“No, my lad, no—only I’ve taught you all I can; and now you will go with him and learn gardening under glass—to grow peaches, and grapes, and mushrooms, and all kinds of choice flowers.”
I looked at him in a troubled way, and he hastened to add:
“A fine opportunity for you, my boy. Brother Solomon is a very famous gardener and takes prizes at the shows.”
“Oh! as to that,” said Brother Solomon, “we’re not much. We do the best we can.”
“Horticultural medals, gold and bronze,” said Old Brownsmith, smiling. “There!—you’ll have to do so as well, Grant, my lad—you will have to do me credit.”
I crept close to him and half-whispered:
“But must I go, sir?”
“Yes, my lad, it is for your benefit,” he said rather sternly; and I suppose I gave him such a piteous look that his face softened a little and he patted my shoulder. “Come,” he said, “you must be a man!”
I seemed to have something in my throat which I was obliged to swallow; but I made an effort, and after a trial or two found that I could speak more clearly.
“Shall I have to go soon, sir?”