Chapter 8. Shock's Breakfast

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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. SHOCK'S BREAKFAST

I lay as if fascinated for a minute or two, staring, and he stared at me. Then without further hesitation I leaped out of bed and indignantly rushed to the window, but only on opening it to find him gone.

There was no mistake about it though, for the trellis was still quivering, and as I looked out it seemed to me that he must have dropped part of the way and darted round the house.

It was very early, but the sun was shining brightly over the dew-wet trees and plants, and a fresh, delicious scent came in at the open window. My headache and giddiness had gone, taking with them my low-spirited feeling, and dressing quickly I thought I would have a run round the garden and a look at Shock before Old Brownsmith came down.

"I wonder where Shock sleeps and lives," I said to myself as I walked round peering about the place, finding the cart gone, for I had not heard the opening gate, and crushing and bumping of the wheels as it went out at midnight.

The great sheds and pits seemed to be empty, and as I went down one of the long paths the garden was quite deserted, the men and women not having come.

"They must be late," I thought, when I heard the old clock at Isleworth Church begin to strike, and listening I counted five.

It was an hour earlier than I thought for, and turning down a path to the left I walked towards a sort of toolshed right in the centre of the garden, and, to my surprise, saw that the little roughly-built chimney in one corner of the building was sending out a column of pale-blue smoke.

"I wonder who has lit a fire so early!" I said to myself, and walking slowly on I expected to see one of the garden women boiling her kettle and getting ready for her breakfast--some of the work-people I knew having their meals in the sheds.

I stopped short as I reached the door, for before a fire of wood and rubbish burnt down into embers, and sending out a pretty good heat, there knelt Shock; and as I had approached quietly he had not heard me.

I stared with wonder at him, and soon my wonder turned into disgust, for what he was doing seemed to be so cruel.

The fire was burning on a big slab of stone, and the embers being swept away from one part the boy had there about a score of large garden snails, which he was pushing on to the hot stone, where they hissed and sent out a lot of foam and steam. Then he changed them about with a bit of stick into hotter or cooler parts, and all with his back half-turned to me.

"The nasty, cruel brute!" I said to myself, for it seemed as if he were doing this out of wantonness, and I was blaming myself for not interfering to save the poor things from their painful death, when a thought flashed across my mind, and I stood there silently watching him.

I had not long to watch for proof.

Taking a scrap of paper from his pocket, Shock opened it, and I saw what it contained. Then taking a monstrous pin from out of the edge of his jacket, he picked up one of the snails with his left hand, used the pin cleverly, and dragged out one of the creatures from its shell, reduced to about half its original size, blew it, dipped it in the paper of salt, and, to my horror and disgust, ate it.

Before I had recovered from my surprise he had eaten another and another, and he was busy over the sixth when an ejaculation I uttered made him turn and see me.

He stared at me, pin in one hand, snail-shell in the other, for a moment in mute astonishment; then, turning more away from me, he went on with his repast, and began insultingly to throw the shells at me over his head.

I bore it all for a few minutes in silence; then, feeling qualmish at the half-savage boy's meal, I caught one of the shells as it came, and tossed it back with such good aim that it hit him a smart rap on the head.

He turned sharply round with a vicious look, and seemed as if about to fly at me.

"What are you doing?" I cried.

He had never spoken to me before, and he seemed to hesitate now, staring at me as if reluctant to use his tongue, but he did speak in a quick angry way.

"Eatin'; can't you see?"

I had questioned him, but I was quite as much surprised at hearing an answer, as at the repast of which he was partaking.

I stared hard at him, and he gave me a sidelong look, after which he gave three or four of the snails a thrust with a bit of stick to where they would cook better, took up another, and wriggled it out with the pin.

I was disgusted and half nauseated, but I could not help noticing that the cooked snail did not smell badly, and that instead of being the wet, foaming, slimy thing I was accustomed to see, it looked dried up and firm.

At last, with a horrified look at the young savage, I exclaimed:

"Do you know those are snails?"

"Yes. Have one?"

He answered quite sharply, and I took a step back, for I had not had my breakfast. I was rather disposed to be faint from the effects of my last night's accident, and the sight of what was going on made me ready to flee, for all at once, after letting his dirty fingers hover for a few moments over the hot stone, he picked up the largest snail, blew it as he threw it from hand to hand because it was hot, and ended by holding it out to me with:

"Got a big pin?"

I shrank away from him with my lip curling, and I uttered a peculiar "Ugh!"

"All right!" he said gruffly. "They're stunning."

To prove his assertion he went on eating rapidly without paying any further heed to me, throwing the shells over his head, and ending by screwing the paper up tightly that contained the salt.

Then he sprang up and faced me; took two or three steps in my direction, and made a spring as if to jump right on to me.

Naturally enough I gave way, and he darted out of the shed and dashed down between two rows of trees, to be out of sight directly, for I did not give chase.

"He can talk," I said to myself as I went on down the garden thinking of the snails, and that Shock was something like the wild boy of whom I had once read.

But soon the various objects in the great garden made me forget Shock, for the men were at work, hoeing, digging, and planting, and I was beginning to feel uncomfortable and to think that Old Brownsmith would be annoyed if he found me idle, when he came down one of the walks, followed by his cats, and laid his hand upon my shoulder.

"Better?" he said abruptly. "That's right. What you're to do? Oh wait a bit, we'll see! Get used to the place first."

He gave me a short nod, and began pointing out different tasks that he wished his men to carry out, while I watched attentively, feeling as if I should like to run off and look at the ripening fruit, but not caring to go away, for fear Mr Brownsmith might want me.

One thing was quite evident, and that was that the cats were disposed to be very friendly. They did not take any notice of the men, but one after the other came and had a rub up against my leg, purring softly, and looking up at me with their slits of eyes closed up in the bright sunshine, till all at once Old Brownsmith laid his hand upon my shoulder again, and said one word:

"Breakfast!"

I walked with him up to the house, and noticed that instead of following us in, the cats ran up a flight of steps into a narrow loft which seemed to be their home, two of them seating themselves at once in the doorway to blink at the sunshine.

"Like cats?" said the old gentleman.

"Oh yes!" I said.

"Ah! I see you've made friends."

"Yes, I replied; but I haven't made friends with that boy Shock."

"Well, that does not matter," said Old Brownsmith. "Come, sit down; bread and milk morning."

I sat down opposite to him, to find that a big basin of bread and milk stood before each of us, and at which, after a short grace, Old Brownsmith at once began.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling a little awkward and strange, but I was soon after as busy as he.

"Not going to be ill, I see," he said suddenly. "You must be on the look-out another time. Accident--Ike didn't mean it."

I was going to say I was sure of that, when he went on:

"So you haven't made friends with Shock?"

"No, sir."

"Well, don't."

"I will not if you don't wish it, sir," I said eagerly.

"Be kind to him, and keep him in his place. Hasn't been rough to you, has he?"

"Oh no!" I said. "He only seems disposed to play tricks."

"Yes, like a monkey. Rum fellow, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir. He isn't--"

"Bit of an idiot, eh? Oh no! he's sharp enough. I let him do as he likes for the present. Awkward boy to manage."

"Is he, sir?"

"Yes, my lad. Ike found him under the horses' hoofs one night, going up to market. Little fellow had crawled out into the road. Left in the ditch by some one or another. Ike put him in a half-sieve basket with some hay, and fixed him in with some sticks same as we cover fruit, and he curled up and went to sleep till Ike brought him in to me in the yard."

"But where were his father and mother?" I cried.

"Who knows!" said Old Brownsmith, poking at a bit of brown crust in his basin of milk. "Ike brought him to me grinning, and he said, 'Here's another cat for you, master.'

"I was very angry," said the old gentleman after a pause; "but just then the little fellow--he was about a year old--put his head up through the wooden bars and looked at me, and I told one of the women to give him something to eat. After that I sent him to the workhouse, where they took care of him, and one day when he got bigger I gave him a treat, and had him here for a day's holiday. Then after a twelvemonth, I gave him another holiday, and I should have given him two a year, only he was such a young rascal. The workhouse master said he could do nothing with him. He couldn't make him learn anything--even his letters. The only thing he would do well was work in the garden."

"Same as he does now, sir?" I said, for I was deeply interested.

"Same as he does now," assented Old Brownsmith. "Then one day after I had given him his treat, I suppose when he was about ten years old, I found him in the garden. He had run away from the workhouse school."

"And did he stay here, sir?"

"No, I sent him back, Grant, and he ran away again. I sent him back once more, but he came back; and at last I got to be tired of it, for the more I sent him back the more he came."

The old gentleman chuckled and finished his bread and milk, while I waited to hear more.

"I say I got tired of it at last, for I knew they flogged and locked up the boy, and kept him on bread and water; but it did him no good; he would run away. He used to come here, through the gate if it was open, over the wall when it was shut, and he never said a word, only hung about like a dog.

"I talked to him, coaxed him, and told him that if he would be a good lad, and learn, I would have him to work some day, and he stared at me just as if he were some dumb animal, and when I had done and sent him off, what do you think happened, Grant?"

"He came back again, sir."

"Yes: came back again as soon as he could get away, and at last, being a very foolish sort of old man, I let him stop, and he has been here ever since."

"And never goes to school?"

"Never, Grant, I tried to send him, but I could only get him there by blows, and I gave that up. I don't like beating boys."

I felt a curious shiver run through me as he said this, and I saw him smile, but he made no allusion to me, and went on talking about Shock.

"Then I tried making a decent boy of him, giving him clothes, had a bed put for him in the attic, and his meals provided for him here in the kitchen."

"And wasn't he glad?" I said.

"Perhaps he was," said Old Brownsmith, quietly, "but he didn't show it, for I couldn't get him to sleep in the bed, and he would not sit down to his meals in the kitchen; so at last I grew tired, and took to paying him wages, and made arrangements for one of the women who comes to work, to find him a lodging, and he goes there to sleep sometimes."

I noticed that he said _sometimes_, in a peculiar manner, looking at me the while. Then he went on:

"I've tried several times since, Grant, my lad, but the young savage is apparently irreclaimable. Perhaps when he gets older something may be done."

"I hope so," I said. "It seems so dreadful to see a boy so--"

"So dirty and lost, as the north-country people call it, boy. Ah, well, let him have his way for a bit, and we'll see by and by! You say he has not annoyed you?"

"No, no," I said; "I don't think he likes me though."

"That does not matter," said the old gentleman, rising. "There, now, I'm going to shave."

I looked at him in wonder, as he took a tin pot from out of a cupboard, and brought forth his razors, soap, and brush.

"Give me that looking-glass that hangs on the wall, my lad; that's it."

I fetched the glass from the nail on which it hung, and then he set it upright, propped by a little support behind, and then I sat still as he placed his razor in boiling water, soaped his chin all round, and scraped it well, removing the grey stubble, and leaving it perfectly clean.

It seemed to me a curious thing to do on a breakfast-table, but it was the old man's custom, and it was not likely that he would change his habits for me.

"There," he said smiling, "that's a job you won't want to do just yet awhile. Now hang up the glass, and you can go out in the garden. I shall be there by and by. Head hurt you?"

"Oh no, sir!" I said.

"Shoulder?"

"Only a little stiff, sir."

Then I don't think we need have the doctor any more.

I laughed, for the idea seemed ridiculous.

"Well, then, we won't waste his time. Put on your hat and go and see him. You know where he lives?"

I said that I did; and I went up to his house, saw him, and he sent me away again, patting me on the shoulder that was not stiff.

"Yes, you're all right," he said. "Now take care and don't get into my clutches again." _

Read next: Chapter 9. Gathering Pippins

Read previous: Chapter 7. I Make A Friend

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