ild beast, and if he wants us to be enemies, we will."

I suppose I knew a good deal for my age, as far as education went. If I
had been set to answer the questions in an examination paper I believe I
should have failed; but all the same I had learned a great deal of
French, German, and Latin, and I could write a fair hand and express
myself decently on paper. But when I sat at our window watching Shock's
wonderful activity, and recalled how splendidly he must be able to swim,
I used to feel as if I were a very inferior being, and that he was a
long way ahead of me.

As the time went on our visits to the garden used to grow less frequent;
but whenever the weather was fine and my mother felt equal to the task,
we used to go over; and towards the end old Brownsmith's big armed
Windsor chair, with its cushions, used to be set under a big quince tree
in the centre walk, just where there were most flowers, and as soon as
we had reached it the old fellow used to come down with a piece of
carpet to double up and put beneath my mother's feet.

"Used to be a bit of a spring here," he said with a nod to me; "might be
a little damp."

Then he would leave a couple of cats, "just for company like," he would
say, and then go softly away.

I did not realise it was so near when that terrible time came and I
followed my poor mother to her grave, seeing everything about me in a
strange, unnatural manner. One minute it seemed to be real; then again
as if it were all a dream. There were people about me in black, and I
was in black, but I was half stunned, listening to the words that were
said; and at last I was left almost alone, for those who were with me
stepped back a yard or two.

I was gazing down with my eyes dimmed and a strange aching feeling at my
heart, when I felt someone touch my elbow, and turning round to follow
whoever it was, I found old Brownsmith there, in his black clothes and
white neckerchief, holding an enormous bunch of white roses in his arms.

"Thought you'd like it, my lad," he said in a low husky voice. "She
used to be very fond o' my white roses, poor soul!"

As he spoke he nodded and took his great pruning-knife from his coat
pocket, opened it with his teeth, and cut the strip of sweet-scented
Russia mat. Then holding them ready in his arms he stood there while I
slowly scattered the beautiful flowers down more and more, more and
more, till the coffin was nearly covered, and instead of the black c