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 a