and that he
always seemed to be.

He never threw lumps of soil or apples or potatoes at me now; but he
would often make-believe to be about to hurl something, and if he could
not get away because of his work he always turned his back.

"He doesn't like me, Ike," I said to the big gardener one day.

"No, he don't, that's sartain," said Ike. "He's jealous of you, like,
because the ganger makes so much of you."

"Mr Brownsmith would make as much of him if he would be smart and
clean, and act like other boys," I said.

"Yes, but that's just what he won't do, won't Shock. You see, young
'un, he's a 'riginal--a reg'lar 'riginal, and you can't alter him.
Ain't tried to lick you again, has he?"

"Oh, no!" I said; "and he does not throw at me."

"Don't shy at you now! Well, I wonder at that," said Ike. "He's a
wunner at shying. He can hit anything with a stone. I've seen him
knock over a bird afore now, and when he gets off in the fields of an
evening I've often knowed him bring back a rabbit."

"What does he do with it?"

"Do with it! Come, there's a good 'un. Cook it down in the shed, and
eat it. He'd eat a'most anything. But don't you mind him. It don't
matter whether he's pleased or whether he ain't. If he's too hard on
you, hit him again, and don't be afraid."

In fact the more I saw of Shock, the more distant he grew; and though I
tried to make friends with him by putting slices of bread and butter and
bits of cold pudding in the shed down the garden that he used to like to
make his home at meal-time and of an evening, he used to eat them, and
we were as bad friends as ever.

One morning, when there was rather a bigger fire than usual down in the
old tool-shed, I walked to the door, and found Shock on his knees
apparently making a pudding of soft clay, which he was kneading and
beating about on the end of the hearthstone.

I looked round for the twig, for I felt sure that he was going to use
the clay for pellets to sling at me, but there was no stick visible.

As I came to the doorway he just glanced over his shoulder; and then,
seeing who it was, he shuffled round a little more and went on.

"What are you doing, Shock?" I asked.

He made no reply, but rapidly pinched off pieces of the clay and roughly
formed them into the head, body, legs, and arms of a human being, which
he set up against the wall, and then with a hoarse laugh knocked into a
shapeless mass with one punch of his clay-coated