When afternoon school was over Tommy ran home very quickly, for hanging over the river was a large, black cloud, and he feared that rain might fall before he could water his plants. He was eager, too, to see whether the other miggle things had grown into flowers in his absence.
His hands were tucked away in his trouser-pockets, but every now and then as he ran one or the other was withdrawn; the arm thus freed from control made wild circles in the air, while in his excitement he blew through tightly closed lips in a vain attempt to whistle.
At the last turning he underwent a sudden metamorphosis, and becoming a ramping lion he plunged madly round the corner in case Mammy should be standing in the doorway. Then the shrill roar broke off abruptly and the waving arms fell limply to his side.
Perfectly still he stood there, while for the second time that day large tear-drops slowly gathered in his eyes and rolled unheeded down his cheeks. Deep sobs followed and Tommy groped his way slowly into the house.
“Oh, Mammy, Mammy,” he moaned; “my garden’s all picked and withered; my garden’s all picked and withered.”
Mrs. Tregennis was not in the kitchen; probably she was in a house near by, but Tommy could not take his sorrow to a crowd. Slowly he made his way to the upstairs sitting room, and there he found Miss Margaret writing letters.
“My Lady,” he sobbed, “my Lady, my garden’s all picked and withered.”
“Oh, Tommy,” she answered softly. Drawing him tenderly to her she dried away the tears as they came.
After a little pause, “Shall I come down with you to see it?” she asked.
Tommy sorrowfully shook his head. “I don’t like to see ’e lyin’ there all dead,” he explained. So Miss Margaret went down alone.