Brownsmith's Boy Part 9

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 went on. "I didn't, till she was took away. You did--stopped with her a deal."

"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 sun badly--don't we?"

"Yes, sir," I said; and I looked up in his florid face, with its bushy white whiskers; and then I looked at his great bulging pockets, and next down lower at his black legs, which the cats were turning into rubbing-posts; and as they served me the same in the most friendly manner I began wondering whether he ever brushed his black trousers, and thought 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 and purring, sticking their tails straight up, and every now and then giving their ends a flick.

They were so friendly in their rubbings against me that I did not like to refuse to accept their salutes; but it seemed to me as if only the light-coloured hairs came off, and in a short time I was furry from the knees of my black trousers down to my boots.

There was something, too, of welcome in their ways that was pleasant to me in my desolate position, for just then I seemed as if I had not one friend 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 along with 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 it out dreadful. It's very sad, boy, so it is. Dull weather too. When all my trees and plants die off for the winter, we don't call that dreadful, because we know they'll all bud and leaf and blossom again after 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 the shoulder. "To be sure it is hard work, though, when you are on'y twelve or thirteen years old."

"Yes, sir."

"But look here, boy, there's a tremendous deal done by a lad who makes up his mind to try; do you see?"

"Yes sir, I see," I said, looking at him wonderingly, for he did not seem to want to get rid of me now, as he was holding me tightly by the arm.

"'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 to become of you, my lad--what are you going to be--soldier like your father?"

"Oh no!" I said.

"What then?"

"I don't know, sir. I believe I am to wait till my uncles and my father'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 and earn 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 I were thinking different things. I like a boy to make up his mind to earn his living when he is called upon to do it. Makes him busy and self-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't like that. If the sun don't come I pick it, and store it under cover to ripen as well as it will."

I looked at him wonderingly.

"That waiting," he went on, "puts me in mind of the farmer and his corn in the fable--get out, cats!--he waited till he found that the proper thing 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 to take her young ones away."

"Good, lad; right!" he cried. "That fable contains the finest lesson a boy 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 at him wonderingly.

"Not a week, my lad, if you can get anything to do. Fact is, I've been looking into it, and your relations are all waiting for each other to take you in hand. There isn't one of them wants the job."