and blossom. You're impatient; you want to pull up the bulb 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 with you; if they do not find you something better to do, I'll take you on here at once, and do the best I can for you, as far as teaching you to be a gardener goes."

"O, thank you, sir!" I cried.

"Wait a bit," he said quietly, "wait a bit. There I'm going to be very busy; 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 the same time disappointed, and as I neared the end of the big loft I heard two or three more baskets come rattling down.

CHAPTER SIX.

I DECIDE AND GO TO WORK.

I felt that I ought to write to my uncles and cousins, and I consulted Mrs Beeton about it.

Mrs Beeton put her head on one side and tried how far she could get her arm down the black worsted stocking she was darning, looking at me meditatively the while.

"Well, do you know," she said, "if I were you, my dear, I would write; for it do seem strange to leave you here, as I may say, all alone."

"Then I will write," I said. "I want to know what I am going to be."

"Oh! I should be a soldier, like your dear pa was, if I were you," she said; "and I'd go into a regiment where they wore blue and silver-blue and silver always looks so well."

"I don't want to be a soldier," I said rather sadly, for my fancy did at one time go strongly in that direction; but it did not seem so very long since the news came that my poor father had been killed in a skirmish with the Indians; and I remembered how my poor mother had thrown her arms round my neck and sobbed, and made me promise that I would never think of being a soldier. And then it seemed as if after that news she had gradually drooped and faded, just as a flower might upon its stalk, till two years had gone by, and then all happened as I have related to you, and I was left pretty well alone in the world.

"I'm sorry you don't want to be a soldier," said Mrs Beeton, looking at me through her gla.s.ses, with her head a little more on one side. "If I had been a young gentleman I should have been a horse-soldier. I wouldn't be a sailor if I was you, sir."

"Why not?" I said.

"Because they do smell so of tar, and they're so rough and boisterous."

"I think I shall be a gardener," I said.

"A what?"

"A gardener."

"My dear boy!" she cried in horror, "whatever put that in your head?

Why, you couldn't be anything worse. There!--I do declare you startled me so I've stuck the needle right into my finger, and it bleeds!"

We had many arguments about the matter while I was waiting for answers to my letters, for no one came down to see me.

Uncle Thomas said he was going to see about my being put in a good public school, but there was no hurry; and perhaps it would be better to wait and see what Uncle Johnson meant to do, for he should not like to offend him, as he was much better off, and it might be doing me harm.

Uncle Johnson wrote a very short letter, saying that I had better write to my Uncle Frederick.

Second-cousin Willis did not reply for a week, and he said it was the duty of one of my uncles to provide for me; and he should make a point of bringing them both to book if they did not see about something for me before long.

One or two other relatives wrote to me that they were not in circ.u.mstances to help me, and that if they were strong, stout boys such as I was, they would try and get a situation, for it was no disgrace to earn my living; and they wished me well.

I took all these letters over to Mr Brownsmith, and he read them day after day as they came; but he did not say a word, and it made my heart sink, as it seemed to me that he was repenting of his offer.

And so a month slipped by; and when I was not reading or writing I found myself gazing out of the window at the pleasant old garden, where the fruit was being gathered day after day. The time was pa.s.sing, and the chances of my going over to Brownsmith's seemed to me growing remote, while I never seemed to have seen so much of Shock.

It appeared to me that he must know of my disappointment; for whenever he saw me at the window, and could do so unseen, he threw dabs of clay, or indulged in derisive gestures more extravagant than ever.

I affected to take no heed of these antics, but they annoyed me all the same; and I found myself wis.h.i.+ng at times that Mr Brownsmith would take me, if only to give me a chance of some day thras.h.i.+ng that objectionable boy.

I was sitting very disconsolately at the window one day, with a table on which I had been writing drawn up very close to the bay, when I heard a footstep below, and looking down there was Old Brownsmith, who nodded to me familiarly and came up.

"Well," he said, "how are you? Nice weather for my work."

He sat down, pursed up his lips, and looked about him for some minutes without speaking.

"News," he said, "any news?"

"No, sir," I replied.

"Humph! Not going to make you manager of the Bank of England or Master of the Mint--eh?"

"No, sir. I have had no more news."

"I was afraid you wouldn't," he continued. "Well, I told you the other day not to be rash, for there was plenty of time."

"Yes, sir."

"Now I'm going to change my tune."

I jumped up excitedly.

"Yes, change my tune," he said. "You're wasting time now. What do you say after thinking it over?--like to come?"

"May I, sir?" I cried joyfully.