For the next fortnight we were all very busy picking and packing fruit,
and Ike was off every night about eleven or twelve with his load, coming
back after market in the morning, and only doing a little work in the
garden of an afternoon, and seeing to the packing ready for a fresh
start in the night.
The weather was glorious, and the pears came on so fast that Shock and I
were always picking so that they might not be too ripe.
It was a delightful time, for the novelty having gone off I was able to
do my work with ease. I did not try to move the ladder any more, so I
had no accident of that kind; and though I slipped once or twice, I was
able to save myself, and began to feel quite at home up in the trees.
Every now and then if Shock was anywhere near he played some monkey
trick or another. His idea evidently was to frighten me by seeming to
fall or by hanging by hand or leg. But he never succeeded now, for I
knew him too well; and though I admired his daring at times, when he
threw himself backwards on the ladder and slid down head foremost
clinging with his legs, I did not run to his help.
In spite of the conversation I had had with him in the shed, we were no
better friends next time we met, or rather when we nearly met, for
whenever he saw me coming he turned his back and went off in another
direction.
As I said, a fortnight had passed, and the fruit-picking was at its
height as far as pears and apples went, when one night, after a very hot
day, when the cart was waiting in the yard, loaded up high with bushel
and half-bushel baskets, and the horse was enjoying his corn, and
rattling his chain by the manger, I left Old Brownsmith smoking his pipe
and reading a seed-list, and strolled out into the garden.
It was a starlight night, and very cool and pleasant, as I went down one
of the paths and then back along another, trying to make out the
blossoms of the nasturtiums that grew so thickly along the borders just
where I was.
The air smelt so sweet and fresh that it seemed to do me good, but I was
thinking that I must be getting back into the house and up to my bed,
when the fancy took me that I should like to go down the path as far as
Mrs Beeton's house, and look at the window where I used to sit when
Shock pelted me with clay.
The path was made with ashes, so that my footsteps were very quiet, and
as I walked in the shadow of a large row of pear-trees I was almost
invisible. In fact I could hardly see my own hand.