"Thank you, sir, that is just what I should like," cried I. "I am certainly getting tired of walking about alone." And then I began to blush a little, for of late rather than go into the Chase I had been accompanying my tutor in his favourite diversion of fishing, which I cared nothing about, or else in his parochial expeditions.
"Don't be afraid to speak out, my boy," said Mr. Long, with a kind smile, "you will not hurt my feelings. You and I are very good friends, but you want somebody of your own age to be your companion. Isn't that it? And very natural too. No young gentleman, except in story-books, enjoys the society of his tutors. Even Sandford and Merton got a little tired of good Mr. Barlow, I fancy, he was so desperately full of information. You want a fellow who can shy stones and climb trees."
"No, sir, indeed I don't," said I, a little indignantly; for I was getting too old, I flattered myself, for any boyish escapades of that sort, "But I do wish that Marmaduke was allowed to come out with me a little more. Would not Sir Massingberd let him have a horse also?"
Mr. Long shook his head, and was silent for a little; then, as if in continuation of his thought, he added, "And yet, I don't know, we'll go over to the Hall and see about it this very morning."
"I, Sir?" inquired I in astonishment; for I had never set foot in Doubting Castle, or seen it from any nearer spot than the Heronry.
"Did I say 'we'?" said Mr. Long, reflectively. "I didn't mean to do so, but I really see no reason why you shouldn't come. You would wait a considerable time if you waited for an invitation from Sir Massingberd, but—Tush, if poor Marmaduke lives there, and yet remains a good boy, half an hour's visit will not be the ruin of the lad." The latter part of this remark was uttered aloud, although intended to be strictly private, which was not an uncommon occurrence with my worthy tutor, and I have noticed the same peculiarity in other persons of studious habits. He led the way into the road at once, pursuing which, under the park wall, we presently came upon a little door, which my tutor opened with a private key. This admitted us into the wall-garden, or, as it was sometimes called, from the quantities of that fruit which it contained, the peach-garden. An enormous area was here entirely given up to the cultivation of fruits; in the centre were strawberry-beds, gooseberries, melon-beds, the glasses of which dazzled you to behold; and raspberries upon trellis-work, on so extensive a scale that it looked like a maze. The northern end was occupied by an enormous green-house, which, in those days was rather a rare adjunct, even to a rich man's garden. But the most surprising sight was that of the walls covered with spread-eagled fruit trees, or as schoolboys then called them, "Lawk-a-daisies," laden with the most exquisite dainties—peaches, nectarines, apricots, and bloomy plums. A number of men were busily employed about this teeming scene.
"Why do they say Sir Massingberd is poor?" inquired I. "Is not all this his?"
"Yes; it is all his."
"Well, but what valuable fruit, and what enormous quantities of it! Why, he would make a large income, even if he was to sell it."
"He does sell it," replied my tutor, smiling. "Nineteen out of twenty of all these peaches will find their way to Covent Garden. Why, how could he eat them, you foolish boy? Even if he gave them away to all Fairburn, he would introduce the cholera."