Brownsmith's Boy: A Romance in a Garden

by George Manville Fenn

“Very well, Sir Francis, I think,” I said.

“Seen any more of that boy?”

“Yes, Sir Francis,” I said, colouring.

“Climbed up the wall, has he?”

“I don’t know, Sir Francis,” I replied; “but he has got into the garden lately.”

“That’s right, my lad, be frank,” he said. “I know he has got into the garden. I caught my young gentleman and took him to task. He says he came because you were here.”

“I’m afraid that is why he did come, Sir Francis,” I said.

“Did you tell him to come?”

“No, Sir Francis. We were never very friendly.”

“Ho!” he said, and he walked on looking at the peaches for a few minutes, and then went away, leaving me to wipe the cold perspiration off my forehead, for I had fully expected a severe scolding.