I was noticing how beautiful and tawny and golden some of them were growing to be as I smeared the trunk of one and then of another with my sweet stuff, and as it was a deliciously warm still evening, I was full of expectation of a good take.
I had just finished when all at once I heard a curious noise, which made me think of lying in the dark in the sand-cave listening to Shock’s hard breathing; and I gave quite a shudder as I looked round, and then turned hot and angry.
I knew what the noise was, and had not to look far to find Ike lying under a large tree right away from the path fast asleep, and every now and then uttering a few words and giving a snort.
“Ike!” I said, shaking him. “Ike! wake up and go home.”
But the more I tried the more stupid he seemed to grow, and I stood at last wondering what I had better do, not liking the idea of Mr Solomon hearing, for it was certain to mean a very severe reprimand. It might mean discharge.
It seemed such a pity, too, and I could not help thinking that this bad habit of Ike’s was the reason why he had lived to fifty and never risen above the position of labourer.
I tried again to wake him, but it was of no use, and just then I heard Mr Solomon shout to me that tea was waiting.
I ran up the garden quickly for fear Mr Solomon should come down and see Ike, and as I went I made up my mind that I would get the key of the gate into the lane and come down after dark and smuggle him out without anyone knowing.
“Well, butterfly boy,” said Mrs Solomon, smiling in her half-serious way, “we’ve been waiting tea these ten minutes.”
I said I was very sorry, and though I felt a little guilty as I sat down I soon forgot all about Ike in my pleasant meal.