In truth, Miss Betty’s protege had reached the age at which he was to “eat dreadfully, wear out his clothes, and be useful on the farm;” and the last condition was quite unfulfilled.  At eleven years old he could not be trusted to scare birds, and at half that age the farm-bailiff’s eldest child could drive cattle.

“And no’ just ruin the leedies in new coats and compliments, either, like some ne’er-do-weels,” added the farm-bailiff, who had heard with a jealous ear of sixpences given by Miss Betty and Miss Kitty to their wasteful favourite.

When the eleventh anniversary of John Broom’s discovery was passed, and his character at school gave no hopes of his ever qualifying himself to serve the lawyer, it was resolved that—­“idleness being the mother of mischief,” he should be put under the care of the farm-bailiff, to do such odd jobs about the place as might be suited to his capacity and love of out-door life.  And now John Broom’s troubles began.  By fair means or foul, with here an hour’s weeding and there a day’s bird scaring, and with errands perpetual, the farm-bailiff contrived to “get some work out of” the idle little urchin.  His speckled hat and grim face seemed to be everywhere, and always to pop up when John Broom began to play.

They lived “at daggers drawn.”  I am sorry to say that John Broom’s fitful industry was still kept for his own fancies.  To climb trees, to run races with the sheep dog, to cut grotesque sticks, gather hedge fruits, explore a bog, or make new friends among beasts and birds—­at such matters he would labor with feverish zeal.  But so far from trying to cure himself of his indolence about daily drudgery, he found a new and pleasant excitement in thwarting the farm-bailiff at every turn.

It would not sound dignified to say that the farm-bailiff took pleasure in thwarting John Broom.  But he certainly did not show his satisfaction when the boy did do his work properly.  Perhaps he thought that praise is not good for young people; and the child did not often give him the chance of trying.  Of blame he was free enough.  Not a good scolding to clear the air, such as Thomasina would give to Annie the lass, but his slow, caustic tongue was always growling, like muttered thunder, over John Broom’s incorrigible head.

He had never approved of the tramp-child, who had the overwhelming drawbacks of having no pedigree and of being a bad bargain as to expense.  This was not altogether John Broom’s fault, but with his personal failings the farm bailiff had even less sympathy.  It had been hinted that he was born in the speckled hat, and whether this were so or not, he certainly had worn an old head whilst his shoulders were still young, and could not remember the time when he wished to waste his energies on any thing that did not earn or at least save something.

Once only did any thing like approval of the lad escape his lips.

Miss Betty’s uncle’s second cousin had returned from foreign lands with a good fortune and several white cockatoos.  He kept the fortune himself, but he gave the cockatoos to his friends, and he sent one of them to the little ladies of Lingborough.