BETTER NOT, BOB!
Thud! thud! thud! “Hit him in the eye!” “Knock the pipe out of his mouth!” “Ha! ha! there goes his nose!” “I hit him that time!”
The victim of this piece of cruelty was only a snowman, which the boys of Strappington School had set up in their playground.
But how was Mr. Gregor, who lived next door to the school, to know that it was only a snowman? And what was more natural than that he should peep over the playground wall to see what was going on? And how was little Ralph Ruddy to know that Mr. Gregor was there? And how was he to know that thesnowball which was meant for the snowman’s pipe would land itself on Mr. Gregor’s nose?
Oh, the horror that seized upon the school at that dire event, and the dead silence that reigned in that playground! For those were the good old times of long ago, when anything that went wrong was set right with a birch-rod. Little Ralph Ruddy knew only too well what was coming, when he saw the angry man stalk into the schoolhouse and speak to the schoolmaster.
When the bell rang at four o’clock, the boys came out; and among them was Bob Hardy, the son of a poor farm laborer.
“It’s a shame,” muttered Bob, “to make a row ’bout an accident. Of course the schoolmaster had to take some notice of it. He is talking to little Ralph now. I told him Ralph did not mean to do it. Just the same, I’ll smash old Gregor’s windows for him.”
And Bob meant to do it, too. When all were asleep, he made his way down to the schoolhouse by moonlight, with a pocketful of stones.
He climbed the wall of the playground, and stood there all ready to open fire, when a voice startled him, a sort of shivering whisper. “Better not, Bob! better wait a bit!” said the voice.
Bob dropped the stone and looked about; but there was no one near him except the snowman shining weirdly in the pale moonlight. However, the words set Bob to thinking, and instead of breaking Mr. Gregor’s windows, he went home again and got into bed.
That was in January; and when January was done February came, as happens in most years. February brought good fortune—at least Bob’s mother said so, for she got work at the squire’s for which she was well paid.
But it did not turn out to be such very good fortune, after all; for the butler said she stole a silver spoon, and told the squire so; and if the butler could have proved what he said, the squire would have sent her to prison; but he could not, so she got off; and Bob’s mother declared that she had no doubt the butler took the spoon himself.
“All right,” said Bob to himself, “I’ll try the strength of my new oaken stick across that butler’s back.” And he meant it too, for that very evening he shouldered his cudgel and tramped away to the big house. When he got there the door stood wide open; so in he walked.
Now, there hung in the hall the portrait of a queer old lady in a stiff frill and a long waist and an old-fashioned hoop petticoat; and when Bob entered the house, what should this old lady do but shake her head at him! To be sure, there was only a flickering lamp in the entry, and Bob thought at first it must have been the dim light and his own fancy; so he went striding through the hall with his cudgel in his hand: “Better not, Bob!” said the old lady; “better wait a bit!”
“Why, they won’t let me do anything!” grumbled Bob; but he went home without thrashing the butler, all the same.
That was in February, you know. Well, when February was done, March came, and with it came greater ill-fortune than ever; for Bob’s father was driving his master’s horse and cart to market, when what should jump out of the ditch but old Nanny Jones’s donkey, an ugly beast at the best of times, and enough to frighten any horse. But what must the brute do on this occasion but set up a terrific braying, which sent Farmer Thornycroft’s new horse nearly out of his wits, so that he backed the cart and all that was in it—including Bob’s father—into the ditch.
A pretty sight they looked there, for the horse was sitting where the driver ought to be, and Bob’s father was seated, much against his wish, in a large basket full of eggs, with his legs sticking out one side and his head the other.
Of course, Farmer Thornycroft did not like to lose his eggs—who would?—for even the most obliging hens cannot be persuaded to lay an extra number in order to make up for those that are broken; but for all that, Farmer Thornycroft had no right to lay all the blame on Bob’s father, and keep two shillings out of his week’s wage.
So Bob’s father protested, and that made Farmer Thornycroft angry; and then, since fire kindles fire, Bob’s father grew angry too, and called the farmer acruel brute; so the farmer dismissed him and gave him no wages at all.
We can hardly be surprised that when Bob heard of all this he felt a trifle out of sorts. He went pelting over the fields, and all the way, he muttered to himself, “A cruel shame I call it, but I’ll pay him back; I mean to let his sheep out of the pen, and then I will just go and tell him that I’ve done it.”
Now, the field just before you come to Farmer Thornycroft’s sheep-pen was sown with spring wheat, and they had put up a scarecrow there to frighten thebirds away. The scarecrow was truly sorry to see Bob scouring across the field in such a temper; so just as Bob passed him, he flapped out at him with one sleeve, and the boy turned sharply round to see who it was.
“Only a scarecrow,” said he, “blown about by the wind,” and went on his way. But as he went, strange to say, he thought he heard a voice call after him, “Better not, Bob! better wait a bit!”
So Bob went home again, and never let the sheep astray after all; but he thought it very hard that he might not punish either Mr. Gregor or the butler or the farmer.
Now, the folk that hide behind the shadows thought well of Bob for his self-restraint, and they determined that they would work for him and make all straight again. So when Bob went down to the riverside next day, and took out his knife to cut some reeds for “whistle-pipes,” Father Pan breathed upon the reeds and enchanted them. “What a breeze!” exclaimed Bob; but he knew nothing at all of what had in reality happened.
Bob finished his pan-pipes, and trudged along and whistled on them to his heart’s content. When he got to the village, he was surprised to see a little girl begin to dance to his tune, and then another little girl, and then another. Bob was so astonished that he left off playing, and stood looking at them, open-mouthed, with wonder. But as soon as he left offplaying, the little girls ceased to dance, and begged him not to play again, for the whistle-pipes, they were sure, must be bewitched.
“Ho! ho!” cried Bob, “here’s a pretty game. I’ll just give old Gregor a turn. Come! that will not do him any harm, at any rate!”
Strange to say, at that very moment Mr. Gregor came along the street.
“Toot! toot! toot! tweedle, tweedle, toot!” went the pan-pipes; and away went Mr. Gregor’s legs, cutting such capers as the world never looked upon before. Gaily trudged Bob along the street, and gaily danced Mr. Gregor. The people looked out of their windows, and laughed; and the poor man begged Bob to leave off playing.
“No, no,” answered Bob; “poor little Ralph Ruddy never meant to hit you, and you made him dance with pain. It is your turn now.”
Just then the squire’s butler came down the street. Of course, he was much puzzled to see Mr. Gregor dancing to the sound of a boy’s whistle, but he was presently more surprised to find himself doing the very same thing. He tried with all his might to retain his stately gait; but it was all of no use. His legs flew up in spite of himself, and away he went behind Mr. Gregor following Bob all through the village and dancing for all he was worth.
The best sight was still to come; for the tyrannical Farmer Thornycroft was just then walking home from market in a great heat, with a big sample of corn in each of his side-pockets; and turning suddenly round a corner, he went right into the middle of the strangeprocession and began to dance in a moment. Up flew his great fat legs, and away he went, pitching and tossing, and jumping and twirling, and jigging up and down like an elephant in a fit.
How the people laughed, to be sure, standing in their doorways, and viewing this odd trio! Mr. Gregor was nearly fainting, the butler was in despair, and the perspiration poured down the farmer’s face; but that mattered not to Bob; he had promised himself to take them for a dance all round the village, and he did it. At length, when he had completed the tour, he stopped for just one moment, and asked Mr. Gregor whether he would beg Ralph Ruddy’s pardon; and Mr. Gregor said he would, if only Bob would leave off playing.
Then Bob asked the farmer if he would take his father back and pay him his wages, and the farmersaid he would; and, finally, he made the butler promise to tell the squire that his mother had nothing to do with stealing the silver spoon.
Then Bob left off playing. The three poor men went home in a terrible plight; and Mr. Gregor begged little Ralph’s pardon; and the butler cleared the stain from Bob’s mother’s character; and Bob’s father went back to work; and Farmer Thornycroft soon afterwards took Bob on too, and he made the best farm-boy that ever lived.
—Adapted from the story in Little FolksBy Hartley Richards.
QUESTIONS
Did a little voice ever say “Better not” to you?Did you listen?Were you glad afterwards?
Did a little voice ever say “Better not” to you?
Did you listen?
Were you glad afterwards?
MEMORY GEMS
Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds;You can’t do that way when you’re flying words.“Careful with fire,” is good advice we know;“Careful with words,” is ten times doubly so.Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead;But God himself can’t kill them when they’re said.—Will Carleton.
Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds;You can’t do that way when you’re flying words.“Careful with fire,” is good advice we know;“Careful with words,” is ten times doubly so.Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead;But God himself can’t kill them when they’re said.—Will Carleton.
Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds;
You can’t do that way when you’re flying words.
“Careful with fire,” is good advice we know;
“Careful with words,” is ten times doubly so.
Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead;
But God himself can’t kill them when they’re said.
—Will Carleton.
Help the weak if you are strong;Love the old if you are young;Own a fault if you are wrong;If you’re angry, hold your tongue.
Help the weak if you are strong;Love the old if you are young;Own a fault if you are wrong;If you’re angry, hold your tongue.
Help the weak if you are strong;
Love the old if you are young;
Own a fault if you are wrong;
If you’re angry, hold your tongue.