Brownsmith's Boy Part 24

"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? I ketch '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 sc.r.a.ps of wood, cinder, and dirt into the fire, with his head bent down; and though I tried in all kinds of ways to get him to speak again, not a single 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 one of the packing-sheds to fetch the slate, which had been forgotten. It was dark and starlight, for the wind had risen and the rain had been swept away.

I found the slate after fumbling a little about the bench, and was on my way back to the door of the long packing-shed when I heard a curious rustling in the loft overhead, followed by a thump on the board as if something had fallen, and then a heavy breathing could be heard--a regular heavy breathing that was almost a snore.

For a few moments I stood listening, and then, feeling very uncomfortable, I stole out, ran into the house, and stood before Old Brownsmith with the slate.

"Anything the matter?" he said.

"There's someone up in the loft over the packing-shed--asleep," I said hoa.r.s.ely.

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWELVE.

AN AWKWARD PREDICAMENT.

For the next fortnight we were all very busy picking and packing fruit, and Ike was off every night about eleven or twelve with his load, coming back after market in the morning, and only doing a little work in the garden of an afternoon, and seeing to the packing ready for a fresh start in the night.

The weather was glorious, and the pears came on so fast that Shock and I were always picking so that they might not be too ripe.

It was a delightful time, for the novelty having gone off I was able to do my work with ease. I did not try to move the ladder any more, so I had no accident of that kind; and though I slipped once or twice, I was able to save myself, and began to feel quite at home up in the trees.

Every now and then if Shock was anywhere near he played some monkey trick or another. His idea evidently was to frighten me by seeming to fall or by hanging by hand or leg. But he never succeeded now, for I knew him too well; and though I admired his daring at times, when he threw himself backwards on the ladder and slid down head foremost clinging with his legs, I did not run to his help.

In spite of the conversation I had had with him in the shed, we were no better friends next time we met, or rather when we nearly met, for whenever he saw me coming he turned his back and went off in another direction.

As I said, a fortnight had pa.s.sed, and the fruit-picking was at its height as far as pears and apples went, when one night, after a very hot day, when the cart was waiting in the yard, loaded up high with bushel and half-bushel baskets, and the horse was enjoying his corn, and rattling his chain by the manger, I left Old Brownsmith smoking his pipe and reading a seed-list, and strolled out into the garden.

It was a starlight night, and very cool and pleasant, as I went down one of the paths and then back along another, trying to make out the blossoms of the nasturtiums that grew so thickly along the borders just where I was.

The air smelt so sweet and fresh that it seemed to do me good, but I was thinking that I must be getting back into the house and up to my bed, when the fancy took me that I should like to go down the path as far as Mrs Beeton's house, and look at the window where I used to sit when Shock pelted me with clay.

The path was made with ashes, so that my footsteps were very quiet, and as I walked in the shadow of a large row of pear-trees I was almost invisible. In fact I could hardly see my own hand.

All at once I stopped short, for I heard a peculiar scratching noise and a whispering, and, though I could hardly distinguish anything, I was perfectly sure that somebody had climbed to the top of the wall, and was sitting there with a leg over our side, for I heard it rustling amongst the plum boughs.

"It's all right," was whispered; and then there was more scuffling, and it seemed to me that some one else had climbed up.

Then another and another, and then they seemed to pull up another one, so that I believed there were five people on the wall.

Then came some whispering, and I felt sure that they were boys, for one said:

"Now, then, all together!" in a boyish voice, when there was a lot of rustling and scratching, and I could hear the plum-tree branches trained to the wall torn down, one breaking right off, as the intruders dropped over into our garden.

For the moment I was puzzled. Then I knew what it meant, and a flush of angry indignation came into my cheeks.

"Boys after our pears!" I said to myself as my fists clenched. For I had become so thoroughly at home at Old Brownsmith's that everything seemed to belong to me, and I felt it was my duty to defend it.

I listened to make sure, and heard a lot of whispering going on as the marauders crossed the path I was on, rustled by amongst the gooseberry bushes, and went farther into the garden.

"They're after the _Marie Louise_ pears," I thought; and I was about to run and shout at them, for I knew that would startle them away; but on second thoughts I felt as if I should like to catch some of them, and turning, I ran softly back up the path, meaning to tell Mr Brownsmith.

But before I had reached the end of the path another idea had occurred to me. Old Brownsmith would not be able to catch one of the boys, but Shock would if he was up in the loft, and in the hope that he was sleeping there I ran to the foot of the steps, scrambled up, and pus.h.i.+ng back the door, which was only secured with a big wooden latch, I crept in as cautiously as I could.

"Shock!" I whispered. "Shock! Are you here?"

I listened, but there was not a sound.

"Shock!" I whispered again. "Shock!"

"If ver don't go I'll heave the hay-fork at yer," came in a low angry voice.

"No, no: don't," I said. "I want you. Come on, and bring a big stick: there's some boys stealing the pears."

There was a rustle and a scramble, and Shock was by my side, more full of life and excitement than I had ever noticed him before.

"Pears?" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely; "arter the pears? Where? Where are they?"

He kept on the move, making for the door and coming back, and behaving altogether like a dog full of expectation of a rush after some wild creature in a hunt.

"Be quiet or we sha'n't catch them," I whispered. "Some boys have climbed over the wall, and are after the _Marie Louise_ pears."

He stopped short suddenly.

"Yah!" he cried, "they ain't. It's your larks."