Brownsmith's Boy Part 5

"Look here," he said, offending me directly by catching hold of one end of my neckerchief, "you bring her over, and look here," he went on in a severe whisper, "you be a good boy to her, and try all you can to make her happy. Do you hear?"

"_Yes_, sir," I said. "I do try."

"That's right. Don't you worry her, because--because it's my opinion that she couldn't bear it, and boys are such fellows. Now you mind."

"Yes, sir," I said, "I'll mind;" and he went away, while, when I returned to the room where my mother was holding the flowers to her face, and seeming as if their beauty and sweetness were almost more than she could bear, I glanced towards the window, and there once more, with his head just above the wall, and peering through the thick bristling twigs, was that boy Shock, watching our window till old Brownsmith reached his gate.

Hardly a week had pa.s.sed before the old man got hold of me as I was going by his gate, taking me as usual by the end of my tie and leading me down the garden to cut some more flowers.

"You haven't brought her yet," he said. "Look here, if you don't bring her I shall think you are too proud."

"He shall not think that," my mother said; and for the next week or two she went across for a short time every day, while I walked beside her, for her to lean upon my shoulder, and to carry the folding seat so that she might sit down from time to time.

Upon these occasions I never saw Shock, and old Brownsmith never came near us. It was as if he wanted us to have the garden to ourselves for these walks, and to a great extent we did.

Of course I used to notice how often I had to spread out that chair for her to sit down under the shady trees; but I thought very little more of it. She was weak. Well, I knew that; but some people were weak, I said, and some were strong, and she would be better when it was not so hot.

CHAPTER FOUR.

A LESSON IN SWIMMING.

It was hot! One of those dry summers when the air seems to quiver with the heat, and one afternoon, as I was in my old place at the window watching Shock go to and fro, carrying baskets of what seemed to be beans, George Day came along.

"I say," he cried, "ask leave to come with us. We've got a half-holiday."

Just then I saw the bristling shoots on the wall shake, but I paid no heed, for I was too much interested in my new friend's words.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Oh, down the meadows! that's the best place, and there's no end of fun to be had. I'll take a fis.h.i.+ng-rod." I went to where my mother was lying down and asked her consent, receiving a feeble _yes_, and her hand went up to my neck, to draw me down that she might kiss me.

"Be back in good time," she whispered. "George Day, you said?"

"Yes; his father is something in London, and he goes to the grammar-school."

"Be back in good time," she whispered again; and getting my cap, I just caught sight of Shock at the top of the wall as I ran by the window.

"Poor fellow!" I thought, "how he, too, would like a holiday!"

"Here I am," I cried; and feeling as if I had been just released from some long confinement, I set off with my companion at a sharp run.

We had to call at his house, a large red brick place just at the end of the village, close to Isleworth church, where the rod was obtained, with a basket to hold bait, lines, and the fish that we were going to catch; and soon after we were down where the sleek cows were contentedly lying about munching, and giving their heads an angry toss now and then to keep off the flies.

Rich gra.s.s, golden b.u.t.ter-cups, bushes and trees whose boughs swept down towards the ground, swallows and swifts darting here and there, and beneath the vividly blue sky there was the river like so much damascened silver, for in those days one never thought about the mud.

I cannot describe the joy I felt in running here and there with my companion, and a couple of his school-fellows who had preceded us, and who saluted us as we approached with a shout.

We ran about till we were tired, and then the fis.h.i.+ng commenced from the bank, for the tide was well up, and according to my companion's account the fish were in plenty.

Perhaps they were, but though bait after bait was placed upon the hook, and the line thrown out to float along with the current, not a fish was caught, no vestige of that nerve-t.i.tillating tremble of the float--a bite--was seen.

Every now and then some one struck sharply, trying to make himself believe that roach or dace had taken the bait, but the movement of the float was always due to the line dragging the gravelly ground, or the bait touching one of the many weeds.

The sun was intensely hot, and scorched our backs, and burned our faces by flas.h.i.+ng back from the water, which looked cool and tempting, as it ran past our feet.

We fished on, sometimes one handling the rod and sometimes the other-- beginning by throwing in the line with whispered words, so as not to frighten the fish that were evidently not there, and ending by sending in bait and float with a splash, and with noise and joking.

"There's a big one," some one would cry, and a clod torn out from the bank, or a stone, would be thrown in amidst bursts of laughter.

"Oh it's not a jolly bit of good," cried one of the boys; "they won't bite to-day. I'm so thirsty, let's have a drink."

"No, no, don't drink the water," I said; "it isn't good enough."

"What shall we do then--run after the cows for a pen'orth of milk?"

"I say, look there," cried George Day; "the tide's turned. It's running down. We shall get plenty of fish now."

"Why, there's somebody bathing down below there," cried another of the boys.

"Yes, and can't he swim!"

"Let's all have a bathe," cried young Day.

"Ah, come on: it will be jolly here. Who's first in?"

I looked on half in amazement, for directly after catching sight of the head of some lad in the water about a couple of hundred yards below us, who seemed to be swimming about in the cool water with the greatest ease, my companions began to throw off caps and jackets, and to untie and kick off their boots.

"But we haven't got any towels," cried George Day.

"Towels!" cried one of the others; "why, the sun will dry us in five minutes; come on. What a day for a swim!"

It did look tempting there at the bottom of that green meadow, deep in gra.s.s and with the waving trees to hide us from observation, though there was not a house within a mile, nor, saving an occasional barge with a sleepy man hanging over the tiller, a boat to be seen, and as I watched the actions of my companions, I, for the first time in my life, felt the desire to imitate them come on me strongly.

They were not long undressing, one kicking off his things anyhow, another carefully folding them as he took them off, and tucking his socks inside his boots. But careful and careless alike, five minutes had not elapsed before to my delight George Day, who was a boy of about fourteen, ran back a dozen yards from the river's brink and threw up his arms.

"One, two, three, c.o.c.k warning!" he shouted, ran by me swiftly, and plunged into the river with a tremendous splash.

I felt horrified, but the next moment his head reappeared bobbing about, and he swam along easily and well.

"Oh it's so lovely," he cried. "Come along."

"All right!" cried one of his friends, sitting down on the edge of the bank, and lowering himself in gently, to stand for a few moments up to his arm-pits, and then duck his head down twice, rubbing his eyes to get the water out, and then stooping down and beginning to swim slowly and laboriously, and with a great deal of puffing.

"Oh, what a cowardly way of getting in!" said the third, who stood on the bank, hesitating.

"Well, let's see you, then," cried George Day, who was swimming close at hand. "Jump in."