"I'll leave my truck here, inside the gate," thought he, "and run across the short way to the kitchen garden; he's safe to be there." And Robin, with freed hands, at a single bound cleared the little stream that fed the large pond, and in a few minutes entered the high-walled garden by a low door.
Yes, there was old Jonathan at his work, as he expected. Now, old Jonathan was a well-known character for many miles round. There was not a child in the hamlet hard by that would not look up in his face with a smile as he patted its head, or took the little one on his knee. Those mysterious pockets of his seemed to have a never-ending supply of halfpennies and farthings, sweeties and nuts, or maybe a ripe apple now and then. Age had lined his face with many a wrinkle, and his back was a trifle bent; but he could still handle a spade with a vigorous will, and knew what it was to do a hard day's work as well as a younger man.
You had only to look into his honest eyes to know he could be a good friend, a friend for cloud as well as for sunshine, as many a one could testify who had felt the comforting grip of his horny hand in a time of trouble. The old gardener had seen several changes at Oaklands since the death of his old master and friend sixteen years ago; but he still held on to the place, the successors being only too glad to secure the services of such a trustworthy servant.
Robin's mother had lived in the house in former days as nurse to the children, who now had grown up and gone out into life. She was therefore an old friend of Jonathan, and her son could reckon upon the kind old man now as always, for he was in the habit of helping him in various ways, and was his beloved friend and counsellor in every emergency.
"Good-morning, Mr. Jonathan," said Robin, running quickly across the garden to where the gardener was pulling up something from one of the beds.
Jonathan did not hear him at first, for he was a little deaf, so the salutation was repeated, when the stooping figure raised itself, and the kind hearty face met Robin's eager look with a friendly smile.
"Well, you are early enough, youngster, anyway," said he. "What sort of a worm are you up to catch this fine morning? A bit of horse-radish is about all I've got to give you to-day, and I hope you'll have a good piece of beef to need the flavour. How is your mother?"
"Not very well, thank you; she feels the cold on her chest most days; but she wanted me to thank you for speaking about the washing up at the house. I've got the basket here now to fetch the clothes."
"All right, my boy, and welcome, though 'tis nothing to thank about. I would always do your mother a good turn if I could. Before you go up with the flasket, just lend me a hand, will you? I want to dig up one of those trees in the copse yonder."
Robin gave a hearty assent, and as they stepped together across the crisp ground and out to the open field beyond the garden wall, he ventured to ask—