"Oughtn't you to cut it when the dew is on?" I said.
"Yes, squire, if you can," he replied; "but there is so much grass we
can't get over it all in the early morning."
He went on mowing, and I continued my task of pegging down the long
shoots of the beautiful scarlet, crimson, and white flowers, just as Mr
Solomon had instructed me, when all at once he came and looked on,
making me feel very nervous; but he nodded and went away, so I supposed
he was satisfied, and I worked on again as cheerfully as could be, till
all at once I felt the blood flush up in my face, for the voice of young
Philip Dalton came unpleasantly grating on my ear, as he said: "Hullo, Bunce, mowing again?"
"Yes, Master Philup, mowin' again."
"Why, you've got the pauper there!" cried Philip. "I say, did you know
he was a pauper?"
"No," said Bunce, "I didn't know. Do you want your legs ampytated?"
"No, stoopid, of course I don't."
"Then get outer the way or I shall take 'em off like carrots."
"Get out!" said Philip, as I saw that he was watching me. "I say,
though, did you know that he was a pauper, and lived on skilly?"
"No," said the gardener quietly; and I felt as if I must get up and go
away, for now I knew I should be a mark of contempt for the whole staff
who worked in the garden.
"He was," said Philip.
"Pauper, was he?" said Bunce, making his scythe glide round in a half
circle. "I shouldn't ha' thought it."
"Oh but he was or is, and always will be," said the boy maliciously.
"Once a pauper always a pauper. Look at him."
"I've been a looking at him," said Bunce slowly, for he was a big
meditative man, and he stood upright, took a piece of flannel from the
strap that supported his whetstone sheath, and wiped the blade of the
scythe.
"Well, can't you see?" cried my tormentor, watching me as I worked away
and assumed ignorance of his presence.
"No," said Bunce sturdily; "and seeing what a long, yellow,
lizardly-looking wisp you are, Master Phil, if you two changed clothing
I should pick you out as the pauper."
"How dare you!" cried the boy fiercely.
"Mind the scythe," shouted Bunce; "d'yer want to get cut?"
"You insolent old worm chopper, how dare you call me a pauper?"
"I didn't call you a pauper," said Bunce chuckling; "did I, Grant?"
"No," I said.
"You're a liar, you pauper!" cried the boy, who was furious. "I'll tell
papa--I'll tell Sir Francis, and you shall both be discharged, you
blackguards."
"I'm just going to mow there, squire," said Bunce, sharpening away at
his scythe.