the days of my life-第4章

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on　in　Hertfordshire　because　of　a　burglary　that　took　place　at　his　house　which　seems　to　have　frightened　him　very　much。　His　son；　William　Henry；　settled　in　Norwich；　and　is　buried　in　St。　John’s　Maddermarket　in　that　city。　His　only　son；　also　named　William　Henry；　my　great…grandfather；　after　living　a　while　at　Knebworth；　Herts；　bought　Bradenham　Hall　in　this　county　of　Norfolk。　It　would　seem；　oddly　enough；　that　Bradenham　once　belonged　to　old　Sir　Andrew　Ogard；　or　Agard；　in　right　of　his　wife；　but　whether　this　circumstance　had　or　had　not　anything　to　do　with　its　purchase　by　my　great…grandfather　I　cannot　say。
His　son；　William　Haggard；　like　some　others　of　the　family；　was　concerned　in　banking　in　Russia；　and　in　1816　married　a　Russian　lady；　the　eldest　daughter　and　co…heiress　of　James　Meybohm　of　St。　Petersburg。　My　father；　William　Meybohm　Rider　Haggard；　was　the　eldest　child　of　this　union。　He　was　born　at　St。　Petersburg　April　19；　1817；　and　in　1844　married　my　mother；　Ella；　the　elder　daughter　and　co…heiress　of　Bazett　Doveton；　of　the　Bombay　Civil　Service；　who　was　born　at　Bombay　in　June　1819。
I　am　the　eighth　child　of　the　family　of　ten　—　seven　sons　and　three　daughters　—　who　were　born　to　my　father　and　mother。　As　it　chanced　I　first　saw　the　light　（on　June　22；　1856）；　not　at　Bradenham　Hall；　which　at　the　time　was　let；　but　at　the　Wood　Farm　on　that　property　whither；　on　her　return　from　France；　my　mother　retired　to　be　confined。　A　few　years　ago　I　visited　the　room　in　which　the　interesting　event　took　place。　It　is　a　typical　farmhouse　upper　chamber；　very　pleasant　in　its　way；　and　to　the　fact　of　my　appearance　there　I　have　always　been　inclined；　rather　fancifully　perhaps；　to　attribute　the　strong　agricultural　tastes　which　I　believe　I　alone　of　my　family　possess。
Here　I　will　tell　you　a　little　story　which　shows　how　untrustworthy　even　contemporary　evidence　may　be。　On　the　occasion　of　this　visit　I　was　acpanied　by　a　friend；　Sir　Frederick　Wilson；　and　his　niece；　who　were　anxious　to　see　my　birthplace。　Now　near　to　the　Wood　Farm　at　Bradenham　stands　another　farm；　which　for　some　unknown　reason　I　had　got　into　my　head　to　be　the　real　spot；　and　as　such　I　showed　it　to　my　friends。　When　I　had　finished　a　farmer；　the　late　James　Adcock；　who　was　standing　by　and　who　remembered　the　event；　ejaculated：
“What　be　you　a…talking　of；　Mr。　Rider？　You　weren’t　born　there　at　all；　you　were　born　yinder。”
“Of　course；”　I　said；　“I　remember；”　and　led　the　way　to　the　Wood　Farm　with　every　confidence；　where　I　showed　the　window　of　the　birth…chamber。
As　I　was　doing　so　an　old　lady　thrust　her　head　out　of　the　said　window　and　called　out：
“Whatever　be　you　a…talking　of；　Mr。　Rider？　You　weren’t　born　in　this　’ere　room；　you　were　born　in　that　room　yinder。”
Then　amidst　general　laughter　I　retired　disfited。　Such；　I　repeat；　is　often　the　value　of　even　contemporary　evidence；　although　it　is　true　that　in　this　case　James　Adcock　and　the　old　lady　were　the　real　contemporary　witnesses；　since　a　man　can　scarcely　be　expected　to　remember　the　room　in　which　he　was　born。
It　seems　that　I　was　a　whimsical　child。　At　least　Hocking；　my　mother’s　maid；　a　handsome；　vigorous；　black…eyed；　raw…boned　Cornishwoman　who　spent　most　of　her　active　life　in　the　service　of　the　family；　informed　me　in　after　years　that　nothing　would　induce　me　to　go　to　sleep　unless　a　clean　napkin　in　a　certain　way　was　placed　under　my　head；　which　napkin　I　called　“an　ear。”　To　this　day　I　have　dim　recollections　of　crying　bitterly　until　this　“ear”　was　brought　to　me。　Also　I　was　stupid。　Indeed；　although　she　always　indignantly　denied　the　story　in　after　years；　I　remember　when　I　was　about　seven　my　dear　mother　declaring　that　I　was　as　heavy　as　lead　in　body　and　mind。
I　fear　that　I　was　more　or　less　of　a　dunderhead　at　lessons。　Even　my　letters　presented　difficulties　to　me；　and　I　well　recollect　a　few　years　later　being　put　through　an　examination　by　my　future　brother…inlaw；　the　Rev。　Charles　Maddison　Green；　with　the　object　of　ascertaining　what　amount　of　knowledge　I　had　acquired　at　a　day　school　in　London；　where　we　then　were　living　at　24　Leinster　Square。
The　results　of　this　examination　were　so　appalling　that　when　he　was　apprised　of　them　my　indignant　father　burst　into　the　room　where　I　sat　resigned　to　fate；　and；　in　a　voice　like　to　that　of　an　angry　bull；　roared　out　at　me　that　I　was　“only　fit　to　be　a　greengrocer。”　Even　then　I　wondered　why　this　affront　should　be　put　upon　a　useful　trade。　After　the　row　was　over　I　went　for　a　walk　with　my　brother　Andrew　who　was　two　years　older　than　myself　and　who；　it　appeared；　had　assisted　at　my　disfiture　from　behind　a　door。　Just　ain　street；　I　think　it　is　Westbourne　Grove　—　at　any　rate　in　those　days　Whiteley　had　a　single　little　shop　not　far　off　at　which　my　mother　used　to　deal　—　there　is；　or　was；　a　fruit　and　vegetable　store　with　no　glass　in　the　window。　My　brother　stood　contemplating　it　for　a　long　while。　At　last　he　said：
“I　say；　old　fellow；　when　you　bee　a　greengrocer；　I　hope　you’ll　let　me　have　oranges　cheap！”
To　this　day　I　have　never　quite　forgiven　Andrew　for　that　most　heartless　remark。
After　all　it　was　not　perhaps　strange　that　I　did　not　learn　much　at　these　London　day　schools　—　for　I　went　to　two　of　them。　The　first　I　left　suddenly。　It　was　managed　by　the　head　master　and　an　usher　whose　names　I　have　long　forgotten。　The　usher　was　a　lanky；　red…haired；　pale…faced　man　whom　we　all　hated　because　of　his　violent　temper　and　injustice。　On　one　occasion　when　his　back　was　turned　to　the　class　to　which　I　belonged；　that　I　presume　was　the　lowest；　I　amused　myself　and　my　panions　by　shaking　my　little　fists　at　him；　whereon　they　laughed。　The　usher　wheeled　round　and　asked　why　we　were　laughing；　when　some　mean　boy　piped　out：
“Please；　sir；　because　Haggard　is　shaking　his　fists　at　you。”
He　called　me　to　him　and　I　perceived　that　he　was　trembling　with　rage。
“You　young　brute！”　he　said。　“I’ll　see　you　in　your　grave　before　you　shake　your　fists　at　me　again。”
Then　he　doubled　his　own　and；　striking　me　first　on　one　side　of　the　head　and　then　on　the　other；　knocked　me　all　the　way　down　the　long　room　and　finally　over　a　chair　into　a　heap　of　slates　in　a　corner；　where　I　lay　a　while　almost　senseless。　I　recovered　and　went　home。　Here　my　eldest　sister　Ella；　noticing　my　bruised　and　dazed　condition；　cross…examined　me　until　I　told　her　the　truth。　An　interview　followed　between　my　father　and　the　master　of　the　school；　which　resulted　in　a　dismissal　of　the　usher　and　my　departure。　Afterwards　I　met　that　usher　in　the　Park　somewhere　near　the　Row；　and　so　great　was　my　fear　of　him　that　I　never　stopped　running　till　I　reached　the　Marble　Arch。
After　this　my　father　sent　me　to　a　second　day　school　where　the　pupils　were　supposed　to　receive　a　sound　business　education。
Then　came　the　examination　that　I　have　mentioned　at　the　hands　of　my　brother…inlaw。　As　a　result　I　was　despatched　to　the　Rev。　Mr。　Graham；　who　took　in　two　or　three　small　boys　（at　that　time　I　must　have　been　nine　or　ten　years　of　age）　at　Garsington　Rectory　near　Oxford。
The　Rectory；　long　ago　pulled　down；　was　a　low　grey　house　that　once　had　served　as　a　place　of　refuge　in　time　of　plague　for　the　Fellows　of　one　of　the　Oxford　colleges。　Twice；　if　not　three　times；　in　the　course　of　my　after　life　I　have　revisited　this　spot；　the　last　occasion　being　about　two　years　ago。　Except　that　the　Rectory　has　been　rebuilt　the　place　remains　just　the　same。　There　is　the　old　seventeenth…century　dovecote　and　the　shell　of　the　ancient　pollard　elm；　in　the　hollow　trunk　of　which　I　used　to　play　with　a　child　of　my　own　age；　Mrs。　Graham’s　little　sister　Blanche；　who　was　as　fair　in　colouring　as　one　of　her　name　should　be。　I　believe　that　she　has　now　been　dead　many　years。
Quite　near　to　the　Rectory　and　not　far　from　the　pretty　church；　through　the　chancel　door　of　which　once　I　saw　a　donkey　thrust　its　head　and　burst　into　violent　brays　in　the　midst　of　Mr。　Graham’s　sermon；　stood　a　farm…house。　The　farmer；　a　long；　lank　man　who　wore　a　smart　frock；　was　very　kind　to　me　—　I　found　his　grave　in　the　churchyard　when　last　I　was　there。　He　e　that　I　used　in　“King　Solomon’s　Mines”　and　other　books　in　after　years。　After　looking　at　this　farm　and　the　tree　nearby　which　bore　walnuts　bigger　and　finer　than　any　that　grow　nowadays；　I　went　to　the　new　Rectory　and　there　saw　working　in　the　garden　a　tall；　thin　old　man；　who　reminded　me　strangely　o