“Have you heard how Mr Courtenay is?” I asked.
“Yes, ever so much better, young whelp! Sir Francis has been giving his brother a tremendous setting down, I hear; and I think they are going to school or somewhere else at once.”
That day, as I was wandering about the kitchen-garden after a chat with Ike, who had settled down to his work just as if he belonged to the place, and after I had tried to have a few words with Shock, who puzzled me more than ever, for he always seemed to hate me, and yet he had followed me here, I heard some one shout, “Hi! halt!”
I turned and saw Sir Francis beckoning to me, and I went up to him.
“Better? Yes, of course. Boys always get better,” he said. “Look here. Behaved very well yesterday. Go on. I’ve said a word to Brownsmith about you; but, look here: don’t you tease my lads. Boys will be boys, I know; but they are not in your station of life, and you must not try to make companions of them.”
I made no answer: I could not, I was so taken aback by his words; and by the time I had thought of saying that I had never teased either Courtenay or Philip, and that I had always tried to avoid them, he was a hundred yards away.
“They must have been telling lies about me,” I said angrily; and I walked on to where Ike was digging, to talk to him about it and ask his advice as to whether I should go and tell Sir Francis everything.
“No,” he said, stopping to scrape his spade when I had done. “I shouldn’t. It’s kicks, that’s what it is, and we all gets kicked more or less through life, my boy; but what of it? He wouldn’t think no better of you for going and telling tales. Let him find it out. Sure to, some day. Feel badly?”
“Yes,” I said, rather faintly.
“Ah! sure to,” said Ike, driving his spade into the ground. “But you don’t want no doctor. You swallowed a lot of bad air; now you swallow a lot of good, and it’ll be like lime on a bit o’ newly dug ground. Load or two would do this good. There’s the ganger hollering after you.”