A Red Wallflower Part 50

'I don't follow you, mum,' said Christopher, a good deal mystified.

'You know you've got a saint there, I s'pose. What's her name? that's what I want to know.'

'Do you mean Miss Esther?'

'Ah! that's it. I never heerd of a Saint Esther. There was an Esther in the Bible--I'll tell you! she was a Queen Esther; and that fits. Ain't she a kind o' a queen! But she's t'other thing too. Look here, Mr.

Bounder; be you all saints up to your house?'

'Well, no, mum, not exactly; that's not altogether the description I'd give of some of us, if I was stating my opinion.'

'Don't you think you had ought to be that?'

'Perhaps we ought,' said Christopher, with wondering slow admission.

'I kin tell you. There ain't no question about it. Folks had ought to live up to their privileges; an' you've got a pattern there right afore your eyes. I hev no opinion of you, ef you ain't all better'n common folks. I'd be, I know, ef I lived a bit where she was.'

'It's different with a young lady,' Christopher began.

'Why is it different?' said the woman sharply. 'You and me, we've got as good right to be saints as she has, or anybody. I tell you I've made a vow. _I_ ain't no saint, but I'm agoin' to sell her no onions.'

'Mum!' said Christopher, astounded.

'Nor nothin' else,' Mrs. Blumenfeld went on. 'How many d'ye want?'

Mr. Bounder's wits were not quick enough to follow these sharp Yankee turns. Like the s.h.i.+ps his countrymen build, he could not come about so quick. It is curious how the qualities of people's minds get into their s.h.i.+pbuilding and other handicraft. It was not till Mrs. Blumenfeld had repeated her question that he was able to answer it.

'I suppose, mum, a half a bushel wouldn't be no more'n enough to go through with.'

'Wall, I've got some,' the gardener's widow went on; 'the right sort; white, and as soft as cream, and as sweet as onions kin be. I'll send you up a bag of 'em.'

'But then I must be allowed to pay for 'em,' said Christopher.

'I tell you, I won't sell her nothin'--neither onions nor nothin' else.'

'Then, mum,--it's very handsome of you, mum; that I must say, and won't deny--but in that case I am afraid Miss Esther would prefer that I should get the onions somewheres else.'

'Jes' you hold your tongue about it, an' I'll send up the sa.s.s; and ef your Queen Esther says anything, you tell her it's all paid for. What else do you want that's my way?'

While she spoke, Mrs. Blumenfeld was carefully detaching a root of celery from the rich loose soil which enveloped it, and shaking the white stalks free from their enc.u.mbrance, Mr. Bounder the while looking on approvingly, both at the celery, which was beautifully long and white and delicate, and at the condition of things generally on the ground, all of which his eye took in; although he was too much of a magnate in his own line to express the approval he felt.

'There!' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, eyeing her celery stalks; 'kin you beat that where you come from?'

'It's very fair,' said Christopher--'very fair. But England can beat the world, mum, in gardening and that. I suppose you can't expect it of a new country like this.'

'Can't expect what? to beat the world? You jes' wait a bit, till you see. You jes' only wait a bit.'

'What do you think of England and America going into partners.h.i.+p?'

asked Mr. Bounder, bending to pick up a refuse stem that Mrs.

Blumenfeld had rejected. 'Think we couldn't be a match for most things u-nited?'

'I find myself a match for most things, as it is,' returned the lady promptly.

'But you must want help sometimes?' said Christopher, with a sharp and somewhat sly glance at her.

'When I do, I git it,--or I do without it.'

'That's when you can't get the right kind.'

'Jes' so.'

'It ain't for a man properly to say what he can do or what he can't do; words is but breath, they say; and those as know a man can give a pretty good guess what he's good for; but, however, when he's speakin'

to them as don't know him, perhaps it ain't no more but fair that he should be allowed to speak for himself. Now if I say that accordin' to the best o' my knowledge and belief, what I offer you _is_ the right kind o' help, you won't think it's brag or bl.u.s.ter, I hope?'

'Why shouldn't I?' said the little woman. But Christopher thought the tone of the words was not discouraging. 'They does allays practise fence,' he thought to himself.

'Well, mum, if you hev ever been up to our place in the summer-time, you may hev seen our garden; and to a lady o' your experience I needn't to say no more.'

'Wall,' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, by way of conceding so much, 'I'll allow Colonel Gainsborough has a pretty fair gardener, ef he _hes_ some furrin notions.'

'I'll bring them furrin notions to your help, mum,' said Mr. Bounder eagerly. 'I know my business as well as any man on this side or that side either. It's no boastin' to say that.'

'Sounds somethin' like it. But what'll the colonel do without you, or the colonel's garden? that's what I can't make out. Hev you and he hed a falling out?' And the speaker raised herself up straight and looked full at her visitor.

'There's nothin' like that possible!' said Mr. Bounder solemnly. 'The colonel ain't agoin' to do without me, my woman. No more can't I do with out the colonel, I may say. I've lived in the family now this twenty year; and as long as I can grow spinach they ain't agoin' to eat no other--without it's yours, mum,' Christopher added, with a change of tone; 'or yours and mine. You see, the grounds is so near, that goin'

over to one ain't forsakin' the other; and the colonel, he hasn't really s.p.a.ce and place for a man that can do what I can do.'

'An' what is it you propose?'

'That you should take me, mum, for your head man.'

The two were standing now, quite still, looking into one another's eyes; a little sly audacity in those of Christopher, while a smile played about his lips that was both knowing and conciliating. Mrs.

Blumenfeld eyed him gravely, with the calm air of one who was quite his match. Christopher could tell nothing from her face.

'I s'pose,' she said, 'you'll want ridiculous wages?'

'By no means, mum!' said Christopher, waving his hand. 'There never was nothin' ridiculous about _you_. I'll punch anybody's head that says it.'

Mrs. Blumenfeld shook the last remnant of soil from the celery roots, and handed the bunch to Christopher.

'There,' she said; 'you may take them along with you--you'll want 'em for dinner. An' I'll send up the onions. An' the rest I'll think about.

Good day to ye!'

Christopher went home well content.

CHAPTER XXVIII.