"Look here, Grant," he said. "Some folk start life with their gardens
already dug up and planted, some begin with their bit of ground all
rough, and some begin without any land at all. Which do you belong to?"
"The last, sir," I said.
"Right! Well, I suppose you are not going to wait for one uncle to take
a garden for you and the other to dig it up?"
"No," I said sturdily; "I shall work for myself."
"Right! I don't like boys to be cocky and impudent but I like a little
self-dependence."
As the time went on, Old Brownsmith taught me how to bud roses and
prune, and, later on, to graft. He used to encourage me to ask
questions, and I must have pestered him sometimes, but he never seemed
weary.
"It's quite right," he used to say; "the boy who asks questions learns
far more than the one who is simply taught."
"Why, sir?" I said.
"Well, I'll tell you. He has got his bit of ground ready, and is
waiting for the seed or young plant to be popped in. Then it begins to
grow at once. Don't you see this; he has half-learned what he wants to
know in the desire he feels. That desire is satisfied when he is told,
and the chances are that he never forgets. Now you say to me--What is
the good of pruning or cutting this plum-tree? I'll tell you."
We were standing in front of the big red brick wall one bright winter's
day, for the time had gone by very quickly. Old Brownsmith had a sharp
knife in his hand, and I was holding the whetstone and a thin-bladed saw
that he used to cut through the thicker branches.
"Now look here, Grant. Here's this plum-tree, and if you look at it you
will see that there are two kinds of wood in it."
"Two kinds of wood, sir?"
"Yes. Can't you tell the difference?"
"No, sir; only that some of the shoots are big and strong, and some are
little and twiggy."
"Exactly: that is the difference, my lad. Well, can you see any more
difference in the shoots?"
I looked for some moments, and then replied: "Yes; these big shoots are long and smooth and straight, and the little
twiggy ones are all over sharp points."
"Then as there is too much wood there, which had we better cut out.
What should you do?"
"Cut out the scrubby little twigs, and nail up these nice long shoots."
"That's the way, Grant! Now you'll know more about pruning after this
than Shock has learned in two years. Look here, my lad; you've fallen
into everybody's mistake, as a matter of course. Those fine long shoots
will grow into big branches; those little twigs with the points, as you
call them, are fruit spurs, covered with blossom buds. If I cut them
out I should have no plums next year, but a bigger and a more barren
tree. No, my boy, I don't want to grow wood, but fruit. Look here."