The Boy in the Garden

I didn't want him to do it, but he used to see me at the window looking
out; and I being one lonely boy in the big pond of life, and he being
another lonely boy in the same big pond, and both floating about like
bits of stick, he seemed as if he wanted to gravitate towards me as bits
of stick do to each other, and in his uncouth way he would do all sorts
of things to attract my attention.

Sometimes it seemed as if it was to frighten me, at others to show how
clever he was; but of course I know now that it was all out of the
superabundant energy he had in him, and the natural longing of a boy for
a companion.

I'll just tell you what he'd do. After showing me his muddy fingers,
and crawling along and digging them as hard as he could into the soil to
tear out the weeds, all at once he would kick his heels up in the air
like a donkey. Then he would go on weeding again, look to see if I was
watching him, and leave his basket and run down between two onion beds
on all-fours like a dog, run back, and go on with his work.

Every now and then he would pull up a young onion with the weeds and
pick it out, give it a rub on his sleeve, put one end in his mouth, and
eat it gradually, taking it in as I've seen a cow with a long strand of
rye or grass.