ing up to the nursery to say that Mother
said "Of course not." But Henrietta said, "What did you ask her?" And
when Rupert told her she said, "Of course Mother thought you meant one
of those men who have carts to carry things, with a hood on the top
and a dog underneath."

Johnson's father and grandfather were not carriers of that kind. They
owned a lot of canal-boats, and one or two big barges, which took all
kinds of things all the way to London.

Mr. Johnson used to say, "In my father's time men of business lived
near their work both in London and the country. That's why my house is
close to the wharf. I am not ashamed of my trade, and the place is
very comfortable, so I shall stick to it. Tom may move into the town
and give the old house to the foreman when I am gone, if he likes to
play the fine gentleman."

Tom would be very foolish if he did. It is the dearest old house one
could wish for. It was built of red brick, but the ivy has covered it
so thickly that it is clipped round the old-fashioned windows like a
hedge. The gardens are simply perfect. In summer you can pick as many
flowers and eat as much fruit as you like, and if that is not the use
and beauty of a garden, I do not know what is.

Johnson's father was very proud of him, and let him have anything he
liked, and in the midsummer holidays Johnson used to bring his
father's trap and take Rupert out for drives, and Mrs. Johnson used
to put meat pies and strawberries in a basket under the seat, so that
it was a kind of picnic, for the old horse had belonged to Mr.
Bustard, and was a capital one for standing still.

It was partly because of the Johnsons being so kind to Rupert that
Johnson Minor and I became chums at school, and partly because the
fight had made us friendly, and I had no Rupert now, and was rather
jealous of his taking completely to Henrietta, and most of all, I
fancy, because Johnson Minor was determined to be friends with me. He
was a very odd fellow. There was nothing he liked so much as wonderful
stories about people, and I never heard such wonderful stories as he
told himself. When we became friends he told me that he had never
meant to bully me when he asked about my father; he really did want to
hear about his battles and so forth.

But the utmost I could tell him about my father was nothing to the
tales he told me about his grandfather, the navy captain.

CHAPTER V.

THE NAVY CAPTAIN--SEVEN PARROTS IN A FUCHSIA TREE-