“Nonsense, Daniel! nonsense!” cried the doctor pettishly.
“Well, sir, I’ve served you faithful, and took such a pride in that there garden as never was, and you may call it nonsense, sir, but when I see things such as I see, I say it’s time to speak.”
“Why, you are always coming to me with some petty complaint, sir, about that boy.”
“Petty complaint, sir!” cried Dan’l indignantly. “Is Ribstons a petty complaint—my chycest Ribstons, as I want for dessert at Christmas? And is my Sturmer pippins a petty complaint—them as ought to succeed the Ribstons in Febbery and March?”
“Why, what about them?” cried the doctor.
“Oh, nothing, sir; only as half the town’s t’other side o’ the river, and my pippins is being shovelled over wholesale.”
The doctor walked out into the hall and put on his hat, with Dan’l following him; and, after a moment’s hesitation, Helen took up a sunshade, and went down the garden after her father.
She overtook him as he was standing by a handsome espalier, dotted with the tawny red-streaked Ribstons, while Dan’l was pointing to a couple of newly-made footmarks.
“Humph! Not all gone, then?” said the doctor, frowning.
“Not yet!” growled Dan’l. “And see there, Miss; there was four stunners on that there little branch this mornin’, and they’re all gone!”