tion was taken from myself to the boy and Mr Solomon the next
moment, for there was a scene.

"Now," said Mr Solomon, "I want to lock up this house, young gentleman,
so out you go."

"You can come when I've done," said the boy, poking at first one fruit
and then another with the cane, as he strutted about. "I'm not going
yet."

He was in the act of touching a ripe nectarine when Mr Solomon looked
as if he could bear it no longer, and he snatched the cane away.

"Here, you give me my cane," cried the boy. "You be off out, sir."

"Sha'n't!"

"Will you go?"

"No. Don't you push me!"

"Walk out then."

"Sha'n't. It's our place, and I sha'n't go for you."

"Will you go out quietly?"

"No, I shall stop as long as I like."

"Once more, Master Philip, will you go?"

"No!" yelled the boy; "and you give me back my cane."

"Will you go, sir? Once more."

"Send that beggar away, and not me," cried the boy.

"I shall stop till I choose to go, and I shall pick the peaches if I
like."

Mr Solomon looked down at him aghast for a few moments, and then, as
the boy made a snatch at his cane, he caught him up, tucked him under
his arm, and carried him out, kicking and struggling with all his might.

I followed close behind, thoroughly enjoying the discomfiture of my
enemy, and was the better satisfied for seeing the boy thrown down
pretty heavily upon a heap of mowings of the lawn.

"I'll pay you for this," cried the boy, who had recovered his cane; and,
giving it a swish through the air, he raised it as if about to strike
Mr Solomon across the face.

I saw Mr Solomon colour up of a deeper red as he looked at the boy very
hard; and then he said softly, but in a curious hissing way:

"I shouldn't advise you to do that, young sir. If you did I might
forget you were Sir Francis' boy, and take and pitch you into the
gold-fish pond. I feel just as if I should like to do it without."

The boy quailed before his stern look, and uttered a nasty sniggering
laugh.

"I can get in any of the houses when I like, and I can take the fruit
when I like, and I'll let papa know about your beggars of friends
meddling with the peaches."

"There, you be off," said the gardener. "I'll tell Sir Francis too, as
sure as my name's Brownsmith."

"Ha--ha--ha! There's a name!" cried the boy jeeringly. "Brownsmith.
What a name for a cabbage-builder, who pretends to be a gardener, and is
only an old woman about the place! Robe