CHAPTER VIII.

Mrs. Larkum.

Hubert left for college before the time came around for the distribution of our ripened fruit, and vegetables, for which fact I was very glad.  I knew the task was going to be no easy one, with Mr. Winthrop silently, and no doubt sarcastically, watching me; and Hubert’s good humored raillery would in no wise lighten my cares.

Mrs. Flaxman counseled me as wisely as she knew, but Mrs. Blake was my greatest help in the matter.  Mr. Winthrop had not discovered, or if he had, did not interfere with my continued friendship for that worthy woman; so in my present perplexities I came to her for advice and consolation.

She promised to notify all her poor acquaintances when they were to come for their share of our gifts; she assured me there was already considerable interest, as well as surprise, awakened by the expectation of such a gathering at Oaklands.

For several days I watched Thomas and Samuel storing away such vast quantities of fruit and vegetables, that I concluded we could safely stand siege for a good many months, but I ruefully determined there would be little remaining for me to distribute.  But one bright morning, just in range with my own windows, I saw the gardener nailing up some wooden booths, and when completed, they began to pour in great basketfuls of all sorts of vegetables, and afterward in separate booths, apples, pears, and plums.  I slipped out before Mr. Winthrop was astir and inquired of Thomas if these were for my Mill Road pensioners.

“Yes, ma’am, that they are; and did I ever think I’d live to see this day?”

“Why, Thomas, are you not willing to share your bountiful harvest with those who have none?”

“Indeed I am.  It’s that makes me so glad this morning.  I had that good-for-nothing Sam up at four o’clock, helping me saw the boards to build them bins to put the garden sass in.  He reckoned you’d a much sight better have been staying in them foreign parts than be giving decent folks such bother.  I give him a clip on the ear that made him howl in earnest, I can tell you.  I says to him, says I, ’Why, one would think you was one of the aristocracy yourself to hear you talk so indifferent like about the poor folk.  There’s Miss Selwyn, with full and plenty, and see how she works for them; you’d ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ I says to him.”

“But I hope you won’t punish the poor fellow on my account again—­won’t you please give him a holiday soon, for getting up to work so early this morning?”

“I’ll see about it; but he gets holidays right along; he’s nothing but a plague.”

I saw poor Sam scuttling around a large apple tree quite within hearing of the gardener’s voice, and concluded he was another instance of listeners never hearing any good of themselves.  I did very little work or reading that day, but watched from the shelter of my window curtains the slowly accumulating pile.  Samuel, I noticed, seemed to work with unusual cheerfulness, and even the gardener himself did not empty his basket any oftener than his well-abused help.  Mr. Winthrop passed once or twice, and seemed to give directions.  I fancied he glanced up to my window as he stood watching them empty their baskets.  At luncheon he said:—­