What's that beggar doing in our hothouses ?" "I'm not a beggar," I cried hotly.
"Hold your tongue, Grant," said Mr Solomon in a low growl as he trimmed off a broken twig that had escaped him at first.
"It was lucky I came in," continued the boy, looking at me tauntingly.
"If I hadn't come I don't know how many he wouldn't have had." "Mr Brownsmith," I said, as I smarted with pain, rage, and the desire to get hold of that cane once more, and use it, "I found a peach lying on the ground, and I was going to pick it up." "And eat it ?" said the gardener without looking at me.
"Eat it! No," I said hotly, "I can go amongst fruit without wanting to eat it like a little child." I looked at him indignantly, for he seemed to be suspecting me, he was so cold and hard, and distant in his manner.
"Mr Brownsmith always trusted me amongst his fruit," I said angrily.
"Humph!" said Mr Solomon, "and so you weren't going to eat the peach ?" "He was; I saw him.

It was close up to his mouth." "It is not true," I cried.
"He isn't fit to be trusted in here, and I shall tell papa how I saved the peaches.

He won't like it when he hears." "I won't stop a day in the place," I said to myself in the heat of my indignation, for Mr Solomon seemed to be doubting me, and I felt as if I couldn't bear to be suspected of being a thief.
My attention was taken from myself to the boy and Mr Solomon the next moment, for there was a scene.
"Now," said Mr Solomon, "I want to lock up this house, young gentleman, so out you go." "You can come when I've done," said the boy, poking at first one fruit and then another with the cane, as he strutted about.

"I'm not going yet." He was in the act of touching a ripe nectarine when Mr Solomon looked as if he could bear it no longer, and he snatched the cane away.
"Here, you give me my cane," cried the boy.

"You be off out, sir." "Sha'n't!" "Will you go ?" "No.