One of them said when he went away that he should not lose sight of me, but remember me now and then; and when he had gone Old Brownsmith said, half aloud:
“Thank goodness, I never had no uncles!” Then he gave me a comical look, but turned serious directly.
“Look here, Grant,” he said. “Some folk start life with their gardens already dug up and planted, some begin with their bit of ground all rough, and some begin without any land at all. Which do you belong to?”
“The last, sir,” I said.
“Right! Well, I suppose you are not going to wait for one uncle to take a garden for you and the other to dig it up?”
“No,” I said sturdily; “I shall work for myself.”
“Right! I don’t like boys to be cocky and impudent but I like a little self-dependence.”
As the time went on, Old Brownsmith taught me how to bud roses and prune, and, later on, to graft. He used to encourage me to ask questions, and I must have pestered him sometimes, but he never seemed weary.
“It’s quite right,” he used to say; “the boy who asks questions learns far more than the one who is simply taught.”
“Why, sir?” I said.