Brownsmiths boy

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TheProjectGutenbergEBookofBrownsmith'sBoy,byGeorgeManvilleFenn ThiseBookisfortheuseofanyoneanywhereatnocostandwith almostnorestrictionswhatsoever Youmaycopyit,giveitawayor re-useitunderthetermsoftheProjectGutenbergLicenseincluded withthiseBookoronlineatwww.gutenberg.org Title:Brownsmith'sBoy ARomanceinaGarden Author:GeorgeManvilleFenn ReleaseDate:May4,2007[EBook#21293] Language:English ***STARTOFTHISPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKBROWNSMITH'SBOY*** ProducedbyNickHodsonofLondon,England GeorgeManvilleFenn "Brownsmith'sBoy" ChapterOne TheBoyintheGarden IalwaysfeltasifIshouldliketopunchthatboy’shead,andthendirectly afterIusedtofeelasifIshouldn’tcaretotouchhim,becausehelooked sodirtyandragged It was not dirty dirt, if you know what I mean by that, but dirt that he gatheredupinhiswork—bitsofhayandstraw,anddustoffashedfloor; mudoverhisbootsandonhistoes,foryoucouldseethatthebigboots heworeseemedtobelikeakindofcoarseroughshellwithagreatopen mouth in front, and his toes used to seem as if they lived in there as hermit-crabs in whelk shells They used to play about in there and wagglethissideandthatsidewhenhewasstandingstilllookingatyou; andIusedtothinkthatsomedaytheywouldcomealittlewayoutand waitforpreylikethedifferentmolluscsIhadreadaboutinmybooks Butyoushouldhaveseenhishands!I’veseenthemsocoatedwithdirt thatithungontheminknobs,andatsuchtimesheusedtoholdthemup to me with the thumbs and fingers spread out wide, and then down he wouldgoagainandcontinuehiswork,which,whenhewasinthisstate, wouldbepullinguptheweedsfromamongtheonionsinthelongbeds I didn’t want him to it, but he used to see me at the window looking out; and I being one lonely boy in the big pond of life, and he being anotherlonelyboyinthesamebigpond,andbothfloatingaboutlikebits of stick, he seemed as if he wanted to gravitate towards me as bits of stick to each other, and in his uncouth way he would all sorts of thingstoattractmyattention Sometimesitseemedasifitwastofrightenme,atotherstoshowhow clever he was; but of course I know now that it was all out of the superabundantenergyhehadinhim,andthenaturallongingofaboyfor acompanion I’ll just tell you what he’d After showing me his muddy fingers, and crawlingalonganddiggingthemashardashecouldintothesoiltotear out the weeds, all at once he would kick his heels up in the air like a donkey Then he would go on weeding again, look to see if I was watching him, and leave his basket and run down between two onion bedsonall-fourslikeadog,runback,andgoonwithhiswork Everynowandthenhewouldpullupayoungonionwiththeweedsand pickitout,giveitarubonhissleeve,putoneendinhismouth,andeatit gradually, taking it in as I’ve seen a cow with a long strand of rye or grass Anothertimehewouldfalltopunchingthegroundwithhisdoubledfist, makeabasin-likedepression,puthisheadin,supporthimselfbysetting his hands on each side of the depression, and then, as easily as could be,throwuphisheelsandstanduponhishead Itseemedtobenotroubletohimtokeephisbalance,andwhenuplike that he would twist his legs about, open them wide, put them forwards and backwards, and end by insulting me with his feet, so it seemed to me,forhewouldsparatmewiththemandmakebelievetohitout Allatoncehewouldseeoneofthelabourersinthedistance,andthen downhewouldgoandcontinuehisweeding Perhaps, when no one was looking, he would start up, look round, go down again on all-fours, and canter up to a pear-tree, raise himself up, andbeginscratchingthebarklikeoneofthecatssharpeningitsclaws;or perhapstrottoanapple-tree,climbupwithwonderfulactivity,creepout along a horizontal branch, and pretend to fall, but save himself by catchingwithandhangingbyonehand Thatdonehewouldmakeasnatchwithhisotherhand,swingaboutfora few moments, and then up would go his legs to be crossed over the branch, when he would swing to and fro head downwards, making derisivegesturesatmewithhishands SoitwasthatIusedtohatethatboy,andthinkhewaslittlebetterthana monkey; but somehow I felt envious of him too when the sun shone—I didn’t so much mind when it was wet—for he seemed so free and independent,andhewassoactiveandclever,whilewheneverItriedto stand on my head on the carpet I always tipped right over and hurt my back That was a wonderful place, that garden, and I used to gaze over the highwallwithitsbristleofyoungshootsofplum-treesgrowingoverthe coping, and see the chaffinches building in the spring-time among the greenleavesandmilky-whiteblossomsofthepear-trees;or,perhaps,it would be in a handy fork of an apple-tree, with the crimson and pink blossomsallaround Those trees were planted in straight rows, so that, look which way I would,Icouldseestraightdownanavenue;andunderthemtherewere rows of gooseberry trees or red currants that the men used to cut so closelyinthewinterthattheyseemedtobecompleteskeletons Where there were no gooseberries or currants, the rows of rhubarb plants used to send up their red stems and great green leaves; and in other places there would be great patches of wallflowers, from which waftsofdeliciousscentwouldcomeinattheopenwindow Inthespring there would be great rows of red and yellow tulips, and later on sweetwilliamandrockets,andpurpleandyellowpansiesingreatbeds I used to wonder that such a boy was allowed to go loose in such a garden as that, among those flowers and strawberry beds, and, above all,apples,andpears,andplums,forintheautumntimethetreestrained up against the high red-brick wall were covered with purple and yellow plums, and the rosy apples peeped from among the green leaves, and thepearswouldhangdowntillitseemedasifthebranchesmustbreak Butthatboywentaboutjustasheliked,anditoftenseemedveryhard that such a shaggy-looking wild fellow in rags should have the run of suchabeautifulgarden,whileIhadnone Therewasalittlesingleopera-glassonthechimney-piecewhichIused totakedownandfocus,sothatIcouldseethefruitthatwasripe,andthe fruit that was green, and the beauty of the flowers I used to watch the birds building through that glass, and could almost see the eggs in one littlemossycupofachaffinch’snest;butIcouldnotquite Ididseethe tipsoftheyoungbirds’beaks,though,whentheywerehatchedandthe oldonescametofeedthem ItwasbymeansofthatglassthatIcouldseehowtheboyfastenedup his trousers with one strap and a piece of string, for he had no braces, and there were no brace buttons Those corduroy trousers had been madeforsomebodyelse,Ishouldsayforaman,andpiecesofthelegs hadbeencutoff,andtheupperpartcamewelloverhisbackandchest Hehadnowaistcoat,butheworeajacketthatmusthavebelongedtoa man Itwasajacketthatwasfustianbehind,andhadfustiansleeves,but thefrontwasofpurpleplushwithredandyellowflowers,softeneddown with dirt; and the sleeves of this jacket were tucked up very high, while thebottomcamedowntohisknees Hedidnotwearahat,butthecrownofanoldstrawbonnet,thetopof which had come unsewed, and rose and fell like the lid of a round box with one hinge, and when the lid blew open you could see his shaggy hair,whichseemedasifithadneverbeenbrushedsinceitfirstcameup outofhisskin Theopera-glasswasveryusefultome,especiallyastheboyfascinated me so, for I used to watch him with it till I knew that he had two brass shank-buttonsandthreefour-holesofboneonhisjacket,thattherewere nobuttonsatallonhisshirt,andthathehadblueeyes,asnub-nose,and hadlostoneofhistopfrontteeth Imusthavebeenquiteasgreatanattractiontohimashewastome,but he showed it in a very different way There would be threatening movements made with his fists After an hour’s hard work at weeding, without paying the slightest heed to my presence, he would suddenly jump up as if resenting my watching, catch up the basket, and make believe to hurl it at me Perhaps he would pick up a great clod and pretendtothrowthat,butletitfallbesidehim;whileoneday,whenIwent tothewindowandlookedout,Ifoundhimwithagood-sizedswitchwhich hadbeentheyoungshootofapeartree,andalumpofsomethingofa yellowishbrowntuckedintheforkofatreeclosebywhereheworked Hehadabasketbyhissideandwasbusilyengagedasusualweeding, for there was a great battle for ever going on in that garden, where the weedswerealwaystryingtomastertheflowersandvegetables,andthat boy’sdutyseemedtobetotearupweedsbytheroots,andnothingelse Buttherebyhissidestuckinthegroundwastheswitch,andassoonas hesawmeatthewindowhegavealookroundtoseeifhewaswatched, andthenpickedupthestick “Iwonderwhatheisgoingtodo!”Ithought,asItwistedtheglassalittle andhadagoodlook He was so near that the glass was not necessary, but I saw through it thathepinchedoffabitoftheyellowish-brownstuff,whichwasevidently clay,and,afterrollingitbetweenhishands,hestuckwhatseemedtobe a bit as big as a large taw marble on the end of the switch, gave it a flourish,andthebitofclayflewoff I could not see where it went, but I saw him watching it, as he quickly tookanotherpiece,kneadedit,andwithanotherflourishawaythatflew Thatbitevidentlywentoverourhouse;andthenexttimehetried—flap! thepiecestruckthewallsomewhereunderthewindow Fivetimesmoredidhethrow,theclayflyingswiftly,tillallatoncethud! cameapelletandstuckonthewindowpanejustabovemyhead Ilookedupattheflattenedclay,whichwasstickingfast,andthenatthat boy, who was down on his knees again weeding away as hard as he couldweed,buttakingnomorenoticeofme,andIsawthereason:his masterwascomingdownthegarden ChapterTwo OldBrownsmith Iusedtotakeagooddealofnoticeofthatboy’smasterasIsatatthe window, and it always seemed to me that he went up and down his gardenbecausehewassofondofit LateronIknewthatitwasbecausehewasamarket-gardener,andwas making his plans as to what was to be cut or picked, or what wanted doingintheplace Hewasapleasant-lookingman,withwhitehairandwhiskers,andared face that always used to make me think of apples, and he was always dressed the same—in black, with a clean white shirt front, and a white cravatwithoutanystarch Perhapsitwassothattheymightnotgetinthe mud,butatanyratehisblacktrouserswereverytight,andhistail-coat wascutverybroadandloose,withcrosspocketslikeashooting-jacket, andthesepocketsusedtobulge Sometimestheybulgedbecausehehadbastmattingfortyingupplants, and a knife in one, and a lot of shreds and nails and a hammer in the other; sometimes it was because he had been picking up fruit, or vegetable marrows, or new potatoes, whatever was in season They alwaysmademethinkoftheclown’sbreeches,becauseheusedtoput everythingin,andveryoftenagooddealwouldbestickingout Irememberonceseeinghimgodownthegardenwithagood-sizedkitten in each pocket, for there were their heads looking over the sides, and theyseemedtobequitecontented,blinkingawayattheothercatswhich wererunningandskippingabout Forthatboy’smaster,whowascalledBrownsmith,wasagreatmanfor cats; and whenever he went down his garden there were always six or eight blacks, and black and whites, and tabbies, and tortoise-shells running on before or behind him When he stopped, first one and then anotherwouldhavearubagainsthisleg,beginningwiththepointofits nose,andrunningitselfalongrighttotheendofitstail,crossingoverand havingarubontheothersideagainsttheotherleg Sosureasonecathadaruballtheothersthatcouldgetachancehada rubaswell Thenperhapstheirmasterwouldstoopdownwithhisknifein histeeth,andtakeapieceofbastfromhispocket,totieupaflowerora lettuce, when one of the cats was sure to jump on his back, and stop there till he rose, when sometimes it would go on and sit upon his shoulder,moreoftenjumpoff ItusedtointerestmeagooddealtowatcholdBrownsmithandhiscats, forIhadneverknownthatacatwouldrunafteranyoneoutofdoorslike adog Then,too,theyweresofulloffun,chasingeachotherthroughthe bushes,crouchingdownwiththeirtailswrithingfromsidetoside,ready tospringoutattheirmaster,ordashoffagainupthesideofabigtree, andlookdownathimfromhighuponsomebranch Isayallthisusedtointerestme,forIhadnocompanions,andwenttono school, but spent my time with my poor mother, who was very ill; and I know now how greatly she must have suffered often and often, when, brokendowninhealthandspirit,sufferingfromagreatsorrow,sheused todevoteallhertimetoteachingme Our apartments, as you see, overlooked old Brownsmith’s marketgarden, and very often, as I sat there watching it, I used to wish that I could be as other boys were, running about free in the fields, playing cricketandfootball,andlearningtoswim,insteadofbeingshutupthere withmymother PerhapsIwasaselfishboy,perhapsIwasnoworsethanothersofmy age IknowIwasveryfondofmymother,forshewasalwayssosweet, and gentle, and tender with me, making the most tedious lessons pleasant by the way she explained them, and helping me when I was worriedoversomearithmeticalquestionabouthowmanymenwoulddo somuchworkinsuchandsuchanumberofdaysifsomanymenwould dothesameworkinanothernumberofdays These sums always puzzled me, and now; perhaps it is because I haveanawkwardlyshapedbrain Sometimes,aswesatoverthelessons,Iusedtoseeacuriouspained look spread over my mother’s face, and the tears would come in her eyes,butwhenIkissedhershewouldsmiledirectlyandcallmyattention tothebeautyoftherimefrostonthefruit-treesinBrownsmith’sgarden; or,ifitwassummer,tothesweetscentoftheflowers;ortotheripening fruitinautumn Ah,ifIhadknownthen,Isaytomyself,howdifferentImighthavebeen; candleandwentbacktohischairbehindthetable MrSolomonshutthewindow,andthencameforwardandsetdownhis candleinturn “Now,” said Sir Francis, “we can finish this business, I think You say, Grant, that you heard someone climb over the wall by the big trained pear-tree?” “I heard two people come over, sir, and one of them fell down, and, I think,brokeasmalltreeorbush.” “Yes,”saidSirFrancis,“abushisbroken,andsomeonehasclimbedover bythatbigpear-tree.” “Idiggedthatbitalongthatwallonlyyesterday,”saidIke “Besilent,sir,”criedSirFrancis;“stop Comeforward;setacandledown onthefloor,Brownsmith.” Itwasdone “You,Isaac,holduponeofyourfeet—there,bythecandle No,no,man; Iwanttoseethesole.” Ikeheldupafootasifhewereahorseabouttobeshod,andgrowled out: “Fifteenandsix,master,andwarrantedwater-tights.” “Thatwilldo,myman,”saidSirFrancis,frowningseverelyasiftohidea smile;andIkeputdownhisgreatbootandwentsoftlybacktohisplace “Nowyou,Grant,”saidSirFrancis Iwalkedboldlytothecandleandheldupmyheavily-nailedgardenboots, sothatSirFranciscouldseethesoles “Thatwilldo,mylad,”hesaid “Nowyou,Courtenay,andyou,Philip.” They came forward half-puzzled, but I saw clearly enough Sir Francis’ reasons,Ike’sremarkaboutthefreshdigginghavinggivenmetheclue “Thatwilldo,”saidSirFrancis;andastheboyspassedmetogobackto theirplacesIheardPhiliputterasighofrelief “What time did you hear these people climb over the wall, Grant?” said SirFrancis “Ican’ttellexactly,SirFrancis,”Ireplied “Ithinkitmusthavebeenabout eighto’clock.” “What time is it now, Courtenay?” said Sir Francis The lad clapped his handtohispocket,buthiswatchwasnotthere “I’ve left it in the bed-room,” he said hastily; and he turned to leave the library,butstoppedasifturnedtostoneasheheardSirFrancisthunder out: “YouleftithangingontheEasterBeurrépear-tree,sir,whenyouclimbed downwithyourbrother—ononeoftheshortspurs,beforeyoubothleft your foot-marks all over the newly-dug bed Courtenay Dalton—Philip Dalton, if you were my own sons I should feel that a terrible stain had fallenuponmyname.” Theboysstoodstaringathim,lookingyellow,andalmostghastly “Andasifthatproofwerenotenough,Courtenay,Dalton;whenyoufell andbrokethatcurrantbush—” “ItwasPhilwhofell,”criedtheboywithavicioussnarl “Thetruthforthefirsttime,”saidSirFrancis Thenbitterly:“AndIthought youwerebothgentlemen!Leavetheroom.” “ItwasPhilwhoproposeditall,papa,”criedCourtenayappealingly “Ah, you sneak!” cried Philip “I didn’t, sir I was as bad as he was, I suppose,andIthoughtitgoodfun,butIshouldn’thavetoldallthoselies ifhehadn’tmademe There,theywerealllies!Nowyoucanpunishmeif youlike.” “Leave the room!” said Sir Francis again; and he stood pointing to the doorasthebrotherswentout,lookingmiserablycrestfallen Then the door closed, and the silence was broken by a sharp cry, a scuffle,thesoundofblows,andafall,accompaniedbythesmashingof somevesselonthestonefloor Sir Francis strode out into the hall, and there was a hubbub of voices, andIheardPhilipcrypassionately: “Yes;Ididhithim Hebeganonme,andI’lldoitagain—acoward!” Then there was a low murmur for a few minutes, and Sir Francis came backintothelibraryandstoodbythetable,withthelightshiningonhis greatsilvermoustache;andIthoughtwhatafine,handsome,fierceold fellow he looked as he stood frowning there for quite a minute without speaking Then,turningtoMrSolomon,hesaidquickly: “Ibegyourpardon,Brownsmith Iwasexcitedandirritableto-night,and saidwhatIamsorryfornow.” “Thendon’tsayanymore,SirFrancis,”repliedMrSolomonquietly “I’ve beenyourservant—” “Faithfulservant,Brownsmith.” “Well, Sir Francis, ‘faithful servant,’” said Mr Solomon smiling, “these twentyyears,andyoudon’tsupposeI’mgoingtoheedawordortwolike that.” “Thank you, Brownsmith,” said Sir Francis, and he turned to Ike and spokesharplyoncemore “Whatregimentwereyouin,sir?” “EighthHoozoars,Captain,”saidIke,drawinghimselfupandstandingat attention “Colonel,”whisperedMrSolomon “Allright!”growledIke “Well,then,IsaacBarnes,speakingasoneoldsoldiertoanother,Isaid wordstoyouto-nightforwhichIamheartilysorry Ibegyourpardon.” “God bless you, Colonel! If you talk to me like that arterward, you may callmewhatyoulike.” “Eh?” cried Sir Francis sharply; “then I will How dare you then, you scoundrel, go and disgrace yourself; you, an ex-British soldier—a man who has worn the king’s uniform—disgrace yourself by getting drunk? Shameonyou,man,shame!” “Goon,Colonel Giveittome,”growledIke “Idesarveit.” “No,” said Sir Francis, smiling; “not another word; but don’t let it occur again.” Ikedrewhisrighthandacrossoneeye,andtheleftovertheother,and gaveeachaflipasiftoshakeoffatear,ashegrowledsomethingabout “nevernomore.” Ihardlyheardhim,though,forIwastremblingwithagitationasIsawSir Francisturntome,andIknewthatmyturnhadcome “Grant,mylad,”hesaidquietly;“Ican’ttellyouhowhurtandsorryIfelt to-nightwhenIbelievedyoutobemixedupwiththatcontemptiblebitof filching There is an abundance of fruit grown here, and I should never grudge you sharing in that which you help to produce I was the more sorrybecauseIhavebeenwatchingyourprogress,andIwasmorethan satisfied:Ibegyourpardontoo,forallthatIhavesaid Thoseboysshall begittoo.” Heheldouthishand,andIcaughtiteagerlyinmineasIsaid,inchoking tones “My father was an officer and a gentleman, sir, and to be called a thief wasveryhardtobear.” “Itwas,mylad;itwas,”hesaid,shakingmyhandwarmly “There,there, I’lltalktoyouanothertime.” I drew back, and we were leaving the room, I last, when, obeying an impulse,Iranback “Well,mylad?”hesaidkindly “I beg your pardon, Sir Francis; but you said that they should beg my pardon.” “Yes,”hesaidhotly;“andtheyshall.” “Ifyouplease,SirFrancis,”Isaid,“Iwouldrathertheydidnot.” “Why,sir?” “Ithinktheyhavebeenhumbledenough.” “By their own conduct?” said Sir Francis “Yes, you are right I will not mentionitagain.” ChapterThirtyThree AfterSevenYears SirFrancis,asIafterwardslearned,didnotinsistuponthematter,butthe verynextday,asIwasinthepeach-house,Iheardthedooropen,andI felt anything but comfortable as I saw Courtenay enter the place and comeslowlyuptome Iwaspreparedforanything,butIhadnocauseforexpectingwar Hehad comeinpeace “We’regoingawaydirectlyafterlunch,”hesaidinalow,surlytone,asif heresentedwhathewassaying “I’ll—,I’ll—there!I’lltry—tobedifferent whenIcomebackagain.” Heturnedandwenthurriedlyoutoftheplace,andhehadnotbeengone longwhenthedoorattheotherendclicked,andIfound,assoonashe whoenteredhadcomeroundintosight,thatitwasPhilip Hecameuptomeinaquick,impetuousway,asifeagertogethistask over, and as our eyes met I could see that he had evidently been sufferingagooddeal “I’mgoingawaythisafternoon,”hesaidquickly “IwishIhadn’tsaidand doneallIhave Ibeg—” Hecouldnotfinish,butburstintoapassionatefitofsobbing,andturned awayhisface “Good-bye!”Isaid “Ishallnotthinkaboutitanymore.” “Thenwe’llshakehands,”hecried—“someday—nexttimewemeet.” Wedidshakehandsnexttimewemet,butwhenPhilipDaltonsaidthose wordshedidnotknowitwouldbesevenyearsfirst Butsoitwas Ineverknewexactlyhowithappened,butIbelieveoneofmyuncleswas influencedtotakesomepartintheaffair,andSirFrancisdidalltherest WhatIdoknowisthataboutthreemonthsaftertheyoungDaltonshad gone I was on my way to a clergyman’s house, where I stayed a year, being prepared for my future career; and when I had been with the ReverendHartleyDallasayearIwasabletojointheMilitaryCollegeat Woolwich, where I went through the regular course, and in due time obtainedmycommissionintheartillery IhadnotlongbeenintheservicebeforetheCrimeanwarbrokeout,and ourbatterywasoneofthefirstdespatchedtotheseatofwar,where,in companywithmycomrades,Iwentthroughthatterribleperiodofmisery andprivation One night I was in charge of a couple of guns in a rather dangerous positionneartheRedan,andafterrepairingdamagesunderfiremylads had contrived to patch up a pretty secure shelter with sand-bag and gabion, ready for knocking down next day, but it kept off the rain, and where we huddled together there was no mud under our feet, though it wasinchesdeepinthetrench Itwasabitternight,andthetinybitoffirethatwehadventuredtomake in the hole we had scooped underground hardly kept the chill from our half-frozen limbs Food was not plentiful, luxuries we had none, and in place of the dashing-looking artillerymen in blue and gold people are accustomed to see on parade, anyone who had looked upon us would have seen a set of mud-stained, ragged scarecrows, blackened with powder,grimlooking,buthardandfulloffight I was seated on an upturned barrel, hugging my sheepskin-lined greatcoat closer to me, and drawing it down over my high boots, as I maderoomforacoupleofmywet,shiveringmen,andIfeltashamedto be the owner of so warm a coat as I looked at their well-worn service covering,whenmysergeantputinhisheadandsaid: “Captainofthecompanyoffoot,sir,wouldbegladifyoucouldgivehima tasteofthefireandadropofbrandy;he’shalfdeadwiththecold.” “Bring him in,” I said; and I waited, thinking about home and the old gardenatIsleworthandthenofthatatHampton;Ididn’tknowwhy,butI did AndthenIwasthinkingtomyselfthatitwasagoodjobthatwehad the stern, manly feeling to comfort us of our hard work being our duty, whenIheardtheslush,slush,slush,slush,soundoffeetcomingalong thetrenches,andthenmysergeantsaid: “You’llhavetostoopverylowtogetin,sir,butyou’llfinditwarmanddry Thelieutenant’sinside.” “Yes,comein,”Isaid;andmymendrewbacktoletthefreshcornergeta bitofthefire “It’sawfullykindofyou,”hesaid,ashekneltdown,tookoffhisdripping gloves,andheldhisbluefingerstotheflame “Whatanight!Itisn’tfitfor adogtobeoutin ’Ponmysoul,gunner,Ifeelashamedtocomeinand getshelter,andleavemypoorboysinthetrench.” “Getagoodwarmthen,andlet’sthawanddryoneofthematatime I’m goingtoturnoutsoon.” “Sorryforyou,”hesaid “Brandy—thanks It’sworthanythinganightlike this I’vegotsomecigarsinmybreast-pocket,assoonasmyfingerswill letmegetatthem.” Hehadtakenoffhisshako,andthelightshonefulluponhisface,whichI recogniseddirectly,thoughhedidnotknowme,ashelookedupandsaid again: “It’sawfullykindofyou,gunner.” “Oh!it’snothing,”Isaid,“CaptainDalton—PhilipDalton,isitnot?” “Yes,”hesaid;“youknowme?” “To be sure,” I replied; “but you said that next time we met we’d shake hands.” Hesankbackandhisjawdropped “Yourememberme—Grant?HowisSirFrancis?” “Remember you!” he said, seizing my hand, “Oh! I say, what a young beastIwas!” Ilearnedmorethanoncethatheandhisbrotherturnedoutfine,manly soldiers,anddidtheirdutywellinthathard-foughtcampaign Itriedalso todomine,andcamebackoneofthelasttoleavetheCrimea,another gradehigherinmyrank During my college life I often used to go over and see the brothers Brownsmith,tobewarmlywelcomedateveryvisit;andifeverhegotto know that I was going to Isleworth to spend Sunday, Ike used to walk over,straightenhisbackanddrawhimselfuptoattention,andsaluteme, lookingasseriousasifinuniform Hedidnotapproveofmygoinginto theartillery,though “It’swrong,”heusedtosay;andinthesedayshewasbackatIsleworth, for Mr Solomon had entered into partnership with his brother, and both IkeandShockhadelectedtofollowhimbacktotheoldplace “Yes,” he would say, “it’s wrong, Mars Grant, I was always drew to you because your father had been a sojer; but what would he have said to youifhehadlivedtoknowasyouturnedgunner?” “Whatwouldyouhavehadme,then?Youmusthaveartillerymen.” “Yes, of course, sir; but what are they? You ought to have been a hoozoar:— “‘Oh,themaswithjacketsgoflying, Oh,theyarethegallanthoozoars,’” hesang—atleasthetriedtosing;butIwentintotheartillery Bytheway,IdidnottellyouthenameofthesergeantwhousheredPhilip Daltonintomyshelterthatnight HisnamewasJohnHampton,asfinea soldier as ever stepped He joined the artillery when I got my commission PoorShock,forIknewhimbetterbythatname;hefollowed me with the fidelity of a dog; he always contrived something hot for me whenwewerealmoststarving,andanydayhewouldhavegonewithout that I might eat And I believe that he would have fought for me to the death PoorShock!ThenightwhenIwastoldthathecouldnotlive,afterbeing struck down by a piece of shell, I knelt by him in the mud and held his hand Hejustlookedupinmyfaceandsaidsoftly: “Rememberbeingshutupinthesand-pit,sir,andhowyouprayed?Ifyou wouldn’tmind,sir—onceagain?” Ibentdownlowerandlower,andatlast—soldier—hardenedbyhorrors— grownsternbythelifeIled—IfeltasifIhadlostinthatrough,trueman thebestoffriends,andIcriedoverhimlikeachild! TheEnd |Chapter1||Chapter2||Chapter3||Chapter4||Chapter5||Chapter6||Chapter7|| Chapter8||Chapter9||Chapter10||Chapter11||Chapter12||Chapter13||Chapter 14||Chapter15||Chapter16||Chapter17||Chapter18||Chapter19||Chapter20|| Chapter21||Chapter22||Chapter23||Chapter24||Chapter25||Chapter26||Chapter 27||Chapter28||Chapter29||Chapter30||Chapter31||Chapter32||Chapter33| EndofProjectGutenberg'sBrownsmith'sBoy,byGeorgeManvilleFenn ***ENDOFTHISPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKBROWNSMITH'SBOY*** *****Thisfileshouldbenamed21293-h.htmor21293-h.zip***** Thisandallassociatedfilesofvariousformatswillbefoundin: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/2/9/21293/ ProducedbyNickHodsonofLondon,England Updatededitionswillreplacethepreviousone theoldeditions willberenamed Creatingtheworksfrompublicdomainprinteditionsmeansthatno oneownsaUnitedStatescopyrightintheseworks,sotheFoundation (andyou!)cancopyanddistributeitintheUnitedStateswithout permissionandwithoutpayingcopyrightroyalties Specialrules, 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