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Updated: June 14, 2025
We had been very busy cutting, bunching, and packing flowers one day, when all at once Old Brownsmith came and looked at my slate with the total of the flower baskets set down side by side with the tale of the strawberry baskets, for it was in the height of the season. "Big load to-night, Grant," the old gentleman said.
"Shut that window, Brownsmith," said Sir Francis, as he set down his candle and went back to his chair behind the table. Mr Solomon shut the window, and then came forward and set down his candle in turn. "Now," said Sir Francis, "we can finish this business, I think. You say, Grant, that you heard someone climb over the wall by the big trained pear-tree?"
I began using the saw very gently, and listening, for I seemed to see that monk in his long grey garment, and rope round his waist, looking down at the sun-dial, when Old Brownsmith went on slowly: "He knew it could not be long first, for the man's leg was crushed and the bone splintered so terribly that it would never heal up, and that the calm sense of comfort was a bad sign, for the limb was mortifying, and unless that mortification was stopped the man must die."
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.
"Well, he gives me a long talking to, and I told him everything about it; and when I'd done I says again as it warn't my fault, and Old Brownsmith turns to his brother and he says, as fair as a man could speak, `It warn't his fault, Solomon; and if it's as he says, Grant's that sort o' boy as'll repent and be very sorry, and if he don't come back before, you'll get a letter begging your pardon for what he's done, or else I shall.
"To keep them from tilting over when you are up there," said Old Brownsmith. "Gently, Ike, don't bruise them. Ah! there they go." For, as Ike thumped down the bottom of the ladder, and then let the top lean against the tree, a couple of apples were knocked off, to come down, one with a thud on the soft soil, the other to strike in the fork of the tree and bound to my feet.
To my great satisfaction, though, he stepped forward, drooping his arms and hanging his head, walking beside me out into the open yard, where we came suddenly upon Old Brownsmith, who looked at me sharply, nodded his head, and then went on. I led the way, and Shock half-followed, half-walked beside me, and we had just reached the gate when Old Brownsmith shouted: "Take the barrow."
"I'll mind them, sir," I said, and eagerly mounting the ladder I began to pick the beautiful little apples that hung about me, Old Brownsmith watching me the while. "That's right," he said encouragingly. "When you get your basket nearly full, bring it down and empty it very gently in one of the sieves gently, mind."
I ran to him, and was in the act of passing my hands over the bulging bag when I uttered a faint cry of horror, for something soft seemed to have dropped upon my back, and a voice from out of the darkness exclaimed: "What are you boys doing here?" At the same moment I knew that it was one of the cats that had leaped upon my back, and Old Brownsmith who was speaking.
Sir Francis sat back in his chair for a few moments in silence; and Courtenay said to his brother in a whisper, but loud enough for everyone to hear: "Did you ever hear anyone go on like that!" Sir Francis took no notice, but slowly rose from his seat, crossed the room, opened the French window that looked out upon the lawn, and then said: "Hand me a candle, Brownsmith."
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