“Mr Brownsmith’s going to send me away.”
“Old Brownsmith’s going to send you away?”
“Yes.”
“Why, what have you been a-doin’ of?” he cried more fiercely than ever, as he drove his spade into the earth.
“Nothing at all.”
“He wouldn’t send you away for doing nothing at all,” cried Ike, giving an obstinate clod that he had turned up a tremendous blow with his spade, and turning it into soft mould.
“I’m to go to Hampton with Mr Brownsmith’s brother,” I said, “to learn all about glass-houses.”
“What, Old Brownsmith’s brother Sol?”
“Yes,” I said sadly, as I petted and caressed the cat.
“He’s a tartar and a tyrant, that’s what he is,” said Ike fiercely, and he drove in his spade as if he meant to reach Australia.