“But my papa does not wish me to make sacrifices,” said Adrienne. And nothing that her governess or Maurice could say would induce her to part with her money.
Maurice thought for a moment of going home to his mother to ask her for the two hundred francs; but remembering that she would certainly be in his father’s sick-room nursing him, he felt that it would not do to disturb or trouble her now. Then he turned to Jacques.
“Can you lend me two hundred francs, Jacques?”
“Two hundred francs!” cried Jacques; “why you would not surely give so much to people you know nothing about. But at all events I don’t possess two hundred francs.”
“Is it so large a sum then?” inquired Maurice.
“It is more than my wages for half a year come to.”
“My dear young gentleman,” said the governess, addressing Maurice, “I see you have a good heart, but perhaps it would be wise, before you think any more about helping this poor woman, to inquire what has happened to throw them suddenly into such a state of destitution. You see they are quite nicely dressed, and do not look at all as if they were accustomed to ask for charity.”
In answer to the questions of the governess and Maurice, the little girl, who was the only one that could speak French, explained that they were Germans from Nuremburg: that they had arrived only that morning in Paris by railway from that city, intending to go on from Paris to Nantes, where they were to embark for New York. Their father had gone out to New York about two years before to settle there: he had been prosperous, and they were going to join him. Their baggage had been already seat on from Nuremburg to Nantes, and put on board the vessel in which their passage had been engaged and paid for by their father at New York, the captain being a friend of his.
She said that when they got out of the train at Paris that morning, they missed a little portmanteau, the only luggage they carried with them, which contained, besidessome change of linen, all the money they had. It had either been stolen or lost in the confusion of getting out of the train. So they found themselves now in this great city without friends and without money, and—worst of all—the vessel would sail to-morrow evening, and unless they could go on at once their passage would be lost.
She told her story with such earnestness and simplicity that no one could doubt its truth; and the governess made one more effort to excite the compassion of her pupil. But Adrienne was quite insensible to the suffering of others, and ran off, bowling her hoop.
“Still,” said Maurice, looking after her, “I know one way of finding the money, if I could but make up my mind to do it: I could sell my horse to Adrienne.”
“What do you say, Master Maurice?” exclaimed Jacques. “It is impossible. Sell Cressida, that you refused so bravely to part with to your uncle! Think of your promise to Fritz.”
“When I made that promise, Fritz told me expressly that I might sell it only in order to help any one who was in great distress. Would not he have wished to help this poor woman and these children? That I am sure he would. Still it breaks my heart to part with Cressida: I can hardly bear to think about it: but I will do it.”
Adrienne ran up with her hoop at this moment, and her joy was unbounded when she heard that Maurice consented at last to sell Cressida to her for the ten pieces of gold. She kissed Maurice and she kissed the little horse. She clapped her hands and danced about with delight.
As soon as her expressions of joy had begun to subside Maurice said to her very seriously:—“I have one favour to ask of you.”
“What is it?”
“That when you get tired of Cressida you will not throw it aside, or give it to the first person who comes in the way, without knowing whether it is taken care of or not. The favour I ask is that you will just think of it, and care forit a little sometimes, even after it no longer amuses you.”
“Oh, yes, that I certainly will,” said Adrienne. “I’ll keep it myself as long as it’s in good condition; that is, till I break it, I mean; and when I have quite done with it, I won’t be so cruel as to throw it away, or give it to the first who asks me. No, you may be quite easy about that: I’ll tell you what I’ll do. When it’s broken, I’ll make it a present to the children of my nurse. They are great fat country children, with cheeks like rosy apples; but oh, so stupid! and not difficult to please, I assure you. If Cressida has lost two or three of its legs they will admire it all the same, and it will amuse them immensely.”
This picture of the probable future in store for the little horse was not calculated to comfort Maurice, whatever it was meant to do. Indeed he felt very much inclined to be off the bargain, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks.
If the actors in this scene had not been so engrossed with the matter they were discussing, they would certainly have noticed a rather old gentleman, who was walking up and down, with his hands behind him, at a few paces from where they stood, and who was evidently listening to all they said. At this moment, when Maurice was looking very unhappy—for his delight at helping this poor family did not prevent his feeling a sort of horror to think that Fritz’s wonderful mechanical work should pass into such bad hands,—just at this moment, the old gentleman came straight up to them, and spoke to Maurice.
What he said to Maurice, and what he did, are too important to the course of this story to come in at the end of a chapter; and I will reserve them for the beginning of the next. But I do not mind letting my little readers know at once that Adrienne did not have the horse after all.
Puzzle images
Here are six objects for you to find out, children; one begins with D, one with G, one with L, one with N, one with P, and one with Y.
Children sitting on the grass
It’s raining, it’s raining, so heavily, heavily,The only dry place is just under the tree;There let us scamper, so merrily, merrily,Keeping together as close as can be.
It’s raining, it’s raining, so heavily, heavily,
The only dry place is just under the tree;
There let us scamper, so merrily, merrily,
Keeping together as close as can be.
Look at the rainbow, so glorious and wonderful,Stretching its great arch far up in the sky,While all around the clouds heavy and thunder-full,Tinge fields and trees with their stormy red dye.
Look at the rainbow, so glorious and wonderful,
Stretching its great arch far up in the sky,
While all around the clouds heavy and thunder-full,
Tinge fields and trees with their stormy red dye.
Look, how the hills are all purple behind us;See, how the sky is all gloomy and black,Francis and Willy, indeed you must mind us,Rain is still falling—this moment come back.
Look, how the hills are all purple behind us;
See, how the sky is all gloomy and black,
Francis and Willy, indeed you must mind us,
Rain is still falling—this moment come back.
Yes, on that side the bright sun is now shining,Tinting the tops of the trees with its glow:Raindrops and sunbeams, their splendours combining,Colour the beautiful rainbow, you know.
Yes, on that side the bright sun is now shining,
Tinting the tops of the trees with its glow:
Raindrops and sunbeams, their splendours combining,
Colour the beautiful rainbow, you know.
Do you not hear how the heavy drops clatterOn the broad branches that cover us now?We are not shorn, like the sheep, so no matter;—See, how they shelter themselves near the cow.
Do you not hear how the heavy drops clatter
On the broad branches that cover us now?
We are not shorn, like the sheep, so no matter;—
See, how they shelter themselves near the cow.
Old Nurse, perhaps, is afraid of the thunder,Guessing in vain where her children can be;After such torrents of rain, she will wonderTo find us all dry ’neath the broad chestnut-tree.
Old Nurse, perhaps, is afraid of the thunder,
Guessing in vain where her children can be;
After such torrents of rain, she will wonder
To find us all dry ’neath the broad chestnut-tree.
Flowers
Children around the table
A
A little boy called Tom was very fond of teasing. He used to call—“Bo!” in the baby’s ear, and startle the poor littlething. One Sunday he pinned a pocket-handkerchief on to nurse’s back as she was going to church, and she thought people were admiring her when they looked back. Another day he put some bran into her teapot, and nurse wondered why her tea was not so good as usual. Then he got a frightful mask, and jumping out of a dark corner, with a howl, nearly frightened the nursery-maid into a fit.
One day there was a child’s party. It was sister Mary’s birthday. When the children were taking their seats at supper, naughty Tom went behind Mary just as she was sitting down, and pulled her chair away. Mary fell, and hit her head against the fender.
Poor Mary was seriously hurt, and for a minute or two she lay insensible. Then Tom was really sorry, and repented what he had done. For all that, though, he was well whipped, and sent off to school next day. I daresay you will agree with me that he deserved his punishment.
Herons
T
To-day our natural history picture shows three very funny long-legged birds; they look at first sight very like storks, but these birds are herons.
The heron, though much less common than in former days, still holds its place among familiar British birds, being occasionally seen on the banks of almost every river or lake. This bird is about three feet in length, the bill being longer than the head, and the wings when spread measure five feet across; with these large strong wings it can fly to a great height. The heron lives on fish, which it swallows whole, and in great numbers; it can neither swim nor dive, but it wades into the water as far as its long legs will carry it with safety, and stands there as still as if carved out of wood, with its long neck drawn in, and its head resting between the shoulders. It will watch with patience for hours till a fish or a frog comes within its reach, when it stretches out its long neck suddenly, and snatches up its prey with its sharp bill. It mostly prefers to stand under the shadow of a tree, bush, or bank; and from its perfect stillness, and the sober colour of its plumage, it seems often to escape the observation even of the fish themselves.
In old times in England, the sport called hawking, which consisted in the chase of herons by hawks or falcons trained for the purpose, was a very favourite one among both gentlemen and ladies. Young hawks procured from their nests in Iceland or Norway, and carefully trained, were of great value. The sport was generally enjoyed on horseback, and both ladies and gentlemen usually carried the hawks perched upon their wrists, the birds’ heads being covered with a hood till the moment came for letting them fly.
When the heron was discovered, he would soon becomeaware of the approach of the hawking party; and spreading his broad wings, and stretching out his long neck in front, and his long legs behind, would rise majestically in the air. Then the hawk’s hood was removed, and as soon as he caught sight of the heron, he was let fly in pursuit.
Now a hawk cannot strike unless it is above its prey, and the heron seems instinctively to be aware of this. It used to be thought a fine sight to see these two birds striving to rise each above the other. Round and round they went, wheeling in a succession of circles, always higher and higher. At length the hawk rose high enough to shoot down upon the heron. Sometimes he was received upon the long sharp bill of the latter, and simply spitted himself; but generally he would break the wing of the heron, or clutch him with beak and claws, when the two came fluttering down together.
This sport has now fallen into disuse, and English herons lead a peaceful life enough. There are some at the Zoological gardens, and I think you will laugh to see them standing there at the edge of their pond, with heads sunk between their shoulders, looking like long-nosed old gentlemen in pointed tail-coats.
Heron
Mule
T
The next of her pets that Aunt Totty told us about were a mule and a dog.
“Yes, my dears,” said Aunt Totty, “Marquis was certainly a splendid animal; as large as a fine horse, as strong as a bull, and wonderfully fleet. We used to drive him about in a light two-wheeled carriage, a kind of cabriolet, which was the carriage most used in that part of France in those days. I must tell you that what I am going to relate happened when I was quite a little child,which of course is a long time ago, and we were living at the time in a chateau, or large country-house, in the south of France. There were large forests in that part of the country, and the house was a long way off from any town.
Dog and mule
“Now, handsome and strong Marquis certainly was, but that was about all you could say in his favour, for he had a detestable temper. I hardly know why I call Marquis one of my pets, for we children were never allowed to drive him, hardly even to stroke him, lest he should kick or bite; and he was addicted to both these bad habits. Whenever he thought he had hurt anyone, or done mischief of any kind, you might see him shake all over, as if he was having a good quiet laugh all to himself. Once he succeeded in breaking the traces and getting free from the carriage: then he indulged in something more than a quiet chuckle, and fell to neighing or braying—for I hardly know which to call it—with all his might, till we were nearly deafened by the horrid noise. I remember another occasion,when he succeeded in upsetting the little carriage and breaking the shafts. My mother and I and the coachman were all thrown out. Luckily we were not much hurt; and while we were picking ourselves up, Marquis stood looking at us with an air of triumph, and amused himself by kicking up the dust with his hoofs till we were almost smothered.
“Marquis had, however, one tender place in his heart, and that was occupied by our dog Coco. Coco was a spaniel; no great beauty perhaps; but he was as good and amiable as Marquis was the reverse. How two creatures so unlike in disposition—one so good-hearted, the other so vicious—could have struck up such a friendship, I never could make out. If Coco went into the field where Marquis was grazing, the mule would run up to him directly, and I have even seen the two rub their noses together as if they were kissing. Coco had a comfortable bed in the kitchen, but he preferred at night going to sleep upon the straw in the little out-house which served as a stable for Marquis.
“The winter we were at the chateau happened to be unusually severe, and snow was on the ground for many days. It was always known that there were wolves in the forest, though they were rarely seen; but during the cold weather it was said that one or two had approached the village. One evening we were all sitting round the fire, Coco being in the midst of us, when he suddenly pricked up his ears, as if he heard a sound outside, and immediately rushed out of the room. Directly afterwards we heard a dreadful howling, and papa and the boys ran out to see what it was. They found Coco and a wolf waging a dreadful combat just outside the door of the shed where Marquis was kept. This was not the regular stable for the horses, and was rather separated from the other buildings of the chateau. On the approach of human beings the wolf ran off, but he had inflicted a mortal wound upon poor Coco, who was just expiring when his rescuers arrived. He died to defend his friend Marquis.”
In the woods
M
Merry time, when cowslips bloom;Merry time, when thrushes sing;Merry time, when wild rose spraysFar abroad their branches fling.
Merry time, when cowslips bloom;
Merry time, when thrushes sing;
Merry time, when wild rose sprays
Far abroad their branches fling.
Merry time for girls and boys,When the cowslips first appear,Gilding meadows with their cups,—Happiest time of all the year!
Merry time for girls and boys,
When the cowslips first appear,
Gilding meadows with their cups,—
Happiest time of all the year!
When the bees, with busy hum,Play amongst their golden bells,And the butterflies are come—All of joy and pleasure tells.
When the bees, with busy hum,
Play amongst their golden bells,
And the butterflies are come—
All of joy and pleasure tells.
Happy children! roaming far,Gather cowslips at your will;Fill your baskets—fill them full—Thousands will be left there still.
Happy children! roaming far,
Gather cowslips at your will;
Fill your baskets—fill them full—
Thousands will be left there still.
Oh! the joyous time of youth,Like the spring-tide of the year;Could it but, like cowslip-bells,Come again each coming year!
Oh! the joyous time of youth,
Like the spring-tide of the year;
Could it but, like cowslip-bells,
Come again each coming year!
Flowers
Healing
O
Our Saviour’s next miracle, after the miraculous draught of fishes which I described in our last Sunday talk, took place also at Capernaum, and consisted in healing the mother of the wife of Simon Peter the fisherman. Peter had become a disciple of Jesus, and indeed was soon afterwards created one of the twelve apostles. The Master often visited the house of His disciple; and one day on entering it, He was told thatPeter’s wife’s mother lay seriously ill. Christ immediately went into the room of the sick woman; stood over her, and holding her hand, bade the fever leave her. She arose at once from her bed, perfectly well; not merely better; not weak, as people usually are on first recovering from a fever, but quite well. St. Matthew says of her:—“And she arose and ministered to them:” meaning that she was able to get up and attend to her household duties as usual.
Our Saviour now went down to Nazareth, where, as you know, my dear children, He was brought up, and where He had lived for many years unknown and in poverty. He there performed many wonderful miracles, healing the sick, and doing good to the poor or afflicted who came to Him. But you must not expect me to describe to you all His wonderful works of this kind; I shall tell you only of the most important, that you may learn the loving kindness and mercy of Him who “bore our sins and carried our sorrows.”
It often happened on the Sabbath, in the cool of the evening, that the sick were brought out on their beds or couches to Jesus to be healed. They were not brought till the sun was setting, for fear of breaking the commandment which forbids all manner of work on the Sabbath: but the Jewish Sabbath ending at the setting of the sun, people did not scruple to bring their sick to be healed by Jesus after that hour. And He healed all that were brought to Him.
But once on a Sabbath day, before the hour of sunset, a man came to Him for help. The hand of this man was withered and helpless, and he came to Christ hoping that He would heal it. We are told in the Bible that the Scribes and Pharisees watched Jesus to see whether He would heal on the Sabbath day, that they might find an accusation against Him for breaking the commandment. But Jesus knew their thoughts, and said to the man which had the withered hand: “Rise up and stand forth in themidst.” And he arose and stood forth. Then said Jesus unto them: “I will ask you one thing: Is it lawful on the Sabbath day to do good or to do evil; to save life or to destroy it?” And looking round upon them all, He said unto the man: “Stretch forth thy hand!” And he did so, and his hand was restored whole as the other.
Now our Saviour did not mean by performing this miracle to teach that the observance of the Sabbath should be lightly thought of. The teaching of our Lord and His example do not tend to lessen our reverence for this holy-day. But what He intended to show was that works of mercy are quite consistent with the holiness of the Sabbath, and that the Sabbath was intended for the advantage and happiness of mankind.
You would think that the gentle reproof of our Lord would have made these Scribes and Pharisees repent: but it was not so. They felt that they were put to shame before the people, and their rage and hatred against our Saviour increased. They felt that they could not stand before His teaching, even had this teaching not been sustained as it was by such signs and wonders. They were losing influence, and if Christ was allowed to go on, their own power would be gone.
Then the Pharisees and Scribes went and held council together against Jesus, consulting how they should destroy Him.
Cluster of grapes
Family at the table
I
I think you would like to hear about a little friend of mine called Frank. That is, hewasa little friend of mine, for he is grown into a man now; and though a friend still, he is by no means little, being above six feet high. However, what I am going to tell you of him occurred years ago.
Frank’s father died when he was quite young, and his mother, marrying again, went out to India; so it happened that he lived in London with his grandfather and grandmother. They, of course, were quite old people, and he was always very glad to spend a part of his holidays with some cousins at their house in the country, which was very near to where I lived. I was not quite grown up at that time, but I was so much older than Frank that he looked upon me as a very wise person, and one quite fitted to give him advice.
Now Frank had a great talent for drawing, and I think that was what drew us together, for I had a turn that way also. He used to sketch the beautiful scenery in the neighbourhood; and, although he only sketched in pencil, he obtained good effects of distance, gave correctly the foliage of the different trees, and, above all, he seemed by natural genius always to choose just the subjects which formed a nice composition as a picture.
He was at this time about twelve or thirteen years of age, and whenever he talked to me about his own future, which he very often did, I could not help encouraging him to become an artist. His grandfather, I knew, had other views, and intended him to be a merchant, there being some advantageous opening for him in that way. Still I advised Frank at least to let his grandfather know how much he wished to be an artist, and to show him some of his sketches; “because,” as I said, “if he consents, it is time you should be put in the way of studying art properly.”
Well, Frank followed my advice. After spending his holidays in the country, he went to pass one day in town at his grandfather’s before going to school. In the evening after dinner, when he was sitting with his grandfather and grandmother, he suddenly broke out with:—
“Grandpapa dear, I want to be an artist.”
“An artist!” said grandpapa; “why, what fancy is this? I didn’t know you had a taste that way. Here, let me see if you can draw this.”
He placed before his grandson a small ancient vase, which he took from a glass case; for Frank’s grandfather, I must tell you, was a great collector of ancient things—relics, and curiosities.
Frank took his place at the opposite side of the table, and set to work. At last he brought the paper round to grandpapa. There was the vase, very fairly and correctly copied:—But I think I had better give you an account of what happened in grandpapa’s own words, as he told it all to me some time afterwards.
“The vase was well drawn, no doubt,” said grandpapa, “but after all it was nothing extraordinary; and I was giving the paper back to Frank, when I noticed that there was some drawing on the other side. Looking at it again, I saw two heads—mere sketches, but better likenesses I never saw. One was his grandmamma; there she was to the very life. The other—well, the other was a caricature, rather than a portrait, of me. I was made to appear ugly and ridiculous, instead of the good-looking old gentleman I am;” (He said this laughing) “still, it was a likeness, I confess. I tried to be angry, but laughed instead, and exclaimed: ‘Ah, Frank, Frank! you shall be an artist if you like; you certainly have talent, but you must turn it to better account than by making caricatures of your old grandfather.’”
Frank is now grown up, and has already obtained some fame as an artist. I saw two pictures of his at the Royal Academy exhibition the other day, which were admired and praised by everybody.
Flowers
Spring showers
SPRING SHOWERS.[play]
Moderato legato.
1.While it patters, while it pours,Little folks are kept indoors:Little birds sing through the rain,“Dreaming flowers, awake again!From the damp mould lift your bloom;Scent the earth with rich perfume.”
1.
While it patters, while it pours,
Little folks are kept indoors:
Little birds sing through the rain,
“Dreaming flowers, awake again!
From the damp mould lift your bloom;
Scent the earth with rich perfume.”
2.See the flow’rets, one and all,Answer to the cheery call;Crocuses begin to thrill,Violets thicken on the hill,And the fields look sparkling bright,With the clover, red and white.
2.
See the flow’rets, one and all,
Answer to the cheery call;
Crocuses begin to thrill,
Violets thicken on the hill,
And the fields look sparkling bright,
With the clover, red and white.
3.When it patters, when it pours,Little folks are kept in-doors,Looking through the window pane,Covered o’er by drops of rain;While its tinkling sound repeats,“Blossoms crown the earth with sweets.”
3.
When it patters, when it pours,
Little folks are kept in-doors,
Looking through the window pane,
Covered o’er by drops of rain;
While its tinkling sound repeats,
“Blossoms crown the earth with sweets.”
Bird
Deer
L
Look at that fine stag in the picture, keeping guard while the does and fawns are feeding! How watchful he looks, with his head erect; and how grandly his antlers spread out, as we see them against the soft twilight sky! Deer in their wild state are timid creatures; at least, they are very much afraid of human beings; and it is difficult to approach them. Shooting the wild deer in the Highlands of Scotland is considered excellent sport: it is called Deer-stalking. Large herds are to be found there among the mountains, but the greatest caution and skill are needed to get near enough to have a shot at them without being observed. Of course the deer we see in parks are comparatively tame: they are generally fallow deer; while those of the Highlands are a larger and stronger species, called red deer.
I daresay many of you little people who read this have been to Richmond park, and seen the herds of graceful fallow deer there. If you go up very gently to them perhaps they will come and eat bread out of your hand. At least I remember when I was a little girl, and passed a summer at Richmond, I succeeded once in making two young fawns come and share my biscuit with me. Shall I tell you how it happened?
One morning I had not learnt my lessons as well as usual; perhaps I had been watching the butterflies from the window flitting about in the sunshine instead of looking at my book; at any rate Miss Dobson, my governess, thought it necessary to punish me. Now I was too big to be put into the corner, being nine years old; and the mode of punishment she always adopted was to avoid speaking to me for an hour or so, and at the same time to put on an expression of face at once severe and sorrowful.
After school hours we went out for our walk in the park as usual, and, as I was an affectionate and very talkative child, you may suppose that Miss Dobson’s gloomy face and freezing silence made me very miserable. If I ventured upon a remark the answer never extended beyond “yes” or “no”; sometimes not even that. We had two great dogs, which generally went out with us on our walk; but when I was under punishment, even their companionship was not allowed.
At last Miss Dobson seated herself under a great oak, and began to read a book she had brought out with her. Then I wandered a little way off, picking the pretty wild flowers that grew amongst the fern. The birds were singing in the sunshine, the bees were humming, everything with life seemed to enjoy that life but me. Some deer were lying under the shadow of the trees not far away, and I observed that two pretty little fawns, standing nearer to me than the rest, were watching me. I had some biscuit in my pocket, intended for the dogs; and taking a piece in my hand, I walked up very softly to the little creatures. They looked at me, as I approached, with a frightened glance from their great dark eyes; but I fancy there must have been a sad and subdued expression in my childish face which took away from my appearance what might have terrified them, and on consideration they decided to remain.
Holding out the biscuit, I dropped it near them; then up jumped Mrs. Doe, and came forward to see what it was I offered to her children. I threw her a piece also, which she took and munched gladly, and the little ones followed her example. I cannot describe to you what a comfort it was to me in my trouble to find that these pretty creatures were not afraid of me, and did not shun me. I no longer felt solitary; no longer without friends or companions. Presently they took the biscuit from my fingers, and when I had no more to give them, they still thrust their soft noses into my little hand, and let me stroke them.
But my pleasure did not last long. A fine stag, the leader of the herd, who was lying in the midst of them, and who, I suppose, had been half asleep, seemed suddenly to become conscious of my presence, and took alarm. Jumping up, he bounded away, followed by the rest of the herd, and my two little friends went after the others.
Looking at them as they fled away from me, I felt more forlorn and solitary than ever, and tears came into my eyes. Presently Miss Dobson came up to me; she had been watching me from a distance, and now finding that I was crying, her manner changed, and she was very kind. In fact, my punishment was over for the time, and I think she began to find that it was a kind of punishment which I felt more than she intended.
Two legs sat upon three legs,With one leg in his lap;In comes four legs,And runs away with one leg;Up jumps two legs,Catches up three legs,Throws it after four legs,And makes him bring one leg back.
Two legs sat upon three legs,
With one leg in his lap;
In comes four legs,
And runs away with one leg;
Up jumps two legs,
Catches up three legs,
Throws it after four legs,
And makes him bring one leg back.
Legs
Duck family
O
Old Mother Duck has hatched a broodOf ducklings small and callow;Their little wings are short, their downIs mottled grey and yellow.
Old Mother Duck has hatched a brood
Of ducklings small and callow;
Their little wings are short, their down
Is mottled grey and yellow.
One peeped out from beneath her wing,One scrambled on her back:“That’s very rude,” said old Dame Duck;“Get off! quack, quack, quack, quack!”
One peeped out from beneath her wing,
One scrambled on her back:
“That’s very rude,” said old Dame Duck;
“Get off! quack, quack, quack, quack!”
“’Tis close,” said Dame Duck, shoving outThe egg-shells with her bill;“Besides, it never suits young ducksTo keep them sitting still.”
“’Tis close,” said Dame Duck, shoving out
The egg-shells with her bill;
“Besides, it never suits young ducks
To keep them sitting still.”
So rising from her nest, she said,“Now, children, look at me:A well-bred duck should waddle so,From side to side—d’ye see?”
So rising from her nest, she said,
“Now, children, look at me:
A well-bred duck should waddle so,
From side to side—d’ye see?”
“Yes,” said the little ones; and thenShe went on to explain:“A well-bred duck turns in its toesAs I do—try again.”
“Yes,” said the little ones; and then
She went on to explain:
“A well-bred duck turns in its toes
As I do—try again.”
“Yes,” said the ducklings, waddling on:“That’s better,” said their mother;“But well-bred ducks walk in a row,Straight—one behind another.”
“Yes,” said the ducklings, waddling on:
“That’s better,” said their mother;
“But well-bred ducks walk in a row,
Straight—one behind another.”
“Yes,” said the little ducks again,All waddling in a row:“Now to the pond,” said old Dame Duck—Splash, splash, and in they go.
“Yes,” said the little ducks again,
All waddling in a row:
“Now to the pond,” said old Dame Duck—
Splash, splash, and in they go.
“Let me swim first,” said old Dame Duck,“To this side, now to that;There, snap at those great brown-winged flies,They make young ducklings fat.
“Let me swim first,” said old Dame Duck,
“To this side, now to that;
There, snap at those great brown-winged flies,
They make young ducklings fat.
“Now when you reach the poultry-yard,The hen-wife, Molly Head,Will feed you with the other fowls,On bran and mashed-up bread;
“Now when you reach the poultry-yard,
The hen-wife, Molly Head,
Will feed you with the other fowls,
On bran and mashed-up bread;
“The hens will peck and fight, but mind,I hope that all of youWill gobble up the food as fastAs well-bred ducks should do.
“The hens will peck and fight, but mind,
I hope that all of you
Will gobble up the food as fast
As well-bred ducks should do.
“You’d better get into the dish,Unless it is too small;In that case I should use my foot,And overturn it all.”
“You’d better get into the dish,
Unless it is too small;
In that case I should use my foot,
And overturn it all.”
The ducklings did as they were bid,And found the plan so good,That, from that day, the other fowlsGot hardly any food.
The ducklings did as they were bid,
And found the plan so good,
That, from that day, the other fowls
Got hardly any food.
Puzzle images
Here is a puzzle page for you. The names of two of these objects begin with C, one with L, one with P, one with R, and one with S. Now try if you can find them out.
A
At the close of the last chapter I told you that an old gentleman had been looking on from a little distance, while Maurice and Adrienne were discussing the sale of the horse. At last the old gentleman came up to Maurice, and said,—
“Are you going to sell that little wooden horse, whose mechanism is so ingenious?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Maurice, crying while he spoke.
“You seem very sorry to part with it. Tell me exactly why you sell it.”
Maurice pointed to the poor family, sitting there against the railing of the garden; and related all that had passed.
“You are a good boy,” said the gentleman; “listen now: I also wish to help this poor woman. Will you let me join you in the good work? That will not make your merit the less.”
“Oh, I don’t think about my own merit,” said Maurice.
“You are right,” replied the gentleman; “charity does not think of self. I mean to say, if you would practise charity in a true and holy spirit, you must forget yourself completely. You are too young, perhaps, to understandall that; but if you remember my words, they will grow up in your mind as a young tree grows in a good soil. Now, as to helping this poor woman and her children: she wants two hundred francs, you say. I will give her half that sum from myself; and I will lend you another hundred francs, that you may give them to her on your own part. Then instead of selling your clever little horse to this young lady, you shall leave it with me for a time as security for the repayment of the hundred francs. Your mamma gives you money sometimes, I daresay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well; put aside all the money she gives you till you have got together a hundred francs. It won’t take you long. You must do without sugar-plums, and cakes, and many a toy that you would otherwise buy. In less than six months I have no doubt you will have the money. Let me see; this is the twelfth of February: we will fix the twelfth of August as the day when you will bring me the hundred francs and take back your horse.”
“But suppose I have not the money by that time?” urged Maurice.
“Oh, you’ll have it. All I fear is that your father or mother may give it you on purpose to pay me, and not let you save it out of your usual pocket-money. But I will see them or write to them about that. Remember, my dear boy, that an action is only really noble when it requires self-sacrifice of some sort.”
My little readers may imagine with what eagerness Maurice accepted this proposition. Adrienne at first was very angry, and sulked and pouted for a few minutes; then seeing some young friends come into the gardens, she ran off to play with them, and seemed to forget the horse very soon.
The gentleman tore out a leaf from his pocket-book, and wrote on it in pencil a formal acknowledgment of his having received the wooden horse in pledge for a loan of one hundred francs; the horse to be restored within six months onrepayment of the money. He signed his name to the paper, and handed it to Maurice.
HE WENT AWAY, LEADING CRESSIDA BY THE BRIDLE.
HE WENT AWAY, LEADING CRESSIDA BY THE BRIDLE.
On reading it, Maurice was surprised to see the name of Duberger. He recognised it as the name of one of themost distinguished members of the Academy of sciences; a name of European celebrity. The little boy looked up at his new friend with an expression of curiosity and admiration, at which the latter seemed both amused and pleased.
Mr. Duberger at that time was not really old—at least not old for a philosopher and man of science. He looked old because his long hair was grey, his figure was stooping, and his dress neglected. But, for all that, his appearance was calculated to inspire respect and sympathy, while his face wore an expression at once of goodness and intelligence. He embraced Maurice, bidding him tell his father and mother all that had happened; he went away leading Cressida by the bridle, and leaving Maurice to give the two hundred francs to the poor woman himself.
Thus at last Maurice and his horse were parted, though after all he was not breaking his promise to Fritz. He had resisted the temptation of exchanging Cressida for Eusèbe’s pretty goat—the gentle, graceful Jeanne. He had resisted persuasions, entreaties, and the offer of many a beautiful toy. Even when his uncle, by way of trying him, pretended that he wished to have the little mechanical horse to amuse him on board ship, Maurice had remembered, and still kept, his promise. Now, he parted with Cressida for the sake of helping a poor family in distress; and Fritz had expressly said that for such an object only Maurice might sell the horse. Besides, was he not to have the horse again in six months?
When he presented the money to the poor woman, she showed some confusion at receiving so large a sum from the hands of a child. Maurice explained to the little girl, who acted as interpreter, that he was not their only benefactor.
“Duberger! Maurice de Roisel!” the poor little girl repeated several times; then continued, “I will teach my brothers to say those two names; we will never forget them; they will be as dear to us as the names of our own father and mother. Our name is Kirchner: our father is Leopold Kirchner, formerly of Nuremburg, where he was a blacksmithwell known throughout the city for his skill. Now he is rich, and a proprietor of land in the United States of America, a country beyond the seas a long way from here.”
The mother took Maurice’s two hands in hers, and said some words in German.
“My mother says,” explained the little daughter, “that you are born with divine charity in your heart, and she prays God to lead you by the hand through your life, on the path that leads to heaven. She prays, besides, that happiness may fall on you and all who are dear to you.”
“Pray, above all,” replied my little friend, deeply touched, “that my dear father may be restored to health.”
With these words he took leave of the poor family to whom he had proved such a benefactor, and hastened home, anxious to learn how his father was going on.
“My father!—how is he?” he asked of the servant, as the door was opened.
“My master has been asking for you, sir,” replied the servant; then, seeing the tears in Maurice’s eyes, he added: “but you must not let him see you cry, or he will think he is worse than he really is.”
“The tears come to my eyes in spite of me,” replied my little friend, drying his eyes and checking his tears as well as he could.
Maurice went into his father’s room, which appeared almost dark to him. The poor invalid’s eyes were weak and could not support the light. Maurice, impressed by the silence and darkness of the room, walked as quietly as possible on tiptoe up to his mother, whom he could distinguish sitting by the side of the bed. She was praying silently to herself, but on seeing her little boy, she took him in her arms, and leant with him over his father’s bed, who pressed him to his heart.
“My child, my dear child!”
Maurice could restrain his tears no longer, and his father observed it.
“Why do you cry, my darling boy?” said he; “youthink me very ill? But don’t be alarmed; God is all powerful, and may save me yet. Take courage; it will all pass away. I shall be cured before long; and, when the weather gets fine, I will take walks in the Luxembourg gardens with you and Cressida. Do not cry like that, my child, you will make yourself ill.”
My little friend’s emotion was uncontrollable, and he was led out of the room by his mother, while the poor father sank back upon his pillow exhausted with the few words he had spoken.
The next morning, when Jacques came into Maurice’s room to wake him, the first words spoken by the little boy were to inquire after his father. Jacques replied that the doctor, who had been there late the evening before, had declared that his patient was better, and had told Mrs. de Roisel that he had great hope now of his recovery. Maurice felt happier than he had done since he was present at the consultation of the doctors the morning before. Then, as he looked round the room, he saw Cressida’s empty stable, and occupied as his thoughts were by his father, he still felt inclined to shed a tear at the sight.
“Do you know, Jacques,” he said, “I had a dream about Fritz in the night. I thought that I saw him, and I was afraid he would ask me what I had done with Cressida; but instead of that, he took me in his arms, and embraced me, and called me his dear good boy.”
The hope expressed by the doctor that Mr. de Roisel would yet recover proved to be well founded, and when the month of April came on he had regained his strength sufficiently to bear a journey to Nice, so as to escape the sudden changes of temperature to which Paris is subject in the spring. He made the journey, accompanied by his wife and son. Arriving at Nice, they took a pretty villa, having a view of the sea on one side, and, on the other, delicious garden, in which my little friend was surprised to find rose-trees, lilacs, and other plants in full bloom, which at Paris had scarcely begun to bud.