"Stop a moment," I said. "What's your name?"
"George Day," he replied; and then my new friend trotted off, swinging
half-a-dozen books at the end of a strap, and I sat at the window
wishing that I too could go to school and have a strap to put round my
books and swing them, for my life seemed very dull.
All at once I saw something amongst the bristly young shoots of the
plum-trees along the wall, and on looking more attentively I made out
that it was the top of Shock's straw head-piece with the lid gone, and
the hair sticking out in the most comical way.
I watched him intently, fully expecting to see another great clod of
earth come over, and wishing I had something to throw back at him; but I
had nothing but a flower-pot with a geranium in it, and the shells upon
the chimney-piece, and they were Mrs Beeton's, and I didn't like to
take them.
The head came a little higher till the whole of the straw bonnet crown
was visible, and I could just make out the boy's eyes.
Of course he was watching me, and I sat and watched him, feeling that he
must have turned one of the trained plum-trees into a ladder, and
climbed up; and I found myself wondering whether he had knocked off any
of the young fruit.
Then, as he remained perfectly still, watching me, I began to wonder why
he should be so fond of taking every opportunity he could find to stare
at me; and then I wondered what old Brownsmith would say to him, or do,
if he came slowly up behind him and caught him climbing up his
beautifully trained trees.
Just then I heard a loud cough that I knew was old Brownsmith's, for I
had heard it dozens of times, and Shock's head disappeared as if by
magic.
I jumped up to see, for I felt sure that Shock was going to catch it,
and then I saw that old Brownsmith was not in his garden, but in the
lane on our side, and that he was close beneath the window looking up at
me.
He nodded, and I had just made up my mind that I would not complain
about Shock, when there was a loud thump of the knocker, and directly
after I heard the door open, a heavy step in the passage, the door
closed, and then the sound of old Brownsmith wiping his shoes on the big
mat.
His shoes could not have wanted wiping, for it was a very dry day, but
he kept on rub--rub--rub, till Mrs Beeton, who waited upon us as well
as let us her apartments, came upstairs, knocked at my mother's door,
and went down again.