The path was made with ashes, so that my footsteps were very quiet, and as I walked in the shadow of a large row of pear-trees I was almost invisible. In fact I could hardly see my own hand.
All at once I stopped short, for I heard a peculiar scratching noise and a whispering, and, though I could hardly distinguish anything, I was perfectly sure that somebody had climbed to the top of the wall, and was sitting there with a leg over our side, for I heard it rustling amongst the plum boughs.
“It’s all right,” was whispered; and then there was more scuffling, and it seemed to me that some one else had climbed up.
Then another and another, and then they seemed to pull up another one, so that I believed there were five people on the wall.
Then came some whispering, and I felt sure that they were boys, for one said:
“Now, then, all together!” in a boyish voice, when there was a lot of rustling and scratching, and I could hear the plum-tree branches trained to the wall torn down, one breaking right off, as the intruders dropped over into our garden.
For the moment I was puzzled. Then I knew what it meant, and a flush of angry indignation came into my cheeks.
“Boys after our pears!” I said to myself as my fists clenched. For I had become so thoroughly at home at Old Brownsmith’s that everything seemed to belong to me, and I felt it was my duty to defend it.
I listened to make sure, and heard a lot of whispering going on as the marauders crossed the path I was on, rustled by amongst the gooseberry bushes, and went farther into the garden.
“They’re after the Marie Louise pears,” I thought; and I was about to run and shout at them, for I knew that would startle them away; but on second thoughts I felt as if I should like to catch some of them, and turning, I ran softly back up the path, meaning to tell Mr Brownsmith.