Benson felt that he should have associates of his own age, that Mrs. Pope and Peter were not exactly the most engaging companions he could have, but there were no boys in the neighbourhood whose manners or morals fitted them to be his playfellows. True, there was a region of back streets and alleys in the rear of his ample grounds, overlooked by small frame dwellings; here there were children of all ages, and in course of time Stephen came to know certain of these youthful neighbours of his, for while he had seemed cut off from them by barriers whose nature he did not comprehend, he had long been aware that the world held the possibility of a more desirable companionship than that he was knowing.
There were also strange small boys whom he occasionally saw scurrying through the garden or dodging among the grape arbours. They had appeared with the first half-ripe strawberry; they came again when the big Lorton blackberries were hard as bullets; then their visits languished for a little space; but when the early harvest apples on the two big trees back of the barn were the size of turkey eggs, they reappeared, this time armed with clubs, and there was a fine rattling among the branches.
The effect of these depredations on Peter was not wholly pleasant; indeed at first Stephen had regarded him with wide-eyed terror; for the German would explode in guttural mutterings and strange oaths, as he rushed in pursuit of the thieves, who as they fled before his advance on nimble legs, hurled back taunts and insults.
“Dutchy! Who's afraid of Dutchy! Dutchy can't run! Dutchy's got a belly full of beer—belly full of beer!”
In possession of the field, Peter would retire to the stables where he would supply himself with nails and hatchet, then he would make an examination of the high picket-fence back of the garden, and here he was almost certain to find a spot where a board had been removed to favour a hasty retreat; this he would restore to utility with many unnecessary nails.
One day as Stephen was wandering aimlessly through the garden and among the ripening grapes, he came suddenly upon a boy somewhat older and larger than himself, but brown and barefoot, who was eating Peter's grapes. Earlier in the season Stephen had seen this boy, but always at a distance and always in full flight, routed red-handed from among the strawberries or fleeing from among the blackberries. It was this same boy who had led in the assaults upon the early apples, and here he was back again with the first ripening colour that touched the grapes.
Stephen's first idea was to withdraw; he felt keenly the embarrassment of the situation, since the boy was clearly most immorally engaged in theft, but while he still paused irresolutely, hardly knowing what to do, the barefoot stranger suddenly suspended his attack on the grapes to glance warily and shrewdly about, and saw Stephen in his turn.
It was apparent that his first uncontrollable impulse was flight, for he expected Peter to be somewhere close at hand; but the gardener was working the lawn-mower remote on the front lawn, and the rattle of his machine came reassuringly to his ears. His mind relieved on this score he instantly resumed operations, now and again casting a glance over his shoulder in Stephen's direction. Evidently he had expected the latter to rush off to warn Peter, but Stephen did nothing of the sort, he merely stared at the intruder.
“Hullo, poppy eyes!” said the boy. “What are you doing here? Ain't you afraid old Dutchy will come swarming out here and light into you?”
Stephen answered him by a shy, wistful smile; he felt that he had at last made a comforting acquaintance.