I turned round, and he was signalling to me with the whole of his

crooked arm.

"Come on," he shouted, and he thrust a hand and the greater part of his

arm into one of his big pockets, and pulled out one of those curved

buckhorn-handled knives, which he opened with his white teeth.

He did not look quite so grim now, as he said: "Come o' purpose, eh?"

"Yes," I said.

"Ah! well, I won't send you back without 'em, only I don't keep a shop."

I looked rather haughty and consequential, I believe, but the looks of

such a boy as I made no impression, and he began to cut here and there

moss, and maiden's blush, and cabbage roses--simple old-fashioned

flowers, for the great French growers had not filled England with their

beautiful children, and a gardener in these days would not have believed

in the possibility of a creamy Gloire de Dijon or that great

hook-thorned golden beauty Marechal Niel.

He cut and cut, long-stalked flowers with leaf and bud, and thrust them

into his left hand, his knife cutting and his hand grasping the flower

in one movement, while his eye selected the best blossom at a glance.

At last there were so many that I grew fidgety.

"I said sixpenn'orth, sir, flowers and strawberries," I ventured to

remark.

"Not deaf, my lad," he replied with a grim smile. "Here, let's get some

of these."

These were pinks and carnations, of which he cut a number, pushing one

of the cats aside with his foot so that it should not be in his way.

"Here you are!" he cried. "Mind the thorns. My roses have got plenty

to keep off pickers and stealers. Now, what next?"

"I did want some strawberries," I said, "but--"

"Where's your basket, my hearty?"

I replied that I had not brought one.

"You're a pretty fellow," he said. "I can't tie strawberries up in a

bunch. Why didn't you bring a basket? Oh, I see; you want to carry 'em

inside?"

"No," I said shortly, for he seemed now unpleasantly familiar, and the

garden was not half so agreeable as I had expected.

However he seemed to be quite good-tempered now, and giving me a nod and

a jerk of his head, which meant--"This way," he went down a path, cut a

great rhubarb leaf, and turned to me.

"Here, catch hold," he cried; "here's one of nature's own baskets. Now

let's see if there's any strawberries ripe."

I saw that he was noticing me a good deal as we went along another path

towards where the garden was more open, but I kept on in an independent

way, smelling the pinks from time to time, till we came to a great

square bed, all straw, with the great tufts of the dark green strawberry

plants standing out of it in rows. The leaves looked large, and

glistened in the sunshine, and every here and there I could see the

great scarlet berries shining as if they had been varnished, and waiting

to be picked.




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