hat I was trespassing, I went past the
cart, and had gone half-way by the wagon, when there was a creaking,
rattling noise of baskets, and something made a bound.

I started back, feeling sure that some huge dog was coming at me; but
there in the wagon, and kneeling on the edge to gaze down at me with a
fierce grin, was that boy.

I was dreadfully alarmed, and felt as if the next minute he and I would
be having a big fight; but I wouldn't show my fear, and I stared up at
him defiantly with my fists clenching, ready for his first attack.

He did not speak--I did not speak; but we stared at each other for some
moments, before he took a small round turnip out of his pocket and began
to munch it.

"Shock!" cried somebody just then; and the boy turned himself over the
edge of the wagon, dropped on to the ground, and ran towards one of the
sheds, while, greatly relieved, I looked about me, and could see Mr
Brownsmith some distance off, down between two rows of trees that formed
quite an avenue.

It seemed so beautiful after being shut up so much in our sitting-room,
to walk down between clusters of white roses and moss roses, with Anne
Boleyne pinks scenting the air, and far back in the shade bright orange
double wallflowers blowing a little after their time.

I had not gone far when a blackbird flew out of a pear-tree, and I knew
that there must be a nest somewhere close by. Sure enough I could see
it in a fork, with a curious chirping noise coming from it, as another
blackbird flew out, saw me, and darted back.

I would have given that sixpence for the right to climb that pear-tree,
and I gave vent to a sigh as I saw the figure of old Brownsmith coming
towards me, looking much more stern and sharp than he did at a distance,
and with his side pockets bulging enormously.

"Hallo, young shaver! what's your business?" he said, in a quick
authoritative way, as we drew near to each other.

I turned a little red, for it sounded insulting for a market gardener to
speak to me like that, for I never forgot that my father had been a
captain in an Indian regiment, and was killed fighting in the Sikh war.

I did not answer, but drew myself up a little, before saying rather
consequentially:

"Sixpenn'orth of flowers and strawberries--good ones."

"Oh, get out!" he said gruffly, and he half turned away. "We've no time
for picking sixpenn'orths, boy. Run up into the road to the
greengrocer's shop."

My face grew scarlet,