“You,” said Tom bluntly.
Sam gave him a sharp look and returned to the path, bore off to his right, and began to examine the trained fruit trees on the wall.
“Pears, peaches, nectarines, apricots, plums,” said Sam coolly. “Why, they’re all green and unripe. No, they’re not; here’s an apricot looks ready.”
David uttered a gasp, for the young visitor stepped on to the neat border and took hold of the yellow apricot, whose progress the gardener had been watching for days, gave it a tug, and broke off the twig which bore it.
“Bah!” he ejaculated, as he dragged away the twig and a wall-nail and shred. “Why, the wretched thing isn’t ripe.”
He spat out the mouthful he had taken between his lips, and jerked the bitten fruit out over the hedge into the lane.
“Well,” muttered David, as the two lads went on, “I do call that imperdence. Wonder what master would ha’ said if he’d seen.”
“Master” had seen his nephew’s act as he came from the other side of the field with his brother leaning upon his arm, but he made no remark respecting it.
“You would like to have a chat now with your boy about business, eh, James?”
“Oh, there’s nothing to talk about,” said Sam carelessly. “Everything is all right. I have seen to that. I kept Pringle pretty well up to his work.”