told me were Myatt's.

Then taking me to a low cool shed that smelt strongly of cut flowers, he
took down a large open strawberry basket from a nail, and deftly
arranged the leaves and fruit therein, with the finest ripened fruit
pointing upwards.

"That's the way to manage it, my lad," he said, giving me a queer look;
"put all the bad ones at the bottom and the good ones at the top.
That's what you'd better do with your qualities, only never let the bad
ones get out."

"Now, your pinks and roses," he said; and, taking them, he shook them
out loosely on the bench beneath a window, arranged them all very
cleverly in a bunch, and tied it up with a piece of matting.

"I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, sir," I said, warmly now, for it
seemed to me that I had been making a mistake about Mr Brownsmith, and
that he was a very good old fellow after all.

"That's right," he said, laughing. "So you ought to be. Good-bye.
Come again soon. My dooty to your mamma, and I hope she'll be better.
Shake hands."

I held out my hand and grasped his warmly as we reached the gate, seeing
Shock watching me all the time. Then as I stood outside old Brownsmith
laughed and nodded.

"Mind how you pack your strawberries," he said with a laugh; "bad 'uns
at bottom, good 'uns at top. Good-bye, youngster, good-bye."

CHAPTER THREE.

OLD BROWNSMITH'S VISITOR.

The time glided on, but I did not go to the garden again, for my mother
felt that we must not put ourselves under so great an obligation to a
stranger. Neither did I take her over for a walk, but we sat at the
window a great deal after lesson time; and whenever I was alone and
Shock was within sight, he used to indulge in some monkey-like gesture,
all of which seemed meant to show me what a very little he thought of
me.

At the end of a fortnight, as I was sitting at the window talking to a
boy who went to a neighbouring school, and telling him why I did not go,
a great clod of earth came over the wall and hit the boy in the back.

"Who's that!" he cried sharply. "Did you shy that lump?"

"No," I said; and before I could say more, he cried:

"I know. It was Brownsmith's baboon shied that. Only let us get him
out in the fields, we'll give it him. You know him, don't you?"

"Do you mean Shock?" I said.

"Yes, that ragged old dirty chap," he cried. "You can see him out of
your window, can't you?"

"I can sometimes," I said; "but I can't now."

"That's be