And now John Broom's troubles began. By fair
means or foul, with here an hour's weeding and there a day's bird
scaring, and with errands perpetual, the farm-bailiff contrived to "get
some work out of" the idle little urchin. His speckled hat and grim face
seemed to be everywhere, and always to pop up when John Broom began to
play.
They lived "at daggers drawn." I am sorry to say that John Broom's
fitful industry was still kept for his own fancies. To climb trees, to
run races with the sheep dog, to cut grotesque sticks, gather hedge
fruits, explore a bog, or make new friends among beasts and birds--at
such matters he would labor with feverish zeal. But so far from trying
to cure himself of his indolence about daily drudgery, he found a new
and pleasant excitement in thwarting the farm-bailiff at every turn.
It would not sound dignified to say that the farm-bailiff took pleasure
in thwarting John Broom. But he certainly did not show his satisfaction
when the boy did do his work properly. Perhaps he thought that praise is
not good for young people; and the child did not often give him the
chance of trying. Of blame he was free enough. Not a good scolding to
clear the air, such as Thomasina would give to Annie the lass, but his
slow, caustic tongue was always growling, like muttered thunder, over
John Broom's incorrigible head.
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