Chapter Twenty Five.
I Have a Difficult Task.
The gardener was right. The fight was a lesson for the boys, who kept at a distance from me, during the next few days, while our scratches and bruises grew faint and began to heal.
We had expected they would have been off to school; but for some reason, illness I believe, the holidays were extended for a month, and so they stayed, but I was pretty well left in peace.
My first hint of Sir Francis’ return was given by that gentleman himself, who came upon me suddenly as I was busy in the peach-house. I was painting away at the branches that had become infected with a tiresome kind of blight, when I heard a sharp quick step behind me, and my heart quailed, for I felt that it was Sir Francis about to take me to task for my encounter with his sons.
I kept busily on with my work, in the faint, hope that he might pass me and say nothing, but he stopped short, and looked on as I busied myself with my brush and the poisonous decoction that was to kill the insects.
I was in agony, for I felt that he was looking me through and through, and when he did speak at last I gave quite a jump.
“Hah!” he exclaimed, “rather hard upon the insects. Well, Grant, how are you getting on?”