When my aunt talked like this she used to screw up her face and seem as if she were going to cry, and she spoke in a whining, unpleasant tone of voice; but I never remember seeing her cry, and I used to wonder why she would trouble herself about dusting with a cloth and feather brush from morning to night, when there were three servants to do all the work.
I have heard the cook tell Jane the housemaid that Mrs Pilgarlic was never satisfied; but it was some time before I knew whom she meant; and to this day I don’t know why she gave my aunt such a name.
Whenever aunt used to be more than usually fretful, as time went on my uncle would get up softly, give me a peculiar look, and go out into the garden, where, if I could, I followed, and we used to talk, and weed, and train the flowers; but very often my aunt would pounce upon me and order me to sit still and keep out of mischief if I could.
I was very glad when my uncle decided to send me to school, and I used to go to one in our neighbourhood, so that I was a good deal away from home, as uncle said I was to call his house now; and school and the garden were the places where I was happiest in those days.
“Yes, my boy,” said my uncle, “I should like you to call this home, for though your aunt pretends she doesn’t like it, she does, you know, Nat; and you mustn’t mind her being a bit cross, Nat. It isn’t temper, you know, it’s weakness. It’s her digestion’s bad, and she’s a sufferer, that’s what she is. She’s wonderfully fond of you, Nat.”
I remember thinking that she did not show it.
“And you must try and get on, Nat, and get lots of learning,” he would often say when we were out in the garden. “You won’t be poor when you grow up, for your poor mother has left you a nice bit of money, but you might lose that, Nat, my boy; nobody could steal your knowledge, and—ah, you rascal, got you, have I?”
This last was to a great snail which he raked out from among some tender plants that had been half eaten away.
“Yes, Nat, get all the knowledge you can and work hard at your books.”
But somehow I didn’t get on well with the other boys, for I cared so little for their rough games. I was strong enough of my age, but I preferred getting out on to Clapham Common on half-holidays, to look for lizards in the furze, or to catch the bright-coloured sticklebacks in the ponds, or else to lie down on the bank under one of the trees, and watch the efts coming up to the top to make a little bubble and then go down again, waving their bodies of purple and orange and the gay crests that they sometimes had all along their backs in the spring.