Brownsmith's Boy Part 54

"That's right," he said, patting me on the shoulder; "always try and like your work; take a pride in it, my man, and it will turn up trumps some time or another. It means taking prizes."

I had not seen Sir Francis yet, for he had been away, and I could not help feeling a little nervous about our first meeting. Still I was pretty happy there, and I felt that in spite of a few strong sensations of longing to be back at the old garden with Ike and Shock, I was getting to like my new life very much indeed, and that as soon as the two boys had gone back to their school I should be as happy as could be.

I was gradually getting to like Mr Solomon, and Mrs Solomon grew more kind to me every day. The men about the garden, too, were all very civil to me, and beyond a little bit of good-humoured banter from them now and then I had no cause for complaint.

My great fear was that they would catch up the name young Philip had bestowed upon me. That they knew of it I had pretty good evidence, for one day when I was busy over one of the verbena beds--busy at a task Mr Solomon had set me after the sun had made the peach-house too hot, a big bluff gardener came and worked close by me, mowing the gra.s.s in a shady part under some trees.

"It's dry, and cuts like wire," he said, stopping to wipe his scythe and give it a touch with the stone, making the blade ring and send forth what always sounded to be pleasant music to me.

"Oughtn't you to cut it when the dew is on?" I said.

"Yes, squire, if you can," he replied; "but there is so much gra.s.s we can't get over it all in the early morning."

He went on mowing, and I continued my task of pegging down the long shoots of the beautiful scarlet, crimson, and white flowers, just as Mr Solomon had instructed me, when all at once he came and looked on, making me feel very nervous; but he nodded and went away, so I supposed he was satisfied, and I worked on again as cheerfully as could be, till all at once I felt the blood flush up in my face, for the voice of young Philip Dalton came unpleasantly grating on my ear, as he said:

"Hullo, Bunce, mowing again?"

"Yes, Master Philup, mowin' again."

"Why, you've got the pauper there!" cried Philip. "I say, did you know he was a pauper?"

"No," said Bunce, "I didn't know. Do you want your legs ampytated?"

"No, stoopid, of course I don't."

"Then get outer the way or I shall take 'em off like carrots."

"Get out!" said Philip, as I saw that he was watching me. "I say, though, did you know that he was a pauper, and lived on skilly?"

"No," said the gardener quietly; and I felt as if I must get up and go away, for now I knew I should be a mark of contempt for the whole staff who worked in the garden.

"He was," said Philip.

"Pauper, was he?" said Bunce, making his scythe glide round in a half circle. "I shouldn't ha' thought it."

"Oh but he was or is, and always will be," said the boy maliciously.

"Once a pauper always a pauper. Look at him."

"I've been a looking at him," said Bunce slowly, for he was a big meditative man, and he stood upright, took a piece of flannel from the strap that supported his whetstone sheath, and wiped the blade of the scythe.

"Well, can't you see?" cried my tormentor, watching me as I worked away and a.s.sumed ignorance of his presence.

"No," said Bunce st.u.r.dily; "and seeing what a long, yellow, lizardly-looking wisp you are, Master Phil, if you two changed clothing I should pick you out as the pauper."

"How dare you!" cried the boy fiercely.

"Mind the scythe," shouted Bunce; "d'yer want to get cut?"

"You insolent old worm chopper, how dare you call me a pauper?"

"I didn't call you a pauper," said Bunce chuckling; "did I, Grant?"

"No," I said.

"You're a liar, you pauper!" cried the boy, who was furious. "I'll tell papa--I'll tell Sir Francis, and you shall both be discharged, you blackguards."

"I'm just going to mow there, squire," said Bunce, sharpening away at his scythe.

"Then you'll wait till I choose to move."

"If you don't get out of the way I shall take the soles off your boots,"

said Bunce, putting back his rubber.

"I'll speak to papa about your insolence," cried the boy, with his eyes flas.h.i.+ng and his fists clenched; and I thought he was going to strike Bunce.

"Well," said a sharp ringing voice, "speak to him then. What is it?"

I started to my feet, and Bunce touched his cap to a tall elderly gentleman with closely-cut grey hair and a very fierce-looking white moustache, whose keen eyes seemed to look me through and through.

"I said, what is it, Phil?" cried the newcomer, whom I felt to be Sir Francis before Philip spoke.

"This fellow called me a pauper, pa!"

Sir Francis turned sharply on Bunce, who did not seem in the slightest degree alarmed.

"How dare you call my son a pauper, sir?" he said sternly.

"I--"

"Stop!" cried Sir Francis. "Here, you boy, go away and wait till I call you. Not far."

"Yes, sir," I said; and I walked away thinking what a fierce quick man he seemed, and not knowing then that he was one of the magistrates.

A minute later he called to me to go back, and as soon as I had reached him, with Philip by his side and Bunce before him, Philip stepped back and held up his fist at me menacingly.

He thought the movement was un.o.bserved by his stepfather; but Sir Francis, who was an old Indian officer, noted the act, as he showed us directly after.

"Now, boy," he said, "what's your name?"

"Grant, Sir Francis."

"Well, Grant, did this under-gardener call Master Philip a pauper?"

I told him exactly what had occurred, and Sir Francis turned sharply on his step-son.

"You were already self-condemned, Philip," he said sternly. "I saw you threaten this boy with your fist. The way to win respect from those beneath you in station is to treat them with respect."

"But, papa--"