I felt the rebuke and hung my head.
“There!—I’m not finding fault,” he said kindly; “I only want you to be business-like, for I have to teach you to be a business man.”
He then went away and left me to settle up matters with Mrs Beeton, who began to cry when I told her I was going, and where.
“It seems too dreadful,” she sobbed, “and you so nicely brought up. What am I to say to your friends when they come?”
“Tell them where I am,” I said, smiling.
“Ah, my dear! you may laugh,” she cried; “but it’s a very dreadful life you are going to, and I expect I shall see you back before the week’s out.”
My clothes did not fill the small school-box, but I had a good many odds, and ends and books that weighed up and made it too heavy to carry, as I had intended; so I had to go over to the garden, meaning to ask for help.
I fully expected to meet Shock about the sheds or in one of the carts or wagons, but the first person I set eyes on was Old Brownsmith himself—I say Old Brownsmith, for everybody called him so.
He was wearing a long blue serge apron, as he came towards me with his open knife in his teeth and a quantity of Russia matting in his hands, tearing and cutting it into narrow lengths.
“Well, young fellow?” he said as coolly as if no conversation had passed between us.