Now she had at last found tears, and she wept noiselessly but unceasingly.
The boy had plucked some grapes, and placed them carefully in his basket: he was about to select a nectarine that seemed riper than the rest, when his hand was roughly seized; and the gruff voice of John Green, the gardener, exclaimed: "What are you about, Master Philip?
you must not touch them 'ere fruit!" "How dare you, fellow!" cried the young gentleman, in a tone of equal astonishment and, wrath.
"None of your airs, Master Philip! What I means is, that some great folks are coming too look at the place tomorrow; and I won't have my show of fruit spoiled by being pawed about by the like of you; so, that's plain, Master Philip!" The boy grew very pale, but remained silent.

The gardener, delighted to retaliate the insolence he had received, continued: "You need not go for to look so spiteful, master; you are not the great man you thought you were; you are nobody now, and so you will find ere long.

So, march out, if you please: I wants to lock up the glass." As he spoke, he took the lad roughly by the arm; but Philip, the most irascible of mortals, was strong for his years, and fearless as a young lion.

He caught up a watering-pot, which the gardener had deposited while he expostulated with his late tyrant and struck the man across the face with it so violently and so suddenly, that he fell back over the beds, and the glass crackled and shivered under him.

Philip did not wait for the foe to recover his equilibrium; but, taking up his grapes, and possessing himself quietly of the disputed nectarine, quitted the spot; and the gardener did not think it prudent to pursue him.