I finished my task in the peach-house, and then went to see how the celery was getting on, for I found that when Mr Solomon gave me a task he expected me to continue to watch, whatever it was.
“So that I may feel that when I have put anything in your hands it will be properly done,” he said more than once; so, feeling that I was responsible for the success of the celery plants, I was on my way to the bottom garden by the pond, thinking of the encounter I had when I was busy watering there that day, when, as I turned down one of the alleys of the garden, I saw a man in the distance digging up a piece of ground with a broad spade, and turning over the soil in that easy regular way, levelling it as he went, that experienced gardeners acquire.
There was something in his way of digging that seemed familiar, and I stopped and stared. The man stopped too, and glanced in my direction; but he only scraped his spade and went on, while, as soon as I had seen his profile I ran up to him and held out my hand.
“Why, Ike!” I cried, “is that you?”
He paused for a few moments, ran his hand over his nose, involuntarily, I’m sure, glanced down at first one leg, and then the other, after which he went on digging.
“Yes,” he said; “it’s me.”
“Why, what are you doing here?”
“Digging,” he said gruffly, and, turning up a spadeful of earth, he gave it a blow with the spade, as if he were boxing its ears, and levelled it smoothly.
“I know that,” I cried; “but how is it you’re here?”
“Got took on.”