Then there was old Brownsmith’s heavy foot on the stair, and he was shown in to where I was waiting.
“Mrs Dennison will be here directly,” said our landlady, and the old man smiled pleasantly at me.
I say old man, for he was in my eyes a very old man, though I don’t suppose he was far beyond fifty; but he was very grey, and grey hairs in those days meant to me age.
“How do?” he said as soon as he saw me. “Being such a nigh neighbour I thought I’d come and pay my respects.”
He had a basket in his hand, and just then my mother entered, and he turned and began backing before her on to me.
“Like taking a liberty,” he said in his rough way, “but your son and me’s old friends, ma’am, and I’ve brought you a few strawberries before they’re over.”
Before my mother could thank him he went on:
“Been no rain, you see, and the sun’s ripening of ’em off so fast. A few flowers, too, not so good as they should be, ma’am, but he said you liked flowers.”
I saw the tears stand in my mother’s eyes as she thanked him warmly for his consideration, and begged him to sit down.
But no. He was too busy. Lot of people getting ready for market and he was wanted at home, he said, but he thought he would bring those few strawberries and flowers.