“Well, that’s what I _think_, gran’dad. An’ I know he says things wrong.
When he came before he said that ship I drew was bad—an’ I—I very near
cried.” (He did cry, but that was in secret, and not to be confessed.)
“But now,” Johnny went on, “I’m fourteen, an’ I know better. I don’t
believe Uncle Isaac knows a bit about things.”
They had come again to the tree first treacled, and, leaving the pot and
brush at its foot, the old man, by help of the lantern, took certain of
the moths that had been attracted. From this he carried the lantern to
the next tree in the round and then to the next, filling the intervals
between his moth-captures with successive chapters of a mild and rather
vague lecture on respect for elders.
It was dark night now, and the sky all a-dust with stars. The old man
and the boy took their way more by use than by sight amid the spectral
presences of the trees, whose infinite whispering filled the sharpening
air. They emerged on high ground, whence could be seen, here the lights
of Loughton and there the lights of Woodford, and others more distant in
the flatter country. Here the night wind swept up lustily from all
Essex, and away from far on the Robin Hood Road came a rumble and a
murmur, and presently the glare of hand-lights red and green, the sign
and token of homing beanfeasters.
II.
FOR some while a problem had confronted the inmates of the cottage, and
now it was ever with them: the choice of a trade for Johnny. The
situation of the cottage itself made the main difficulty. There was a
walk of two miles to the nearest railway station, and then London was
twelve miles off. It was in London that trades were learnt; but to get
there? Here the family must stay, for here was the cottage, which cost
no rent, for the old man had bought it with his little savings.
Moreover, here also were the butterflies and the moths, which meant
butter to the dry bread of the little pension; and here was the garden.
To part with Johnny altogether was more than his mother could face, and,
indeed, what was to pay for his lodging and keep?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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