Down went the pot, and my cap on to the plant, and I turned sharp round,
certain now that the missiles had been sent, not from the shelter hedge
nor the gooseberry bushes, but from the wall, and there, sure enough,
with his head and shoulders above the top, was my assailant.
My angry look changed to a bland smile as I saw the ragged straw hat
with the hair standing out of the top, and the grubby face of Shock
looking at me with his eyes twinkling and the skin all round wrinkled,
while the rest of his face was sour.
"Why, Shock!" I cried; "who'd have thought of seeing you? How did you
get there?"
"Clum up."
"Did Mr Brownsmith send you?"
He shook his head.
"How is it you are here, then?"
"Hooked it."
"Why, you haven't run away?"
"I jest have, though."
"But you are going back?"
He shook his head with all his might.
"I've sin you lots o' times," he said.
"When?"
"Yes'day. Day afore, and day afore that."
"What! have you been here three days?" Shock nodded.
"Where have you slept, then?"
"Haystack."
"And what have you had to eat?"
"Bread. Lots o' things I fun' in the fields. Rabbud."
"Who's that boy?" said a sharp voice that well knew; and Shock's head
disappeared.
"Mr Ezra Brownsmith's boy, Sir Francis," I said. "He used to work with
me."
"Was he from the workhouse?"
"Yes, Sir Francis."
"Tell him not to do that again, and don't you encourage him. I don't
approve of it. Go on with your work."
I took the barrow handles and wheeled it away, biting my lips, for it
had suddenly struck me that Sir Francis thought that I was talking to a
boy who was my companion in the workhouse, and it seemed as if fate was
fixing the term pauper upon me so tightly that I should not be able to
get it removed.
Plenty of little annoyances occurred, but I put up with them; and not
the least was the appearance of Shock at the top of first one wall and
then another, but never near enough to speak to me.
He showed himself so often here and there that I used to go about the
garden feeling sure that he was watching me; and at last I found, to my
horror, that he had grown more bold, and used to get into the garden,
for one day I caught sight of him creeping on hands and knees among the
gooseberry bushes.
I started in pursuit, but stopped directly, feeling sure that if I did
so the act would result in trouble to us both, and determined to write
to Mr Ezra about him. I was glad I did so the next minute, for
Courtenay and Philip came down the garden to amuse themselves picking
gooseberries and eating them.