Chapter Twenty Four.

Chapter Twenty Four.Sir Francis and a Friend.The next few days passed pleasantly enough, for I saw very little of the two young gentlemen, who spent a good deal of their time in a meadow beyond the garden, playing cricket and quarrelling. Once there seemed to have been a fight, for I came upon Philip kneeling down by a watering-pot busy with his handkerchief bathing his face, and the state of the water told tales of what had happened to his nose.As he seemed in trouble I was about to offer him my services, but he turned upon me so viciously with, “Hullo! pauper, what do you want?” that I went away.The weather was lovely, and while it was so hot Mr Solomon used to do the principal part of his work in the glass houses at early morn and in the evening.“Makes us work later, Grant,” he used to say apologetically; “but as it’s for our own convenience we ought not to grumble.”“I’m not going to grumble, sir,” I said laughing; “all that training and tying in is so interesting, I like it.”“That’s right,” he said, patting me on the shoulder; “always try and like your work; take a pride in it, my man, and it will turn up trumps some time or another. It means taking prizes.”I had not seen Sir Francis yet, for he had been away, and I could not help feeling a little nervous about our first meeting. Still I was pretty happy there, and I felt that in spite of a few strong sensations of longing to be back at the old garden with Ike and Shock, I was getting to like my new life very much indeed, and that as soon as the two boys had gone back to their school I should be as happy as could be.I was gradually getting to like Mr Solomon, and Mrs Solomon grew more kind to me every day. The men about the garden, too, were all very civil to me, and beyond a little bit of good-humoured banter from them now and then I had no cause for complaint.My great fear was that they would catch up the name young Philip had bestowed upon me. That they knew of it I had pretty good evidence, for one day when I was busy over one of the verbena beds—busy at a task Mr Solomon had set me after the sun had made the peach-house too hot, a big bluff gardener came and worked close by me, mowing the grass in a shady part under some trees.“It’s dry, and cuts like wire,” he said, stopping to wipe his scythe and give it a touch with the stone, making the blade ring and send forth what always sounded to be pleasant music to me.“Oughtn’t you to cut it when the dew is on?” I said.“Yes, squire, if you can,” he replied; “but there is so much grass we can’t get over it all in the early morning.”He went on mowing, and I continued my task of pegging down the long shoots of the beautiful scarlet, crimson, and white flowers, just as Mr Solomon had instructed me, when all at once he came and looked on, making me feel very nervous; but he nodded and went away, so I supposed he was satisfied, and I worked on again as cheerfully as could be, till all at once I felt the blood flush up in my face, for the voice of young Philip Dalton came unpleasantly grating on my ear, as he said:“Hullo, Bunce, mowing again?”“Yes, Master Philup, mowin’ again.”“Why, you’ve got the pauper there!” cried Philip. “I say, did you know he was a pauper?”“No,” said Bunce, “I didn’t know. Do you want your legs ampytated?”“No, stoopid, of course I don’t.”“Then get outer the way or I shall take ’em off like carrots.”“Get out!” said Philip, as I saw that he was watching me. “I say, though, did you know that he was a pauper, and lived on skilly?”“No,” said the gardener quietly; and I felt as if I must get up and go away, for now I knew I should be a mark of contempt for the whole staff who worked in the garden.“He was,” said Philip.“Pauper, was he?” said Bunce, making his scythe glide round in a half circle. “I shouldn’t ha’ thought it.”“Oh but he was or is, and always will be,” said the boy maliciously. “Once a pauper always a pauper. Look at him.”“I’ve been a looking at him,” said Bunce slowly, for he was a big meditative man, and he stood upright, took a piece of flannel from the strap that supported his whetstone sheath, and wiped the blade of the scythe.“Well, can’t you see?” cried my tormentor, watching me as I worked away and assumed ignorance of his presence.“No,” said Bunce sturdily; “and seeing what a long, yellow, lizardly-looking wisp you are, Master Phil, if you two changed clothing I should pick you out as the pauper.”“How dare you!” cried the boy fiercely.“Mind the scythe,” shouted Bunce; “d’yer want to get cut?”“You insolent old worm chopper, how dare you call me a pauper?”“I didn’t call you a pauper,” said Bunce chuckling; “did I, Grant?”“No,” I said.“You’re a liar, you pauper!” cried the boy, who was furious. “I’ll tell papa—I’ll tell Sir Francis, and you shall both be discharged, you blackguards.”“I’m just going to mow there, squire,” said Bunce, sharpening away at his scythe.“Then you’ll wait till I choose to move.”“If you don’t get out of the way I shall take the soles off your boots,” said Bunce, putting back his rubber.“I’ll speak to papa about your insolence,” cried the boy, with his eyes flashing and his fists clenched; and I thought he was going to strike Bunce.“Well,” said a sharp ringing voice, “speak to him then. What is it?”I started to my feet, and Bunce touched his cap to a tall elderly gentleman with closely-cut grey hair and a very fierce-looking white moustache, whose keen eyes seemed to look me through and through.“I said, what is it, Phil?” cried the newcomer, whom I felt to be Sir Francis before Philip spoke.“This fellow called me a pauper, pa!”Sir Francis turned sharply on Bunce, who did not seem in the slightest degree alarmed.“How dare you call my son a pauper, sir?” he said sternly.“I—”“Stop!” cried Sir Francis. “Here, you boy, go away and wait till I call you. Not far.”“Yes, sir,” I said; and I walked away thinking what a fierce quick man he seemed, and not knowing then that he was one of the magistrates.A minute later he called to me to go back, and as soon as I had reached him, with Philip by his side and Bunce before him, Philip stepped back and held up his fist at me menacingly.He thought the movement was unobserved by his stepfather; but Sir Francis, who was an old Indian officer, noted the act, as he showed us directly after.“Now, boy,” he said, “what’s your name?”“Grant, Sir Francis.”“Well, Grant, did this under-gardener call Master Philip a pauper?”I told him exactly what had occurred, and Sir Francis turned sharply on his step-son.“You were already self-condemned, Philip,” he said sternly. “I saw you threaten this boy with your fist. The way to win respect from those beneath you in station is to treat them with respect.”“But, papa—”“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Sir Francis sternly.“I had eight hundred men in my regiment, and all the band came from one of the unions, and better fellows could not be found. My lad,” he continued, “I dare say you know that pauper only means poor. It is no disgrace to be poor. Philip, go indoors.”“That’s a flea in his ear,” said Bunce chuckling, as Sir Francis went one way, Philip the other. “What do you think of the master?”“He seems very sharp and angry,” I said, returning to my work.“He’s all that,” said the man; “but he’s a reg’lar gentleman. He always drops on to them two if he catches ’em up to their larks. Nice boys both of ’em.”That wordpauperrankled 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, whenwhack! 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,plopcame a soft lump of clay on the nape of my neck, and began to slip under my collar.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.I was busy watering some celery that had been planted in trenches and shaded from the hot sun.To do this I had a barrel fitted on wheels in a sort of barrow. From this I filled my can by dipping it, and when I had finished I had to go down to the bottom of the garden to a good-sized pond and reverse the process, dipping a bucket at some steps and filling the barrel.I had filled my barrel once, and was busy dipping my can and thinking about Shock and what would be the consequences if he were seen by the two boys, when I suddenly found them by me, each with his cap full of ripe gooseberries, which they were eating as they watched me; and after giving his brother a look, Philip opened the annoyance by saying:“Come, pauper, work away.”I took no notice, when a half-sucked gooseberry struck me on the arm.It was a disgusting act on the young coward’s part, but though in a moment I felt on fire, I only wiped it off, when Courtenay threw one and hit me on the face.I wiped that away too, and raising my can stepped off the path on to the bed to go to the trench, but not in time to avoid a large over-ripe gooseberry which smashed as it struck me in the ear and began to trickle down.I was in such a rage that the roar of laughter from my two tyrants half maddened me, and I watered that celery in a way that washed some of the roots quite bare.They were waiting for me when I got back to the tub, and, emboldened by the patient way in which I bore their insults, they kept on pelting me with the over-ripe fruit till I had it in my hair, my eyes, and down within the collar of my shirt.I ground my teeth with rage, and felt that I could bear it no longer, but I made no sign.Then they pelted me with words too, inventing ridiculous names, asking me about the workhouse food, and at last I determined to bear it no longer, but go straight up to the house and show Sir Francis the state I was in and beg him to put a stop to this annoyance.But just then it flashed upon my mind that Sir Francis and her ladyship had gone out the day before to stay somewhere for a fortnight, and this explained the boldness of the two young ruffians, who had never behaved so outrageously before.“If I go and tell Mr Solomon,” I thought, “he will only tell me I was foolish to take any notice;” and at last, writhing with annoyance, I emptied the barrel and trundled it down to the pond, hoping to leave my tormentors behind.But no; they followed me and continued their assaults as soon as they had replenished their caps with the gooseberries that were abundant on the bushes, over-ripe many of them, and of monstrous size.“Did you ever see such a coward?” said Philip.“Like all these paupers,” cried Courtenay. “Ha! ha! ha! right in the ear.”I stamped with rage for his words were true about his aim, though I did not feel cowardly, for I was working hard to do my duty and keep my hands from my assailants.“Give him one in the eye,” said Philip. “Bet you twopence, Court, I hit him first in the eye.”They went on pelting and I went on filling my barrel, dipping with the bucket and pouring it in, and a dozen times over it was all I could do to keep from discharging the contents of the pail in Courtenay’s face.Full at last, and I was ready to go up the garden again.I glanced round in the hope of seeing Mr Solomon or Bunce or one of the other gardeners; but they were all busy in the upper gardens, while I was quite shut in here with my tormentors.“Here, let’s get some more shot, Court,” cried Philip. “I’ll serve the sneaking coward out for getting me in that row with pa.”“Wait a bit,” said his brother; “look at him. He goes down just like a monkey. He’s going to wash his gooseberry face.”He was quite right, for I had laid my cap aside and stooped down at the dipping place to wash off some of the seedy, sticky pulp before going back.“Dirty brute!” said Philip. “I never saw such a coward in my life.”I ought to have been on my guard and not have given them the opportunity which I did, for as I stooped down there, crouching on my heels, I placed a great temptation in Courtenay Dalton’s way. For as I stooped right down, scooping up the water with one hand to bathe my face, I suddenly felt a sharp thrust from a foot on my back, and before I could save myself I was head over heels in the deep water.It was not so deep but that I got my footing directly, and seizing the post at the side tried to struggle out, when amidst shouts of laughter Philip cried:“Give him another dowse. That’s the way to wash a pauper clean.”I was half-blind with the water, as Courtenay thrust my hand from the post, and in I went again, to come up red hot instead of cold.He thrust me in again and I went right under; but my rage was not quenched, and, taught by my experience, I made a rush as if to spring out on to the dipping-place but instead of doing so I caught at a branch of a willow by the side and sprang out.“Shake yourself, dog!” cried Courtenay, roaring with laughter.“Fetch him a towel,” cried Philip. “A towel for the clean pauper. Give him another ducking, Courtenay.”He ran at me, but in those moments I had forgotten everything in my thirst to be revenged on my cowardly persecutors.Philip only seemed to be something in my way as I made at his brother, and throwing out one fist, he went down amongst the willows, while the next minute I was striking at Courtenay with all my might.He was a bigger boy than I. Taller and older, and he had had many a good fight at school no doubt; but my onslaught staggered him, and I drove him before me, striking at him as he reached the handles of my water-barrow, and he fell over them heavily.This only enraged him, and he sprang up and received my next blow right in the face, to be staggered for the moment.Then I don’t know what happened, only that my arms were going like windmills, that I was battering Courtenay, and that he was battering me; that we were down, and then up, and then down again, over and over, and fighting fiercely as a couple of dogs.I think I was getting the best of it, when I began to feel weak, and that my adversary was hitting me back and front at once.Then I realised that Philip had attacked me too, and that I was getting very much the worst of it in a sort of thunderstorm which rained blows.Then the blows only came from one side, for there was a hoarse panting and the sound of heavy blows and scuffling away from me, while I was hitting out again with all my might at one boy instead of two.All at once there was a crash and the rattle of an iron handle, and Courtenay went down. He had caught against the pail and fallen.This gave me time to glance round and see in a half-blinded way that Philip was fighting with some other boy, who closed with him, and down they went together.“Yah! yah! Cowards! cowards!” cried a voice that I well knew; and I saw giddily that Courtenay and Philip were running up the path, and that Shock was standing beside me.“Well done!” cried another voice. “What a licking you two give ’em!”Shock started, and ran, darting among the bushes, while I sat down on a barrow-handle, feeling rather thick and dizzy.“I was coming to stop it. Two to one’s too bad; but that ragged chap come out at young Phil, and my word, he did give it him well. Are you much hurt, my lad?”“No, not much, Mr Bunce,” I said, staring at him in rather a confused way.“Here, I’ll get some water,” he said; and he went and dipped a pailful. “Bathe your face in that.”I did so, and felt clearer and refreshed directly.“Go on,” he said; “keep it up. It will stop the bleeding. What! have you been in the pond?”“Yes,” I said; “they’ve been pelting me this last half hour, and then they pushed me in.”“The young rips!” cried Bunce. “Never mind. I’m as pleased as if some one had given me a sovereign.”“Yes,” I said dismally; “and they’ll tell Sir Francis, and I shall have to go.”“Not you,” said Bunce. “They’re awful curs, but they’re beaten, and they won’t tell.”“Hallo! what’s all this?” said Mr Solomon, coming up.Bunce told him.“And did he thrash ’em well?” said Mr Solomon, looking rather angry, “the pair of them?”“No. They were too strong both at once, but that Ragged Jack of a chap that’s been hanging about—him as I told you of this morning—he come out and tackled young Phil when he was on Grant’s back, and my word those two have gone off with their tails between their legs. Licked, sir, licked out and out.”“I suppose I shall be sent away, sir,” I said, wringing the water out of my shirt-sleeves.“I suppose you won’t,” said Mr Solomon sharply. “I’ve seen a deal, my lad, and I wondered you didn’t have a turn at them before. I didn’t think you’d got the stuff in you, to tell you the truth.”“Oh, but he had!” said Bunce. “I wish you’d ha’ seen.”“Well, I’m sorry,” said Mr Solomon. “No, I’m not; I’m glad. They’ll leave you alone now. There, go and change your things. It was time you did strike. Here, I’ll go with you, or you’ll frighten the missus into fits. I say,” he shouted back, “keep a sharp look-out for that boy, and catch him if you can. I must have him stopped.”“Poor old Shock!” I thought, as I felt grateful to him for what he had done.The next minute I was at the gardener’s cottage, being scolded and wiped by Mrs Solomon, who said she had never seen such a sight in her life, and who was not happy till she had me down-stairs in dry things, bathing one of my eyes, putting a leech on the other, and carefully strapping up a cut on the back of my head.

The next few days passed pleasantly enough, for I saw very little of the two young gentlemen, who spent a good deal of their time in a meadow beyond the garden, playing cricket and quarrelling. Once there seemed to have been a fight, for I came upon Philip kneeling down by a watering-pot busy with his handkerchief bathing his face, and the state of the water told tales of what had happened to his nose.

As he seemed in trouble I was about to offer him my services, but he turned upon me so viciously with, “Hullo! pauper, what do you want?” that I went away.

The weather was lovely, and while it was so hot Mr Solomon used to do the principal part of his work in the glass houses at early morn and in the evening.

“Makes us work later, Grant,” he used to say apologetically; “but as it’s for our own convenience we ought not to grumble.”

“I’m not going to grumble, sir,” I said laughing; “all that training and tying in is so interesting, I like it.”

“That’s right,” he said, patting me on the shoulder; “always try and like your work; take a pride in it, my man, and it will turn up trumps some time or another. It means taking prizes.”

I had not seen Sir Francis yet, for he had been away, and I could not help feeling a little nervous about our first meeting. Still I was pretty happy there, and I felt that in spite of a few strong sensations of longing to be back at the old garden with Ike and Shock, I was getting to like my new life very much indeed, and that as soon as the two boys had gone back to their school I should be as happy as could be.

I was gradually getting to like Mr Solomon, and Mrs Solomon grew more kind to me every day. The men about the garden, too, were all very civil to me, and beyond a little bit of good-humoured banter from them now and then I had no cause for complaint.

My great fear was that they would catch up the name young Philip had bestowed upon me. That they knew of it I had pretty good evidence, for one day when I was busy over one of the verbena beds—busy at a task Mr Solomon had set me after the sun had made the peach-house too hot, a big bluff gardener came and worked close by me, mowing the grass in a shady part under some trees.

“It’s dry, and cuts like wire,” he said, stopping to wipe his scythe and give it a touch with the stone, making the blade ring and send forth what always sounded to be pleasant music to me.

“Oughtn’t you to cut it when the dew is on?” I said.

“Yes, squire, if you can,” he replied; “but there is so much grass we can’t get over it all in the early morning.”

He went on mowing, and I continued my task of pegging down the long shoots of the beautiful scarlet, crimson, and white flowers, just as Mr Solomon had instructed me, when all at once he came and looked on, making me feel very nervous; but he nodded and went away, so I supposed he was satisfied, and I worked on again as cheerfully as could be, till all at once I felt the blood flush up in my face, for the voice of young Philip Dalton came unpleasantly grating on my ear, as he said:

“Hullo, Bunce, mowing again?”

“Yes, Master Philup, mowin’ again.”

“Why, you’ve got the pauper there!” cried Philip. “I say, did you know he was a pauper?”

“No,” said Bunce, “I didn’t know. Do you want your legs ampytated?”

“No, stoopid, of course I don’t.”

“Then get outer the way or I shall take ’em off like carrots.”

“Get out!” said Philip, as I saw that he was watching me. “I say, though, did you know that he was a pauper, and lived on skilly?”

“No,” said the gardener quietly; and I felt as if I must get up and go away, for now I knew I should be a mark of contempt for the whole staff who worked in the garden.

“He was,” said Philip.

“Pauper, was he?” said Bunce, making his scythe glide round in a half circle. “I shouldn’t ha’ thought it.”

“Oh but he was or is, and always will be,” said the boy maliciously. “Once a pauper always a pauper. Look at him.”

“I’ve been a looking at him,” said Bunce slowly, for he was a big meditative man, and he stood upright, took a piece of flannel from the strap that supported his whetstone sheath, and wiped the blade of the scythe.

“Well, can’t you see?” cried my tormentor, watching me as I worked away and assumed ignorance of his presence.

“No,” said Bunce sturdily; “and seeing what a long, yellow, lizardly-looking wisp you are, Master Phil, if you two changed clothing I should pick you out as the pauper.”

“How dare you!” cried the boy fiercely.

“Mind the scythe,” shouted Bunce; “d’yer want to get cut?”

“You insolent old worm chopper, how dare you call me a pauper?”

“I didn’t call you a pauper,” said Bunce chuckling; “did I, Grant?”

“No,” I said.

“You’re a liar, you pauper!” cried the boy, who was furious. “I’ll tell papa—I’ll tell Sir Francis, and you shall both be discharged, you blackguards.”

“I’m just going to mow there, squire,” said Bunce, sharpening away at his scythe.

“Then you’ll wait till I choose to move.”

“If you don’t get out of the way I shall take the soles off your boots,” said Bunce, putting back his rubber.

“I’ll speak to papa about your insolence,” cried the boy, with his eyes flashing and his fists clenched; and I thought he was going to strike Bunce.

“Well,” said a sharp ringing voice, “speak to him then. What is it?”

I started to my feet, and Bunce touched his cap to a tall elderly gentleman with closely-cut grey hair and a very fierce-looking white moustache, whose keen eyes seemed to look me through and through.

“I said, what is it, Phil?” cried the newcomer, whom I felt to be Sir Francis before Philip spoke.

“This fellow called me a pauper, pa!”

Sir Francis turned sharply on Bunce, who did not seem in the slightest degree alarmed.

“How dare you call my son a pauper, sir?” he said sternly.

“I—”

“Stop!” cried Sir Francis. “Here, you boy, go away and wait till I call you. Not far.”

“Yes, sir,” I said; and I walked away thinking what a fierce quick man he seemed, and not knowing then that he was one of the magistrates.

A minute later he called to me to go back, and as soon as I had reached him, with Philip by his side and Bunce before him, Philip stepped back and held up his fist at me menacingly.

He thought the movement was unobserved by his stepfather; but Sir Francis, who was an old Indian officer, noted the act, as he showed us directly after.

“Now, boy,” he said, “what’s your name?”

“Grant, Sir Francis.”

“Well, Grant, did this under-gardener call Master Philip a pauper?”

I told him exactly what had occurred, and Sir Francis turned sharply on his step-son.

“You were already self-condemned, Philip,” he said sternly. “I saw you threaten this boy with your fist. The way to win respect from those beneath you in station is to treat them with respect.”

“But, papa—”

“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Sir Francis sternly.

“I had eight hundred men in my regiment, and all the band came from one of the unions, and better fellows could not be found. My lad,” he continued, “I dare say you know that pauper only means poor. It is no disgrace to be poor. Philip, go indoors.”

“That’s a flea in his ear,” said Bunce chuckling, as Sir Francis went one way, Philip the other. “What do you think of the master?”

“He seems very sharp and angry,” I said, returning to my work.

“He’s all that,” said the man; “but he’s a reg’lar gentleman. He always drops on to them two if he catches ’em up to their larks. Nice boys both of ’em.”

That wordpauperrankled 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, whenwhack! 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,plopcame a soft lump of clay on the nape of my neck, and began to slip under my collar.

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.

I was busy watering some celery that had been planted in trenches and shaded from the hot sun.

To do this I had a barrel fitted on wheels in a sort of barrow. From this I filled my can by dipping it, and when I had finished I had to go down to the bottom of the garden to a good-sized pond and reverse the process, dipping a bucket at some steps and filling the barrel.

I had filled my barrel once, and was busy dipping my can and thinking about Shock and what would be the consequences if he were seen by the two boys, when I suddenly found them by me, each with his cap full of ripe gooseberries, which they were eating as they watched me; and after giving his brother a look, Philip opened the annoyance by saying:

“Come, pauper, work away.”

I took no notice, when a half-sucked gooseberry struck me on the arm.

It was a disgusting act on the young coward’s part, but though in a moment I felt on fire, I only wiped it off, when Courtenay threw one and hit me on the face.

I wiped that away too, and raising my can stepped off the path on to the bed to go to the trench, but not in time to avoid a large over-ripe gooseberry which smashed as it struck me in the ear and began to trickle down.

I was in such a rage that the roar of laughter from my two tyrants half maddened me, and I watered that celery in a way that washed some of the roots quite bare.

They were waiting for me when I got back to the tub, and, emboldened by the patient way in which I bore their insults, they kept on pelting me with the over-ripe fruit till I had it in my hair, my eyes, and down within the collar of my shirt.

I ground my teeth with rage, and felt that I could bear it no longer, but I made no sign.

Then they pelted me with words too, inventing ridiculous names, asking me about the workhouse food, and at last I determined to bear it no longer, but go straight up to the house and show Sir Francis the state I was in and beg him to put a stop to this annoyance.

But just then it flashed upon my mind that Sir Francis and her ladyship had gone out the day before to stay somewhere for a fortnight, and this explained the boldness of the two young ruffians, who had never behaved so outrageously before.

“If I go and tell Mr Solomon,” I thought, “he will only tell me I was foolish to take any notice;” and at last, writhing with annoyance, I emptied the barrel and trundled it down to the pond, hoping to leave my tormentors behind.

But no; they followed me and continued their assaults as soon as they had replenished their caps with the gooseberries that were abundant on the bushes, over-ripe many of them, and of monstrous size.

“Did you ever see such a coward?” said Philip.

“Like all these paupers,” cried Courtenay. “Ha! ha! ha! right in the ear.”

I stamped with rage for his words were true about his aim, though I did not feel cowardly, for I was working hard to do my duty and keep my hands from my assailants.

“Give him one in the eye,” said Philip. “Bet you twopence, Court, I hit him first in the eye.”

They went on pelting and I went on filling my barrel, dipping with the bucket and pouring it in, and a dozen times over it was all I could do to keep from discharging the contents of the pail in Courtenay’s face.

Full at last, and I was ready to go up the garden again.

I glanced round in the hope of seeing Mr Solomon or Bunce or one of the other gardeners; but they were all busy in the upper gardens, while I was quite shut in here with my tormentors.

“Here, let’s get some more shot, Court,” cried Philip. “I’ll serve the sneaking coward out for getting me in that row with pa.”

“Wait a bit,” said his brother; “look at him. He goes down just like a monkey. He’s going to wash his gooseberry face.”

He was quite right, for I had laid my cap aside and stooped down at the dipping place to wash off some of the seedy, sticky pulp before going back.

“Dirty brute!” said Philip. “I never saw such a coward in my life.”

I ought to have been on my guard and not have given them the opportunity which I did, for as I stooped down there, crouching on my heels, I placed a great temptation in Courtenay Dalton’s way. For as I stooped right down, scooping up the water with one hand to bathe my face, I suddenly felt a sharp thrust from a foot on my back, and before I could save myself I was head over heels in the deep water.

It was not so deep but that I got my footing directly, and seizing the post at the side tried to struggle out, when amidst shouts of laughter Philip cried:

“Give him another dowse. That’s the way to wash a pauper clean.”

I was half-blind with the water, as Courtenay thrust my hand from the post, and in I went again, to come up red hot instead of cold.

He thrust me in again and I went right under; but my rage was not quenched, and, taught by my experience, I made a rush as if to spring out on to the dipping-place but instead of doing so I caught at a branch of a willow by the side and sprang out.

“Shake yourself, dog!” cried Courtenay, roaring with laughter.

“Fetch him a towel,” cried Philip. “A towel for the clean pauper. Give him another ducking, Courtenay.”

He ran at me, but in those moments I had forgotten everything in my thirst to be revenged on my cowardly persecutors.

Philip only seemed to be something in my way as I made at his brother, and throwing out one fist, he went down amongst the willows, while the next minute I was striking at Courtenay with all my might.

He was a bigger boy than I. Taller and older, and he had had many a good fight at school no doubt; but my onslaught staggered him, and I drove him before me, striking at him as he reached the handles of my water-barrow, and he fell over them heavily.

This only enraged him, and he sprang up and received my next blow right in the face, to be staggered for the moment.

Then I don’t know what happened, only that my arms were going like windmills, that I was battering Courtenay, and that he was battering me; that we were down, and then up, and then down again, over and over, and fighting fiercely as a couple of dogs.

I think I was getting the best of it, when I began to feel weak, and that my adversary was hitting me back and front at once.

Then I realised that Philip had attacked me too, and that I was getting very much the worst of it in a sort of thunderstorm which rained blows.

Then the blows only came from one side, for there was a hoarse panting and the sound of heavy blows and scuffling away from me, while I was hitting out again with all my might at one boy instead of two.

All at once there was a crash and the rattle of an iron handle, and Courtenay went down. He had caught against the pail and fallen.

This gave me time to glance round and see in a half-blinded way that Philip was fighting with some other boy, who closed with him, and down they went together.

“Yah! yah! Cowards! cowards!” cried a voice that I well knew; and I saw giddily that Courtenay and Philip were running up the path, and that Shock was standing beside me.

“Well done!” cried another voice. “What a licking you two give ’em!”

Shock started, and ran, darting among the bushes, while I sat down on a barrow-handle, feeling rather thick and dizzy.

“I was coming to stop it. Two to one’s too bad; but that ragged chap come out at young Phil, and my word, he did give it him well. Are you much hurt, my lad?”

“No, not much, Mr Bunce,” I said, staring at him in rather a confused way.

“Here, I’ll get some water,” he said; and he went and dipped a pailful. “Bathe your face in that.”

I did so, and felt clearer and refreshed directly.

“Go on,” he said; “keep it up. It will stop the bleeding. What! have you been in the pond?”

“Yes,” I said; “they’ve been pelting me this last half hour, and then they pushed me in.”

“The young rips!” cried Bunce. “Never mind. I’m as pleased as if some one had given me a sovereign.”

“Yes,” I said dismally; “and they’ll tell Sir Francis, and I shall have to go.”

“Not you,” said Bunce. “They’re awful curs, but they’re beaten, and they won’t tell.”

“Hallo! what’s all this?” said Mr Solomon, coming up.

Bunce told him.

“And did he thrash ’em well?” said Mr Solomon, looking rather angry, “the pair of them?”

“No. They were too strong both at once, but that Ragged Jack of a chap that’s been hanging about—him as I told you of this morning—he come out and tackled young Phil when he was on Grant’s back, and my word those two have gone off with their tails between their legs. Licked, sir, licked out and out.”

“I suppose I shall be sent away, sir,” I said, wringing the water out of my shirt-sleeves.

“I suppose you won’t,” said Mr Solomon sharply. “I’ve seen a deal, my lad, and I wondered you didn’t have a turn at them before. I didn’t think you’d got the stuff in you, to tell you the truth.”

“Oh, but he had!” said Bunce. “I wish you’d ha’ seen.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” said Mr Solomon. “No, I’m not; I’m glad. They’ll leave you alone now. There, go and change your things. It was time you did strike. Here, I’ll go with you, or you’ll frighten the missus into fits. I say,” he shouted back, “keep a sharp look-out for that boy, and catch him if you can. I must have him stopped.”

“Poor old Shock!” I thought, as I felt grateful to him for what he had done.

The next minute I was at the gardener’s cottage, being scolded and wiped by Mrs Solomon, who said she had never seen such a sight in her life, and who was not happy till she had me down-stairs in dry things, bathing one of my eyes, putting a leech on the other, and carefully strapping up a cut on the back of my head.

Chapter Twenty Five.I Have a Difficult Task.The gardener was right. The fight was a lesson for the boys, who kept at a distance from me, during the next few days, while our scratches and bruises grew faint and began to heal.We had expected they would have been off to school; but for some reason, illness I believe, the holidays were extended for a month, and so they stayed, but I was pretty well left in peace.My first hint of Sir Francis’ return was given by that gentleman himself, who came upon me suddenly as I was busy in the peach-house. I was painting away at the branches that had become infected with a tiresome kind of blight, when I heard a sharp quick step behind me, and my heart quailed, for I felt that it was Sir Francis about to take me to task for my encounter with his sons.I kept busily on with my work, in the faint, hope that he might pass me and say nothing, but he stopped short, and looked on as I busied myself with my brush and the poisonous decoction that was to kill the insects.I was in agony, for I felt that he was looking me through and through, and when he did speak at last I gave quite a jump.“Hah!” he exclaimed, “rather hard upon the insects. Well, Grant, how are you getting on?”“Very well, Sir Francis, I think,” I said.“Seen any more of that boy?”“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said, colouring.“Climbed up the wall, has he?”“I don’t know, Sir Francis,” I replied; “but he has got into the garden lately.”“That’s right, my lad, be frank,” he said. “I know he has got into the garden. I caught my young gentleman and took him to task. He says he came because you were here.”“I’m afraid that is why he did come, Sir Francis,” I said.“Did you tell him to come?”“No, Sir Francis. We were never very friendly.”“Ho!” he said, and he walked on looking at the peaches for a few minutes, and then went away, leaving me to wipe the cold perspiration off my forehead, for I had fully expected a severe scolding.I finished my task in the peach-house, and then went to see how the celery was getting on, for I found that when Mr Solomon gave me a task he expected me to continue to watch, whatever it was.“So that I may feel that when I have put anything in your hands it will be properly done,” he said more than once; so, feeling that I was responsible for the success of the celery plants, I was on my way to the bottom garden by the pond, thinking of the encounter I had when I was busy watering there that day, when, as I turned down one of the alleys of the garden, I saw a man in the distance digging up a piece of ground with a broad spade, and turning over the soil in that easy regular way, levelling it as he went, that experienced gardeners acquire.There was something in his way of digging that seemed familiar, and I stopped and stared. The man stopped too, and glanced in my direction; but he only scraped his spade and went on, while, as soon as I had seen his profile I ran up to him and held out my hand.“Why, Ike!” I cried, “is that you?”He paused for a few moments, ran his hand over his nose, involuntarily, I’m sure, glanced down at first one leg, and then the other, after which he went on digging.“Yes,” he said; “it’s me.”“Why, what are you doing here?”“Digging,” he said gruffly, and, turning up a spadeful of earth, he gave it a blow with the spade, as if he were boxing its ears, and levelled it smoothly.“I know that,” I cried; “but how is it you’re here?”“Got took on.”“Oh! I am glad,” I cried.He looked up at me sidewise, and drove his spade in again.“No, you ain’t,” he said gruffly.“Indeed I am, Ike,” I cried, “though you wouldn’t say good-bye.”“Now—now—now—now!” he cried; “don’t go on that how.”“Did you come this morning?” I said.“Been here ’most a week.”“And I didn’t know! But why did you leave Mr Brownsmith?”“I left Old Brownsmith because I wanted to leave him.”“Did you have a quarrel, Ike?”“Quarrel? No! What should I want to quarrel for?”“But why did you leave?”“’Cause I liked. Man ain’t a slave, is he?”“I am glad you’re here, though, Ike,” I cried.“Not you,” he said sourly, as he thrust and chopped and levelled the soil.“Indeed but I am,” I cried. “Yes, sir, coming,” I shouted, for I heard Mr Solomon asking for me.I went to him, and he set me to water the pots that had been plunged under the big wall; but on going to the pump in the middle of the big walk, where the well was that we used for this garden, I found the handle swing loosely up and down.I went and told Mr Solomon that there was no water to be had there.“I thought as much!” he cried angrily. “I saw those boys jerking the handle about yesterday. Here, Bunce!”Bunce was sent off with a message, and I went about some other task, glad to find that Ike was there at work, for somehow I liked him, though I did not know why, since he was always very gruff and snappish with me. But still it seemed as if he had come to Hampton because I was there.The next morning, after breakfast, as I went down the garden I found that Mr Solomon was by the well talking to a man who carried a basket of tools.As I approached he put them down, Mr Solomon helped him, and together they lifted up a great stone in the pathway, which covered the mouth of the well.There is something very attractive and yet repellent about a well, at least to me. I always want to look down it and listen to the peculiar echoing noise, and the whispers that seem to creep about its green wet sides.It was so here, and while the man stood talking to Mr Solomon I went down on one knee and peered into the well, to see, far down, a glistening round of what looked like a mirror with my face in it, but in a blurred indistinct way, for there was a musical splashing of water falling from the sides, and as I bent lower the air seemed cold and dank, while above it was sunny and warm.I started up suddenly, for just then I heard a laugh, and recalling the way in which I had been thrust into the pond I did not care to risk a kick from him who laughed, or from his companion.For, attracted by Bunce, who was carrying a long ladder, they asked him if he was going to gather fruit, and on learning that the well was being opened they, to use their own words, came to see the fun.Bunce laid the ladder along the path and went off again to his work, while the two boys seemed to ignore my presence, and stood talking to one another and waiting, Philip throwing stones, while Courtenay amused himself by kicking a coil of rope that lay upon the path.“Here, Grant,” cried Mr Solomon, turning upon me suddenly. “Run to the cottage and get a candle and a box of matches.”“Yes, sir,” I said, going.“Yes sir, certainly sir, yes sir,” said Philip in a mocking tone.“And, Grant,” shouted Mr Solomon, “bring one of the men with you.”“Bunce?” I said.“No, he’s busy. Bring that new man, Isaac.”I ran off to the cottage for the candle and matches, and Mrs Solomon asked what they were for.“To see down in the well, I think,” I said.“Oh yes, to be sure! the pump is broken. Tell master to be very careful. Wells are very dangerous places. I once knew of a well where four men tumbled down and never came up again.”“We’ll take care not to tumble,” I cried laughing; and I ran off to find Ike, who was digging away near where I had seen him before.“Eh! Good mornin’!” he said sourly. “Is it? I didn’t know. Mornin’s seems always all alike to a man as has to dig.”“But how well you’re doing it, Ike! It’s better dug than our men generally dig it.”“Be it?” he said dubiously: “Well, I have punished it pretty well. Ground’s very foul and full o’ bear-bine.”“Put down your spade and come along with me,” I cried; “they’re doing something to the well.”“All right, I’ll come!” said Ike sourly. “Pay me my wage and I’m ready. Night work or day work, it’s all the same to me, and such is life. ’Tis a rum set out.”“Don’t grumble, Ike,” I said, “on a morning like this.”“Grumble! That ain’t grumbling. But I say, young ’un, are you glad I come?”“Why, of course I am, Ike.”“So am I then. I s’pose I come o’ purpose to work along o’ you; but I miss my hoss a deal. I say, Old Brownsmith didn’t like it a bit; but here I am; and did you know about young Shock?”“No: what about him? Have they caught him and sent him away?”“No: they’ve caught him and give him a decent suit of clothes, so stiff he can’t hardly move in ’em, and he’s took on.”“Shock is?”“To be sure he is; and if he behaves decent his fortun’s made.”“Oh, look here, my man,” said Mr Solomon as we came up, “you had better stop here and help. Lower down that ladder.”Ike took hold of the ladder as if it were an enemy, gave me a nod, and I went and stood at the foot, so as to hold it down, while Ike raised it erect, and then, taking it by the rounds with his strong brown hands, he lifted it as if it had been a feather, and, walking to the mouth of the well, let the ladder glide softly down till he held the top in his hands; then, swinging it about, he found a resting-place for the bottom upon a piece of wood such as were fixed across the well every ten or a dozen feet to support the pipe and other gear of the pump.“That do, master?” said Ike.“Yes,” said Mr Solomon. “Now, Mr Grinling, you had better try her. Here, stop, what are you going to do?”“Going down,” said Courtenay.“Do you know that well is perhaps very foul?” cried Mr Solomon.“Then it’s your place to keep it clean,” said Philip sharply. “Go on down, Court, or else I shall.”“You won’t, neither of you, go down while I’m here,” said Mr Solomon stoutly.“What right have you to interfere?” cried Courtenay:“Same right as any man has to interfere when he sees a young goose going to throw away his life.”“Oh rubbish!” said Courtenay. “Just as if I couldn’t go down a ladder. Here, stand aside.”Mr Solomon did not stand aside, and he looked so very sturdy and firm that Courtenay gave up and drew back with his brother, whispering and waiting his opportunity.During this time the plumber had been rattling his tools in his basket, and Mr Solomon turned to him again.“Ain’t you going to try her?” he said. “That well hasn’t been open these two years.”“Oh! she’s right enough,” said the plumber sourly. “It ain’t the first time I’ve been down a well.”“But I don’t think it’s safe,” said Mr Solomon. “What do you say?” he continued, turning to Ike.“Looks right enough,” said Ike, kneeling down and looking into the well. Then rising, “but I wouldn’t go down unless I didn’t want to come up no more.”“Tchah!” ejaculated the plumber; and I knelt down once more to look for the danger, but could see nothing but the dark whispering hole, with, at a great depth below, the round disc of light representing the mouth of the well.Just then something passed my head and fell down with, after a while, a strange hollowplashfrom below.“That’ll do,” said Mr Solomon angrily. “No more of that, please.”“You mind your own business, Browny. Anyone would think you were the master here.”“Master or no, here’s Sir Francis coming. Let’s see whether he likes you to be throwing stones down the well.”Mr Solomon uttered a sigh of relief, for, as Sir Francis came along a neighbouring path, the two lads slowly walked away.“That’s a blessing,” he said. “Now we can work in peace. You’ll try her first—won’t you, plumber?”“All right, gardener. What are you scared about?”Mr Solomon looked at him angrily and then said:“I don’t know that I’m scared about you, my man; but I don’t want to risk my life, or to send down one of my men to fetch you out.”The plumber grunted, and I looked on wondering what the danger was, for I knew nothing then about chemistry or foul gases; and I stared all the more when the plumber took a ball of thin string from his jacket pocket, tied the candle with a couple of half hitches, and then struck a match and lit the wick. Then as soon as it was burning brightly, sheltered by his hands from the breeze, he stooped down and held it in the well and then lowered it down.We stood round watching the candle swing gently and the flame dance as the plumber slowly unrolled the ball of string.At first the light looked very pale; but it grew brighter as it left the sunshine near the mouth of the well and lit up the dark slimy-looking old bricks, the rusty iron pipe, and the cross pieces of timber, while far down I could now and then catch sight of the cylinder of the pump as the candle began to swing now like a pendulum. It was very indistinct, just gleaming now and then, while the walls glistened, and I realised more and more what a horrible place it would be for anyone to fall into.I was full of imaginings of horror, and I fancied the fearful splash, the darkness, the rising to the surface, and then the poor wretch—myself perhaps—striving to get my fingers in between the slippery bricks, and getting no hold, and then—“There!—what did I tell you?” said Mr Solomon.“She’s a foul un, and no mistake,” growled Ike.“Oh! that’s nothing,” said the plumber. “I’ve been down worse wells than that.”I was puzzled, for it seemed to me that the candle must be bad. As I had watched it the flame grew brighter and brighter as it reached the darkness, and then it burned more palely, grew smaller, and then all at once it turned blue and went out.He drew it up, lit it again, and lowered it once more, and it seemed to go down a little lower before it went out.He drew it up again, relit it, and once more sent it down; and this time it went as far as the cylinder of the pump—which was fixed, I saw, on a sort of scaffold or framework where the foot of the ladder rested.I was able to see all this before the light went out and was drawn up again.“All right in a few minutes,” said the plumber; and he unfastened the candle, lowered down his basket of tools by means of the string, and made it lodge on a bit of a platform close by the works of the pump.It was all very interesting to me to see how low down the pump was fixed, and that the handle worked an iron rod up and down—a rod of great length.The plumber took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, after sticking the candle in his waist and the matches in his pocket, and prepared to descend.“Why, you are not going down like that—are you?” said Mr Solomon.“I always do go down like that,” said the man with a laugh. “How should you go down-head first?”“No,” cried Mr Solomon angrily; “but with a rope fastened to my waist, and a couple of men to hold it.”“D’yer think I’m a baby?” said the plumber, “or a little child?”“Worse,” said Mr Solomon shortly. “You can make them do what’s right.”“Tchah! I know what I’m about, just as well as you know how to bud roses.”“I dare say you do,” said Mr Solomon sternly; “but that well’s got a lot of foul gas in it, and you’re not going down without a rope to hold you.”“Rubbish!” said the plumber, laughing; “I am.”“And who’s going to use the water agen if you’re drowned in it?” said Ike seriously. “It’ll be all full o’ white-lead and putty, and kill the plarnts!”“You’re very clever,” said the plumber sharply; “but just mind your own business.”As he spoke he sat down with his legs in the well, but Mr Solomon seized him by the collar.“You stop,” he cried; “I won’t have it. You don’t go down that well without a rope round you. Fetch Bunce,” he said, addressing Ike.“If I can’t do my work my own way,” said the plumber sharply, “I sha’n’t do it at all.”He started up, threw on his jacket, and went off after Ike, while Mr Solomon stood thinking.“Such idiocy!” he exclaimed. “The well isn’t safe, and he wants to run unnecessary risks. I suppose he’ll come back,” he muttered. “Perhaps I shall have to fetch him. Here, Grant, you stop here and don’t leave the mouth of the well for fear anyone should go near.”He went after the men, and I lay down gazing into the dark hollow place, wondering what the foul gas was like, and whether I could see it down below; and I was just wishing that I had the candle and string to try experiments, and wondering how far the light would go down now, when I uttered a cry.My heart seemed to give a great leap, for somebody gave me a rough push and it seemed as if I were going to be thrust down the well.“There’s a coward!” cried Philip jeeringly. “Did you ever see such a cur, Court? Thought he was going down.”“Perhaps I did,” I replied warmly, as I glanced from one to the other, wondering whether it was to be war again; but they paid no further attention to me, and began arguing between themselves.“You daren’t!” said Philip.“Daren’t!” cried Courtenay. “Why, I went down last time hanging to a rope when it was cleaned out, and there was no water at the bottom.”“But there is water now—twenty or thirty feet, and you daren’t go down.”“Yes I dare.”“Bet you sixpence you daren’t.”“Done!” cried Courtenay. “Mind I shall make you pay.”“You daren’t go.”“All right; you’ll see!” cried Courtenay; and to my horror he went close to the mouth and looked down.“You can’t go down,” I said; “the well isn’t safe.”“Who spoke to you, pauper?” cried Philip sharply. And then with a sniggering laugh, “It ain’t safe, Courtenay. You can’t go down, and you’ll have to pay me all the same.”“I’m going down,” said Courtenay.“You can’t,” I cried. “It’s full of foul air.”“You mind your own business, pauper,” cried Courtenay.This repetition of the word pauper so enraged me that for the moment I felt tempted to let him go down, but the next moment I shuddered at the thought and cried:“It is my business. I was to keep everyone from going near.”“Don’t take any notice of the workus boy, Court. Go on down, if you dare.”“I dare,” he said, laughing.“I tell you it isn’t safe,” I cried.“Do you want a punch on the head?” said Philip menacingly.“Yes, but you daren’t give it me,” I cried fiercely.“Never mind him,” said Courtenay. “Look here, I’m only going to the bottom of the ladder. I’m not going to slide down the pipe to the water.”As he spoke he sat down on the edge with his legs dangling over the side.“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Philip, seating himself opposite to him and kicking at his brother’s feet. “You daren’t go.”“You say I daren’t go again I’ll take you by the scruff of the neck and make you go down instead. I say, let’s send the pauper down to swallow the foul air.”“There, I knew you daren’t go,” cried Philip.“I dare.”“You daren’t.”“He shall not go,” I cried; and I caught the lad by the collar.He gave himself a twist, and as he freed himself he struck me a savage blow with his elbow right in the lower part of the chest.The blow took away my breath and made me stagger back in agony, and gasping, while by the time I had recovered myself he had stepped on to the ladder, gone down several rounds, and his head disappeared.“There, coward, what do you think of that?” cried Philip.I ran to the side with my heart throbbing painfully, and I felt as if my eyes were wild and staring as I saw the lad go down about a dozen feet and stop.“I say, Phil,” he cried, with his voice echoing and sounding hollow, “come down. It is so jolly and cool.”“I’ll go down when you’ve come up,” said his brother. “That isn’t far enough. I don’t call that anything.”“Wait a bit. Don’t be in a wax.”“Come up, sir, pray come up,” I cried. “There’s foul air lower down. The candle wouldn’t burn.”“Pitch him down if he don’t hold his tongue, Phil,” cried Courtenay. “Here goes for a slide.”He grasped the sides of the ladder, took his feet off the round on which he stood, and throwing his legs round he began to slide slowly down.“I say, it’s as cool as eating ices, Phil,” he cried. “Come on down.”Philip made no answer, but glanced at me, and I suppose my blanched and horrified countenance startled him, for he too suddenly turned white and exclaimed:“There, you’ve won, Court. I give in. Come back now.”Too late! Courtenay slid slowly on for a few moments, then faster, and then we saw his arms relax and he fell over backwards, while as I stood on the brink gazing down I felt as if I had suddenly been turned to stone.

The gardener was right. The fight was a lesson for the boys, who kept at a distance from me, during the next few days, while our scratches and bruises grew faint and began to heal.

We had expected they would have been off to school; but for some reason, illness I believe, the holidays were extended for a month, and so they stayed, but I was pretty well left in peace.

My first hint of Sir Francis’ return was given by that gentleman himself, who came upon me suddenly as I was busy in the peach-house. I was painting away at the branches that had become infected with a tiresome kind of blight, when I heard a sharp quick step behind me, and my heart quailed, for I felt that it was Sir Francis about to take me to task for my encounter with his sons.

I kept busily on with my work, in the faint, hope that he might pass me and say nothing, but he stopped short, and looked on as I busied myself with my brush and the poisonous decoction that was to kill the insects.

I was in agony, for I felt that he was looking me through and through, and when he did speak at last I gave quite a jump.

“Hah!” he exclaimed, “rather hard upon the insects. Well, Grant, how are you getting on?”

“Very well, Sir Francis, I think,” I said.

“Seen any more of that boy?”

“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said, colouring.

“Climbed up the wall, has he?”

“I don’t know, Sir Francis,” I replied; “but he has got into the garden lately.”

“That’s right, my lad, be frank,” he said. “I know he has got into the garden. I caught my young gentleman and took him to task. He says he came because you were here.”

“I’m afraid that is why he did come, Sir Francis,” I said.

“Did you tell him to come?”

“No, Sir Francis. We were never very friendly.”

“Ho!” he said, and he walked on looking at the peaches for a few minutes, and then went away, leaving me to wipe the cold perspiration off my forehead, for I had fully expected a severe scolding.

I finished my task in the peach-house, and then went to see how the celery was getting on, for I found that when Mr Solomon gave me a task he expected me to continue to watch, whatever it was.

“So that I may feel that when I have put anything in your hands it will be properly done,” he said more than once; so, feeling that I was responsible for the success of the celery plants, I was on my way to the bottom garden by the pond, thinking of the encounter I had when I was busy watering there that day, when, as I turned down one of the alleys of the garden, I saw a man in the distance digging up a piece of ground with a broad spade, and turning over the soil in that easy regular way, levelling it as he went, that experienced gardeners acquire.

There was something in his way of digging that seemed familiar, and I stopped and stared. The man stopped too, and glanced in my direction; but he only scraped his spade and went on, while, as soon as I had seen his profile I ran up to him and held out my hand.

“Why, Ike!” I cried, “is that you?”

He paused for a few moments, ran his hand over his nose, involuntarily, I’m sure, glanced down at first one leg, and then the other, after which he went on digging.

“Yes,” he said; “it’s me.”

“Why, what are you doing here?”

“Digging,” he said gruffly, and, turning up a spadeful of earth, he gave it a blow with the spade, as if he were boxing its ears, and levelled it smoothly.

“I know that,” I cried; “but how is it you’re here?”

“Got took on.”

“Oh! I am glad,” I cried.

He looked up at me sidewise, and drove his spade in again.

“No, you ain’t,” he said gruffly.

“Indeed I am, Ike,” I cried, “though you wouldn’t say good-bye.”

“Now—now—now—now!” he cried; “don’t go on that how.”

“Did you come this morning?” I said.

“Been here ’most a week.”

“And I didn’t know! But why did you leave Mr Brownsmith?”

“I left Old Brownsmith because I wanted to leave him.”

“Did you have a quarrel, Ike?”

“Quarrel? No! What should I want to quarrel for?”

“But why did you leave?”

“’Cause I liked. Man ain’t a slave, is he?”

“I am glad you’re here, though, Ike,” I cried.

“Not you,” he said sourly, as he thrust and chopped and levelled the soil.

“Indeed but I am,” I cried. “Yes, sir, coming,” I shouted, for I heard Mr Solomon asking for me.

I went to him, and he set me to water the pots that had been plunged under the big wall; but on going to the pump in the middle of the big walk, where the well was that we used for this garden, I found the handle swing loosely up and down.

I went and told Mr Solomon that there was no water to be had there.

“I thought as much!” he cried angrily. “I saw those boys jerking the handle about yesterday. Here, Bunce!”

Bunce was sent off with a message, and I went about some other task, glad to find that Ike was there at work, for somehow I liked him, though I did not know why, since he was always very gruff and snappish with me. But still it seemed as if he had come to Hampton because I was there.

The next morning, after breakfast, as I went down the garden I found that Mr Solomon was by the well talking to a man who carried a basket of tools.

As I approached he put them down, Mr Solomon helped him, and together they lifted up a great stone in the pathway, which covered the mouth of the well.

There is something very attractive and yet repellent about a well, at least to me. I always want to look down it and listen to the peculiar echoing noise, and the whispers that seem to creep about its green wet sides.

It was so here, and while the man stood talking to Mr Solomon I went down on one knee and peered into the well, to see, far down, a glistening round of what looked like a mirror with my face in it, but in a blurred indistinct way, for there was a musical splashing of water falling from the sides, and as I bent lower the air seemed cold and dank, while above it was sunny and warm.

I started up suddenly, for just then I heard a laugh, and recalling the way in which I had been thrust into the pond I did not care to risk a kick from him who laughed, or from his companion.

For, attracted by Bunce, who was carrying a long ladder, they asked him if he was going to gather fruit, and on learning that the well was being opened they, to use their own words, came to see the fun.

Bunce laid the ladder along the path and went off again to his work, while the two boys seemed to ignore my presence, and stood talking to one another and waiting, Philip throwing stones, while Courtenay amused himself by kicking a coil of rope that lay upon the path.

“Here, Grant,” cried Mr Solomon, turning upon me suddenly. “Run to the cottage and get a candle and a box of matches.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, going.

“Yes sir, certainly sir, yes sir,” said Philip in a mocking tone.

“And, Grant,” shouted Mr Solomon, “bring one of the men with you.”

“Bunce?” I said.

“No, he’s busy. Bring that new man, Isaac.”

I ran off to the cottage for the candle and matches, and Mrs Solomon asked what they were for.

“To see down in the well, I think,” I said.

“Oh yes, to be sure! the pump is broken. Tell master to be very careful. Wells are very dangerous places. I once knew of a well where four men tumbled down and never came up again.”

“We’ll take care not to tumble,” I cried laughing; and I ran off to find Ike, who was digging away near where I had seen him before.

“Eh! Good mornin’!” he said sourly. “Is it? I didn’t know. Mornin’s seems always all alike to a man as has to dig.”

“But how well you’re doing it, Ike! It’s better dug than our men generally dig it.”

“Be it?” he said dubiously: “Well, I have punished it pretty well. Ground’s very foul and full o’ bear-bine.”

“Put down your spade and come along with me,” I cried; “they’re doing something to the well.”

“All right, I’ll come!” said Ike sourly. “Pay me my wage and I’m ready. Night work or day work, it’s all the same to me, and such is life. ’Tis a rum set out.”

“Don’t grumble, Ike,” I said, “on a morning like this.”

“Grumble! That ain’t grumbling. But I say, young ’un, are you glad I come?”

“Why, of course I am, Ike.”

“So am I then. I s’pose I come o’ purpose to work along o’ you; but I miss my hoss a deal. I say, Old Brownsmith didn’t like it a bit; but here I am; and did you know about young Shock?”

“No: what about him? Have they caught him and sent him away?”

“No: they’ve caught him and give him a decent suit of clothes, so stiff he can’t hardly move in ’em, and he’s took on.”

“Shock is?”

“To be sure he is; and if he behaves decent his fortun’s made.”

“Oh, look here, my man,” said Mr Solomon as we came up, “you had better stop here and help. Lower down that ladder.”

Ike took hold of the ladder as if it were an enemy, gave me a nod, and I went and stood at the foot, so as to hold it down, while Ike raised it erect, and then, taking it by the rounds with his strong brown hands, he lifted it as if it had been a feather, and, walking to the mouth of the well, let the ladder glide softly down till he held the top in his hands; then, swinging it about, he found a resting-place for the bottom upon a piece of wood such as were fixed across the well every ten or a dozen feet to support the pipe and other gear of the pump.

“That do, master?” said Ike.

“Yes,” said Mr Solomon. “Now, Mr Grinling, you had better try her. Here, stop, what are you going to do?”

“Going down,” said Courtenay.

“Do you know that well is perhaps very foul?” cried Mr Solomon.

“Then it’s your place to keep it clean,” said Philip sharply. “Go on down, Court, or else I shall.”

“You won’t, neither of you, go down while I’m here,” said Mr Solomon stoutly.

“What right have you to interfere?” cried Courtenay:

“Same right as any man has to interfere when he sees a young goose going to throw away his life.”

“Oh rubbish!” said Courtenay. “Just as if I couldn’t go down a ladder. Here, stand aside.”

Mr Solomon did not stand aside, and he looked so very sturdy and firm that Courtenay gave up and drew back with his brother, whispering and waiting his opportunity.

During this time the plumber had been rattling his tools in his basket, and Mr Solomon turned to him again.

“Ain’t you going to try her?” he said. “That well hasn’t been open these two years.”

“Oh! she’s right enough,” said the plumber sourly. “It ain’t the first time I’ve been down a well.”

“But I don’t think it’s safe,” said Mr Solomon. “What do you say?” he continued, turning to Ike.

“Looks right enough,” said Ike, kneeling down and looking into the well. Then rising, “but I wouldn’t go down unless I didn’t want to come up no more.”

“Tchah!” ejaculated the plumber; and I knelt down once more to look for the danger, but could see nothing but the dark whispering hole, with, at a great depth below, the round disc of light representing the mouth of the well.

Just then something passed my head and fell down with, after a while, a strange hollowplashfrom below.

“That’ll do,” said Mr Solomon angrily. “No more of that, please.”

“You mind your own business, Browny. Anyone would think you were the master here.”

“Master or no, here’s Sir Francis coming. Let’s see whether he likes you to be throwing stones down the well.”

Mr Solomon uttered a sigh of relief, for, as Sir Francis came along a neighbouring path, the two lads slowly walked away.

“That’s a blessing,” he said. “Now we can work in peace. You’ll try her first—won’t you, plumber?”

“All right, gardener. What are you scared about?”

Mr Solomon looked at him angrily and then said:

“I don’t know that I’m scared about you, my man; but I don’t want to risk my life, or to send down one of my men to fetch you out.”

The plumber grunted, and I looked on wondering what the danger was, for I knew nothing then about chemistry or foul gases; and I stared all the more when the plumber took a ball of thin string from his jacket pocket, tied the candle with a couple of half hitches, and then struck a match and lit the wick. Then as soon as it was burning brightly, sheltered by his hands from the breeze, he stooped down and held it in the well and then lowered it down.

We stood round watching the candle swing gently and the flame dance as the plumber slowly unrolled the ball of string.

At first the light looked very pale; but it grew brighter as it left the sunshine near the mouth of the well and lit up the dark slimy-looking old bricks, the rusty iron pipe, and the cross pieces of timber, while far down I could now and then catch sight of the cylinder of the pump as the candle began to swing now like a pendulum. It was very indistinct, just gleaming now and then, while the walls glistened, and I realised more and more what a horrible place it would be for anyone to fall into.

I was full of imaginings of horror, and I fancied the fearful splash, the darkness, the rising to the surface, and then the poor wretch—myself perhaps—striving to get my fingers in between the slippery bricks, and getting no hold, and then—“There!—what did I tell you?” said Mr Solomon.

“She’s a foul un, and no mistake,” growled Ike.

“Oh! that’s nothing,” said the plumber. “I’ve been down worse wells than that.”

I was puzzled, for it seemed to me that the candle must be bad. As I had watched it the flame grew brighter and brighter as it reached the darkness, and then it burned more palely, grew smaller, and then all at once it turned blue and went out.

He drew it up, lit it again, and lowered it once more, and it seemed to go down a little lower before it went out.

He drew it up again, relit it, and once more sent it down; and this time it went as far as the cylinder of the pump—which was fixed, I saw, on a sort of scaffold or framework where the foot of the ladder rested.

I was able to see all this before the light went out and was drawn up again.

“All right in a few minutes,” said the plumber; and he unfastened the candle, lowered down his basket of tools by means of the string, and made it lodge on a bit of a platform close by the works of the pump.

It was all very interesting to me to see how low down the pump was fixed, and that the handle worked an iron rod up and down—a rod of great length.

The plumber took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, after sticking the candle in his waist and the matches in his pocket, and prepared to descend.

“Why, you are not going down like that—are you?” said Mr Solomon.

“I always do go down like that,” said the man with a laugh. “How should you go down-head first?”

“No,” cried Mr Solomon angrily; “but with a rope fastened to my waist, and a couple of men to hold it.”

“D’yer think I’m a baby?” said the plumber, “or a little child?”

“Worse,” said Mr Solomon shortly. “You can make them do what’s right.”

“Tchah! I know what I’m about, just as well as you know how to bud roses.”

“I dare say you do,” said Mr Solomon sternly; “but that well’s got a lot of foul gas in it, and you’re not going down without a rope to hold you.”

“Rubbish!” said the plumber, laughing; “I am.”

“And who’s going to use the water agen if you’re drowned in it?” said Ike seriously. “It’ll be all full o’ white-lead and putty, and kill the plarnts!”

“You’re very clever,” said the plumber sharply; “but just mind your own business.”

As he spoke he sat down with his legs in the well, but Mr Solomon seized him by the collar.

“You stop,” he cried; “I won’t have it. You don’t go down that well without a rope round you. Fetch Bunce,” he said, addressing Ike.

“If I can’t do my work my own way,” said the plumber sharply, “I sha’n’t do it at all.”

He started up, threw on his jacket, and went off after Ike, while Mr Solomon stood thinking.

“Such idiocy!” he exclaimed. “The well isn’t safe, and he wants to run unnecessary risks. I suppose he’ll come back,” he muttered. “Perhaps I shall have to fetch him. Here, Grant, you stop here and don’t leave the mouth of the well for fear anyone should go near.”

He went after the men, and I lay down gazing into the dark hollow place, wondering what the foul gas was like, and whether I could see it down below; and I was just wishing that I had the candle and string to try experiments, and wondering how far the light would go down now, when I uttered a cry.

My heart seemed to give a great leap, for somebody gave me a rough push and it seemed as if I were going to be thrust down the well.

“There’s a coward!” cried Philip jeeringly. “Did you ever see such a cur, Court? Thought he was going down.”

“Perhaps I did,” I replied warmly, as I glanced from one to the other, wondering whether it was to be war again; but they paid no further attention to me, and began arguing between themselves.

“You daren’t!” said Philip.

“Daren’t!” cried Courtenay. “Why, I went down last time hanging to a rope when it was cleaned out, and there was no water at the bottom.”

“But there is water now—twenty or thirty feet, and you daren’t go down.”

“Yes I dare.”

“Bet you sixpence you daren’t.”

“Done!” cried Courtenay. “Mind I shall make you pay.”

“You daren’t go.”

“All right; you’ll see!” cried Courtenay; and to my horror he went close to the mouth and looked down.

“You can’t go down,” I said; “the well isn’t safe.”

“Who spoke to you, pauper?” cried Philip sharply. And then with a sniggering laugh, “It ain’t safe, Courtenay. You can’t go down, and you’ll have to pay me all the same.”

“I’m going down,” said Courtenay.

“You can’t,” I cried. “It’s full of foul air.”

“You mind your own business, pauper,” cried Courtenay.

This repetition of the word pauper so enraged me that for the moment I felt tempted to let him go down, but the next moment I shuddered at the thought and cried:

“It is my business. I was to keep everyone from going near.”

“Don’t take any notice of the workus boy, Court. Go on down, if you dare.”

“I dare,” he said, laughing.

“I tell you it isn’t safe,” I cried.

“Do you want a punch on the head?” said Philip menacingly.

“Yes, but you daren’t give it me,” I cried fiercely.

“Never mind him,” said Courtenay. “Look here, I’m only going to the bottom of the ladder. I’m not going to slide down the pipe to the water.”

As he spoke he sat down on the edge with his legs dangling over the side.

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Philip, seating himself opposite to him and kicking at his brother’s feet. “You daren’t go.”

“You say I daren’t go again I’ll take you by the scruff of the neck and make you go down instead. I say, let’s send the pauper down to swallow the foul air.”

“There, I knew you daren’t go,” cried Philip.

“I dare.”

“You daren’t.”

“He shall not go,” I cried; and I caught the lad by the collar.

He gave himself a twist, and as he freed himself he struck me a savage blow with his elbow right in the lower part of the chest.

The blow took away my breath and made me stagger back in agony, and gasping, while by the time I had recovered myself he had stepped on to the ladder, gone down several rounds, and his head disappeared.

“There, coward, what do you think of that?” cried Philip.

I ran to the side with my heart throbbing painfully, and I felt as if my eyes were wild and staring as I saw the lad go down about a dozen feet and stop.

“I say, Phil,” he cried, with his voice echoing and sounding hollow, “come down. It is so jolly and cool.”

“I’ll go down when you’ve come up,” said his brother. “That isn’t far enough. I don’t call that anything.”

“Wait a bit. Don’t be in a wax.”

“Come up, sir, pray come up,” I cried. “There’s foul air lower down. The candle wouldn’t burn.”

“Pitch him down if he don’t hold his tongue, Phil,” cried Courtenay. “Here goes for a slide.”

He grasped the sides of the ladder, took his feet off the round on which he stood, and throwing his legs round he began to slide slowly down.

“I say, it’s as cool as eating ices, Phil,” he cried. “Come on down.”

Philip made no answer, but glanced at me, and I suppose my blanched and horrified countenance startled him, for he too suddenly turned white and exclaimed:

“There, you’ve won, Court. I give in. Come back now.”

Too late! Courtenay slid slowly on for a few moments, then faster, and then we saw his arms relax and he fell over backwards, while as I stood on the brink gazing down I felt as if I had suddenly been turned to stone.

Chapter Twenty Six.“What shall we do?”I seemed to be standing there some time, but Mr Solomon afterwards told me it was not a moment, before I looked up, and seeing him returning with the plumber, ran towards them swiftly, shouting for help.The two men started running directly, and as we reached the well together there was Philip lying upon the ground beside the path, face downwards, and with his fingers thrust into his ears.“Now, then,” shouted Mr Solomon to the plumber, as Ike came running up straight across beds, bushes, everything. “Now, then, you said the well was safe; go down and fetch him up.”The plumber went upon one knee, seized the top of the ladder, and got up again shaking his head.“I can’t afford it,” he said. “I’ve a wife and bairns at home.”“I—I daren’t go down,” groaned Mr Solomon. “Man, man, what shall we do?”“It scares me,” growled Ike hoarsely; “but I’ve got no wife and no bairns; and if Master Grant here says, ‘Go,’ I’ll go, though,” he added slowly, “it’s going down into one’s grave.”“Can you see him, Grant?” cried Mr Solomon.“Yes; down on the wood,” I said in a hoarse whisper; “he’s lying across a beam with his head down. What shall we do?”As I asked this piteously I raised my head, to see Philip close by me kneeling on the gravel, his eyes half closed, his face of a yellowish grey, his hands clenched, and his teeth chattering.No one spoke, and as I looked from one man to the other every face was pale and stony-looking, for the men felt that to go down into that carbonic acid gas was to give up life.I felt horribly frightened, and as if I were sinking somewhere. I glanced round, and there was the beautiful garden all flowers and fruit, with the glorious sunshine over all. Below me that terrible pit with the falling whispering water, and a chill seeming to rise out of its depths.As I looked I saw Shock coming towards us at a run, as if he divined that something was the matter, and the sight of him made me think of Mr Brownsmith’s garden and my happy life there, and I gave a low sob as my eyes filled with tears.I tell you I felt horribly frightened, and all this that has taken so long to describe seemed to pass in a flash—almost as I started from gazing down the well to my feet.“Tie the rope round me,” I said huskily. “You can pull me up if I fall.”“Well done, young un!” shouted the plumber, catching up the coil of rope. “I like pluck, I do.”“You stand aside,” cried Ike, snatching the rope from him and giving him a rough thrust with his elbow. “I’ll do this here.”He ran the rope rapidly through his hands, and secured one end about my chest.Then he made a running noose at the other end.“Look here,” he cried. “You take this here noose in your hand, my lad; there’s plenty of rope to reach downdouble. When you gets to him put it over his arm or his leg, or anywhere, and pull it tight. I’ll take care o’ you, my boy, and have you up again like a shot.”“Shake hands, Ike,” I said, all of a tremble.“Ay, I will, boy.”“Go, and God help you!” groaned Mr Solomon; and the next instant, with the noose in my hand and just feeling the rope drag on my chest, I stepped on to the ladder, clasped it as Courtenay had done, and let myself slide down.As I went I looked up, and it seemed dark, for there was a ring of heads round the top; but below as I looked it was still darker.Down, down, with a curious catching of the breath, and a strange sensation of this not being real seizing me. Then I seemed to wake up and find myself where the water was dripping, and the well whispering, and still I slid down till I was on the slimy platform where the foot of the ladder rested, but young Dalton was not there, but some ten feet down, on the next crosspiece of timber.“Lower me down,” I cried, and hanging by the rope I felt myself lowered more and more, and that I was slowly spinning round; but as I swung to and fro I caught at something I could dimly see, and found it was the great slippery pipe that went down into the water, and guided myself by that.Only about ten feet; but the distance in that curious state of dread that made me feel as if my breath was painful and difficult, seemed ten times as great. The rope seemed to be compressing the bones of my chest tighter and tighter, and twice over I felt that I was in amongst the foul air that I believed would kill me before I reached the crosspiece on which the lad hung.The next minute I was seated astride the slippery piece of oak with the water about half a dozen feet below me, and I saw that the least touch would send Courtenay off.I remembered my lesson though, and, forgetting my dread in the excitement, I slipped the rope over the hanging arm nearest to me, right up to the shoulder, and was in the act of drawing it tight, when, as I bent down, a curious choking sensation seized me, and all was blank.Ike told me what took place afterwards, for I knew nothing more till I opened my eyes, and found that I was lying down, and several people whose faces looked misty and confused were about me.I felt sick, and my head throbbed violently. There was a weight over me too, and a curious feeling of confusion, in the midst of which a cool hand was laid upon my fore-head, and I heard some one say:“He’s coming round fast.”I lay quite still for some time, and at last I exclaimed:“What’s the matter—is anyone hurt?”“Lie still, my lad,” said a strange voice.“I know,” I cried excitedly. “Did you get him out?”“Yes, yes, he’s all right, and so are you, Grant, my lad,” said Mr Solomon; and just then the room seemed to be darkened, and I heard Ike’s voice:“Is he coming to?”“Yes. He’s all right.”Then I felt that I was wrong about some one else, and that it was that accident with the cart tipping up at Old Brownsmith’s, and it was I who was hurt.That all passed away like a cloud, and my full senses seemed to come back.“Did you get Master Courtenay out?” I said.“Yes, my lad, he is quite safe,” said a quick sharp voice, which its owner seemed to me trying to make gentle, and turning my head I saw Sir Francis.I tried to get up, but turned giddy.“Lie still, my lad,” he said kindly. “Don’t disturb him, Brownsmith. Good-bye, my lad! I’ll see you again.”He shook hands with me and went to the door.“Well,” he said sharply, “are you going to shake hands with the brave fellow who saved your brother’s life?”The next moment I saw young Philip at my side, and he took my hand in his, which felt cold and damp like the tail of a cod-fish.“If he seems to change in any way,” said the voice I had heard before, “send for me directly; but I think he will be all right in an hour or two. I’m going up to the house.”“Who’s that?” I said sharply.“The doctor, my lad,” said Mr Solomon.“But I’m not ill,” I said. “What was it? Did I fall into the water?”“Foul air overcame you, my lad. How do you feel?”“Yes, how do you feel?” said Mrs Solomon gently, as she took my hand.“I’m all right,” I said, sitting up, and this time I didn’t feel giddy. “Only something seems to hurt my chest.”“The rope cut you a bit, that’s all. It will soon go off.”Through the open door I could see Ike standing watching me attentively, and as soon as he caught my eye he began to jerk his arm in the air as if he were crying “Hooray!”Just then a head came slowly round the door-post, and I saw Shock staring in at me; but as soon as he saw that I was looking his head was snatched back.“How is he now?” said the plumber, coming to the door.“Oh, I am quite well,” I said, in an irritable tone that was new to me, and I got up; “I’m going out now.”“You’re well out of it, my lad,” said the plumber. “I knowed a case once where five chaps went down one after the other to save him as had gone first, and they all fell to the bottom and died.”“There, for goodness’ sake, man, don’t talk like that to the lad after what he has gone through,” said Mrs Solomon.“All right, mum,” said the plumber; “but as I was going to say, I don’t think I shall have the heart to go down today, but I’ll see how the air is whether or no.”“You’re not going out,” said Mrs Solomon.“Yes, please; it will do me good,” I said; and the air did seem to refresh me, as I followed them back to the well, where the plumber tried it again by lowering down the lighted candle, to find it burn brightly till it was down by the cross piece on which young Dalton had lain, after which it went out directly.He tried it again and again, always with the same result.“It’s got lower and lower,” he said. “By to-morrow there won’t be much in. That young gent couldn’t have been overcome by the bad air,” he continued. “It’s my belief as he fell out of being frightened, and it’s lucky for him that he stopped where he did. If he’d gone a foot lower, that doctor wouldn’t have brought him round.”“Well,” said Mr Solomon rather impatiently, “what are you going to do?”“Kiver up the well for to-day, and come on tomorrow.”“But we want water.”“Can’t help it; I couldn’t go down and work there to-day. My nerves is shook.”“Suppose we put a rope round you.”“Bless your heart, Mr Brownsmith, sir, I couldn’t go down if you put two ropes round me. I’m just going to lift out this here ladder, and then p’r’aps your man will help me put on the stone.”Mr Solomon grunted, and I looked on, shivering a little in spite of the hot sunshine as I saw the ladder lifted out and laid down beside the path by Ike, after which Mr Solomon himself helped to put the stone back in its place before walking with the plumber towards the gate.“How was it all, Ike?” I said eagerly.“Oh, you’d better ask young Shock here.”Shock, who was in a stiff suit of corduroys, looked at him sharply, spun round, and ran off.“Y’ever see the likes o’ him?” said Ike chuckling. “Puts me in mind of a scared dog, he do, reg’lar.”“But tell me,” I said; “how was it? I don’t remember.”“Well, it were like this, you see,” said Ike. “I were holding the rope tightly and watching of you, and I see you slip on the noose, and tightened it, and then all at once I shouted to the others, ‘Hook on,’ I says, ‘it’s got him.’“I was on the watch for it, you see, and ready, and hauled at once. Thank goodness, I am strong in the arm if I ain’t in the head. So I hauled, and they hauled, and so had you both up a few feet directly, one at each end of the rope, and you two couldn’t be civil to each other even then, but must get quarrelling.”“Quarrelling! Nonsense, Ike! I was insensible, and so was he.”“I don’t care; you was quarrelling and got yourselves tangled up together, and the rope twissen round and round under one of them bits o’ wood as goes acrost.”“Yes, I know,” I said excitedly, for the thought made me shudder.“Well, there you was; and the more you was pulled the tighter you was, just below the bottom of the ladder.”“And what did you do, Ike?”“Well, I was going down, and was about handing the ropes to Old Brownsmith’s brother, when young Shock hops in on to the ladder like a wild monkey a’most. Down he goes chattering like anything, and it was no use to shout to him to have a rope. Afore we knowed it a’most, he was down and lying flat on his stum. ‘Lower a bit,’ he shouts, and we lowered, and he untwisted you two and guided you both clear, and stopped till you were both out, when he came out whistling as if nothing was the matter.”“A brave fellow!” I cried warmly.“That’s what I said,” cried Ike; “but the plumber said it was because he didn’t know there was any danger.”“Well, Ike, what then?”“Oh, there’s no more to tell, only that Sir Francis come and a doctor was fetched, and the guv’nor said it would be a warning to them two boys; and young shaver who went down’s up at home getting all right, and you’ve got all right, and that’s all.”That was not all, for I went down the garden—and found Shock, to thank him for what he had done, but he only turned his back on me and then walked away; while, feeling faint, I turned to go up to the cottage and lie down till the sick sensation had gone off.I had gone about a dozen yards, when,thump! a worm-eaten baking pear, half-grown, hit me on the back, and I did not need telling that it was thrown by Shock.

I seemed to be standing there some time, but Mr Solomon afterwards told me it was not a moment, before I looked up, and seeing him returning with the plumber, ran towards them swiftly, shouting for help.

The two men started running directly, and as we reached the well together there was Philip lying upon the ground beside the path, face downwards, and with his fingers thrust into his ears.

“Now, then,” shouted Mr Solomon to the plumber, as Ike came running up straight across beds, bushes, everything. “Now, then, you said the well was safe; go down and fetch him up.”

The plumber went upon one knee, seized the top of the ladder, and got up again shaking his head.

“I can’t afford it,” he said. “I’ve a wife and bairns at home.”

“I—I daren’t go down,” groaned Mr Solomon. “Man, man, what shall we do?”

“It scares me,” growled Ike hoarsely; “but I’ve got no wife and no bairns; and if Master Grant here says, ‘Go,’ I’ll go, though,” he added slowly, “it’s going down into one’s grave.”

“Can you see him, Grant?” cried Mr Solomon.

“Yes; down on the wood,” I said in a hoarse whisper; “he’s lying across a beam with his head down. What shall we do?”

As I asked this piteously I raised my head, to see Philip close by me kneeling on the gravel, his eyes half closed, his face of a yellowish grey, his hands clenched, and his teeth chattering.

No one spoke, and as I looked from one man to the other every face was pale and stony-looking, for the men felt that to go down into that carbonic acid gas was to give up life.

I felt horribly frightened, and as if I were sinking somewhere. I glanced round, and there was the beautiful garden all flowers and fruit, with the glorious sunshine over all. Below me that terrible pit with the falling whispering water, and a chill seeming to rise out of its depths.

As I looked I saw Shock coming towards us at a run, as if he divined that something was the matter, and the sight of him made me think of Mr Brownsmith’s garden and my happy life there, and I gave a low sob as my eyes filled with tears.

I tell you I felt horribly frightened, and all this that has taken so long to describe seemed to pass in a flash—almost as I started from gazing down the well to my feet.

“Tie the rope round me,” I said huskily. “You can pull me up if I fall.”

“Well done, young un!” shouted the plumber, catching up the coil of rope. “I like pluck, I do.”

“You stand aside,” cried Ike, snatching the rope from him and giving him a rough thrust with his elbow. “I’ll do this here.”

He ran the rope rapidly through his hands, and secured one end about my chest.

Then he made a running noose at the other end.

“Look here,” he cried. “You take this here noose in your hand, my lad; there’s plenty of rope to reach downdouble. When you gets to him put it over his arm or his leg, or anywhere, and pull it tight. I’ll take care o’ you, my boy, and have you up again like a shot.”

“Shake hands, Ike,” I said, all of a tremble.

“Ay, I will, boy.”

“Go, and God help you!” groaned Mr Solomon; and the next instant, with the noose in my hand and just feeling the rope drag on my chest, I stepped on to the ladder, clasped it as Courtenay had done, and let myself slide down.

As I went I looked up, and it seemed dark, for there was a ring of heads round the top; but below as I looked it was still darker.

Down, down, with a curious catching of the breath, and a strange sensation of this not being real seizing me. Then I seemed to wake up and find myself where the water was dripping, and the well whispering, and still I slid down till I was on the slimy platform where the foot of the ladder rested, but young Dalton was not there, but some ten feet down, on the next crosspiece of timber.

“Lower me down,” I cried, and hanging by the rope I felt myself lowered more and more, and that I was slowly spinning round; but as I swung to and fro I caught at something I could dimly see, and found it was the great slippery pipe that went down into the water, and guided myself by that.

Only about ten feet; but the distance in that curious state of dread that made me feel as if my breath was painful and difficult, seemed ten times as great. The rope seemed to be compressing the bones of my chest tighter and tighter, and twice over I felt that I was in amongst the foul air that I believed would kill me before I reached the crosspiece on which the lad hung.

The next minute I was seated astride the slippery piece of oak with the water about half a dozen feet below me, and I saw that the least touch would send Courtenay off.

I remembered my lesson though, and, forgetting my dread in the excitement, I slipped the rope over the hanging arm nearest to me, right up to the shoulder, and was in the act of drawing it tight, when, as I bent down, a curious choking sensation seized me, and all was blank.

Ike told me what took place afterwards, for I knew nothing more till I opened my eyes, and found that I was lying down, and several people whose faces looked misty and confused were about me.

I felt sick, and my head throbbed violently. There was a weight over me too, and a curious feeling of confusion, in the midst of which a cool hand was laid upon my fore-head, and I heard some one say:

“He’s coming round fast.”

I lay quite still for some time, and at last I exclaimed:

“What’s the matter—is anyone hurt?”

“Lie still, my lad,” said a strange voice.

“I know,” I cried excitedly. “Did you get him out?”

“Yes, yes, he’s all right, and so are you, Grant, my lad,” said Mr Solomon; and just then the room seemed to be darkened, and I heard Ike’s voice:

“Is he coming to?”

“Yes. He’s all right.”

Then I felt that I was wrong about some one else, and that it was that accident with the cart tipping up at Old Brownsmith’s, and it was I who was hurt.

That all passed away like a cloud, and my full senses seemed to come back.

“Did you get Master Courtenay out?” I said.

“Yes, my lad, he is quite safe,” said a quick sharp voice, which its owner seemed to me trying to make gentle, and turning my head I saw Sir Francis.

I tried to get up, but turned giddy.

“Lie still, my lad,” he said kindly. “Don’t disturb him, Brownsmith. Good-bye, my lad! I’ll see you again.”

He shook hands with me and went to the door.

“Well,” he said sharply, “are you going to shake hands with the brave fellow who saved your brother’s life?”

The next moment I saw young Philip at my side, and he took my hand in his, which felt cold and damp like the tail of a cod-fish.

“If he seems to change in any way,” said the voice I had heard before, “send for me directly; but I think he will be all right in an hour or two. I’m going up to the house.”

“Who’s that?” I said sharply.

“The doctor, my lad,” said Mr Solomon.

“But I’m not ill,” I said. “What was it? Did I fall into the water?”

“Foul air overcame you, my lad. How do you feel?”

“Yes, how do you feel?” said Mrs Solomon gently, as she took my hand.

“I’m all right,” I said, sitting up, and this time I didn’t feel giddy. “Only something seems to hurt my chest.”

“The rope cut you a bit, that’s all. It will soon go off.”

Through the open door I could see Ike standing watching me attentively, and as soon as he caught my eye he began to jerk his arm in the air as if he were crying “Hooray!”

Just then a head came slowly round the door-post, and I saw Shock staring in at me; but as soon as he saw that I was looking his head was snatched back.

“How is he now?” said the plumber, coming to the door.

“Oh, I am quite well,” I said, in an irritable tone that was new to me, and I got up; “I’m going out now.”

“You’re well out of it, my lad,” said the plumber. “I knowed a case once where five chaps went down one after the other to save him as had gone first, and they all fell to the bottom and died.”

“There, for goodness’ sake, man, don’t talk like that to the lad after what he has gone through,” said Mrs Solomon.

“All right, mum,” said the plumber; “but as I was going to say, I don’t think I shall have the heart to go down today, but I’ll see how the air is whether or no.”

“You’re not going out,” said Mrs Solomon.

“Yes, please; it will do me good,” I said; and the air did seem to refresh me, as I followed them back to the well, where the plumber tried it again by lowering down the lighted candle, to find it burn brightly till it was down by the cross piece on which young Dalton had lain, after which it went out directly.

He tried it again and again, always with the same result.

“It’s got lower and lower,” he said. “By to-morrow there won’t be much in. That young gent couldn’t have been overcome by the bad air,” he continued. “It’s my belief as he fell out of being frightened, and it’s lucky for him that he stopped where he did. If he’d gone a foot lower, that doctor wouldn’t have brought him round.”

“Well,” said Mr Solomon rather impatiently, “what are you going to do?”

“Kiver up the well for to-day, and come on tomorrow.”

“But we want water.”

“Can’t help it; I couldn’t go down and work there to-day. My nerves is shook.”

“Suppose we put a rope round you.”

“Bless your heart, Mr Brownsmith, sir, I couldn’t go down if you put two ropes round me. I’m just going to lift out this here ladder, and then p’r’aps your man will help me put on the stone.”

Mr Solomon grunted, and I looked on, shivering a little in spite of the hot sunshine as I saw the ladder lifted out and laid down beside the path by Ike, after which Mr Solomon himself helped to put the stone back in its place before walking with the plumber towards the gate.

“How was it all, Ike?” I said eagerly.

“Oh, you’d better ask young Shock here.”

Shock, who was in a stiff suit of corduroys, looked at him sharply, spun round, and ran off.

“Y’ever see the likes o’ him?” said Ike chuckling. “Puts me in mind of a scared dog, he do, reg’lar.”

“But tell me,” I said; “how was it? I don’t remember.”

“Well, it were like this, you see,” said Ike. “I were holding the rope tightly and watching of you, and I see you slip on the noose, and tightened it, and then all at once I shouted to the others, ‘Hook on,’ I says, ‘it’s got him.’

“I was on the watch for it, you see, and ready, and hauled at once. Thank goodness, I am strong in the arm if I ain’t in the head. So I hauled, and they hauled, and so had you both up a few feet directly, one at each end of the rope, and you two couldn’t be civil to each other even then, but must get quarrelling.”

“Quarrelling! Nonsense, Ike! I was insensible, and so was he.”

“I don’t care; you was quarrelling and got yourselves tangled up together, and the rope twissen round and round under one of them bits o’ wood as goes acrost.”

“Yes, I know,” I said excitedly, for the thought made me shudder.

“Well, there you was; and the more you was pulled the tighter you was, just below the bottom of the ladder.”

“And what did you do, Ike?”

“Well, I was going down, and was about handing the ropes to Old Brownsmith’s brother, when young Shock hops in on to the ladder like a wild monkey a’most. Down he goes chattering like anything, and it was no use to shout to him to have a rope. Afore we knowed it a’most, he was down and lying flat on his stum. ‘Lower a bit,’ he shouts, and we lowered, and he untwisted you two and guided you both clear, and stopped till you were both out, when he came out whistling as if nothing was the matter.”

“A brave fellow!” I cried warmly.

“That’s what I said,” cried Ike; “but the plumber said it was because he didn’t know there was any danger.”

“Well, Ike, what then?”

“Oh, there’s no more to tell, only that Sir Francis come and a doctor was fetched, and the guv’nor said it would be a warning to them two boys; and young shaver who went down’s up at home getting all right, and you’ve got all right, and that’s all.”

That was not all, for I went down the garden—and found Shock, to thank him for what he had done, but he only turned his back on me and then walked away; while, feeling faint, I turned to go up to the cottage and lie down till the sick sensation had gone off.

I had gone about a dozen yards, when,thump! a worm-eaten baking pear, half-grown, hit me on the back, and I did not need telling that it was thrown by Shock.

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