Brownsmith's Boy; A Romance in a Garden
Brownsmith's Boy; A Romance in a Garden
By George Manville Fenn
19 Nov, 2019
I always felt as if I should like to punch that boy’s head, and then directly after I used to feel as if I shouldn’t care to touch him because he looked so dirty and ragged.
It was not dirty dirt, if you know what I mean by that, but dirt that
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I always felt as if I should like to punch that boy’s head, and then directly after I used to feel as if I shouldn’t care to touch him because he looked so dirty and ragged.
It was not dirty dirt, if you know what I mean by that, but dirt that he gathered up in his work—bits of hay and straw, and dust off a shed floor; mud over his boots and on his toes, for you could see that the big boots he wore seemed to be like a kind of coarse rough shell with a great open mouth in front, and his toes used to seem as if they lived in there as hermit-crabs do in whelk shells. They used to play about in there and waggle this side and that side when he was standing still looking at you, and I used to think that someday they would come a little way out and wait for prey like the different molluscs I had read about in my books. Less
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