That word pauper rankled a good deal in my breast, for it was quite
evident to me that Sir Francis thought I was from one of the unions, and
I had had no opportunity of showing him that I was not.
"But I will show him," I said to myself angrily. "He sha'n't see
anything in me to make him believe it. It's too bad."
I was busy, as I said that, arranging a barrowful of plants in rows,
where they were to be surrounded with earth, "plunged," as we called it,
under the shelter of a wall, where they would get warmth and sunshine
and grow hardy and strong, ready for taking in to the shelter of the
greenhouse when the weather turned cold.
It was some days since I had seen Philip; but, weakly enough, I let the
memory of that word rankle still.
To carry out my task I had to fetch a pot at a time from the large wide
barrow, and set them down in the trench that had been cut for them.
This necessitated stooping, and as I was setting one down a lump of
something caught me so smartly on the back that I nearly dropped the
flower-pot and started upright, looking round for the thrower of the
piece of clay, for there it was at my feet.
I could not see, but I guessed at once that it was Philip, though it
might have been Courtenay hiding behind some gooseberry bushes or the
low hornbeam hedge, about twenty yards away.
"I won't take any notice of the ill-bred young cubs," I said to myself
angrily; and I stooped and arranged the pot in its place and went back
for another, when whack! came another well-aimed piece, and hit me on
the side of the cap.
"You--"
I stopped myself, as I banged down the pot in a rage--stopped words and
act, for I was going to run towards the spot whence the clay seemed to
have come.
"It's only play after all," I said to myself. "I'll show them, pauper
or no, that I'm above being annoyed by such a trifle as that."
I moved a couple more pots, when something whizzed by my ear, and then I
was hit on the shoulder by a little raw potato.
I wanted to run round to the back of the hornbeam hedge, which had been
planted to shelter plants and not sharpshooters, but I restrained
myself.
"Playing cricket makes them take such good aim," I thought to myself, as
a piece of clay hit me on the back again; and I worked hard to finish my
task so as to get to the pit from which I was fetching the pots down to
the grass walk where I was; and I had got to the last pot, when, in
stooping to put it in its place, plop came a soft lump of clay on the
nape of my neck, and began to slip under my collar.