He spoke quite angrily, as it seemed to me, and chilled me, as I felt that he would not like me to do such a thing as collect.
“Hah!” he said. “I used to do that when I was a boy. There’s lots here; but don’t go after them when you’re at work.”
“No, sir,” I said.
“Thought I’d come up, my lad, as it’s all strange to you. I haven’t much to say to you, only keep away from those boys. Let ’em talk, but never you mind.”
“I’ll try, sir.”
“That’s right. Work to-morrow morning at six. You may begin sooner if you like. I often, do. Breakfast at eight; dinner at twelve; tea at five, and then work’s supposed to be done. I generally go in the houses then. Always something wants doing there.”
He stood thinking and looking as cold and hard as could be while I waited for him to speak again; but he did not for quite five minutes, during which time he stood picking up my comb and dropping it back into the hair-brush.
“Yes,” he said suddenly, “I should go in for those late lettuces if I was Ezra. He’d find a good sale for them when salads were getting scarce. Celery’s very good, but people don’t like to be always tied down to celery and endives—a tough kind of meat at the best of times. If you write home—no, this is home now—if you write to Brother Ezra, you say I hope he’ll keep his word about the lettuces. Good-night!”
I felt puzzled as soon as he had gone, and had not the slightest idea how I felt towards the people with whom I was to pass months—perhaps years.
“I shall never like Mrs Solomon,” I said to myself dolefully; “and I shall only like him half and half—liking him sometimes and not caring for him at others.”