In that part of North Wales which borders on England there are many beautiful grassy hills, often wooded half way up their sides, and lovely green valleys between them. The hills are not too high or rugged to be easily climbed in a morning's walk, and it is delightful to rest on their tops. The air is very fresh; there is a scent of wild thyme growing among the grass on which you tread, and a wide view over all the neighbouring country.
A large and pleasant old house, partly overgrown with ivy, near the top of one of these hills, was the home of Walter and Lucy Lewis. There were pleasure-grounds and plantations all round the house, and the hill had many walks and terraces cut in it, where there were beautiful places, sometimes among trees, sometimes among heath, and ferns, and gay fox-gloves, and always some new view of the green valley beneath. Mr. Lewis was the landlord of most of the farms that lay near, and of most of the white cottages that peeped out every here and there from some thicket or knoll. He was a kind landlord to all his tenants, and was especially careful of his cottagers. He never let a cottage that was badly built, or inconvenient, or made with only one room in it for a whole family as some cottages are; he always had three rooms at least in his, besides a wash-house, a place for coals and wood, and a pig-sty; and with each he always gave enough ground to grow the vegetables for the family. It was a pleasure to see how clean and comfortable these cottages were. There was sure to be a side of bacon hanging from the beams in the kitchen; a good sack of potatoes in a corner; a large home-made loaf or two of good brown bread, and comfortable furniture. Whenever sickness or trouble came upon any of Mr. Lewis's tenants they were sure to find friends in him and Mrs. Lewis, and whenever any good fortune or happiness came to them they were glad to see these good friends come to their gates that they might relate it. Mr. Lewis had built schools for their children, and took great pains about their education, and he had given a large piece of ground to be free for games, for keeping May-day, and other pleasures.
Walter and Lucy were allowed to roam about a good deal by themselves, because every one in the neighbourhood knew them and would take care of them. Their mama used to tell them, whenever they went far from home they should look out for the church steeple, for the church stood on the same hill with their house. With this landmark to prevent their losing themselves, they used to take long walks together sometimes. One day they had gone to the top of a low hill that rose next to that on which their house was, and they came to a hedge. There was a gap in the hedge, near the ground, and through this Walter said he would go.
"Now look, Lucy," said he, "how cleverly I shall creep through feet foremost. My feet are through,—now my knees, now—" he disappeared, and not a word more came.
"Walter! Walter! where are you?" cried little Lucy, peeping through. "Oh, Walter, where are you gone?" She went on with a faltering voice, for she saw that the hedge was at the top of a steep bank, and that he must have slipped down at once to the bottom.
"Lucy," said a voice below, "come down here!"
"I cannot," answered she at first; but after a little encouragement from Walter who now appeared from among some bushes into which he had rolled, she cautiously made her way through the gap, and partly sliding, partly running soon joined him where he stood. Below them was a small lake which they had often seen in their walks, but never had gone close to, and which looked very inviting, and Walter determined to go down to it. Lucy was afraid. She said they had already lost sight of the steeple and how should they find their way back? But Walter declared that nothing could be easier than to climb up the bank the way they came down; so, leading his little sister by the hand and helping her over difficult places, he soon reached the lake with her.
Here everything was very beautiful. There were a great many bright flowers, of which they gathered several, and a number of dragon-flies that flitted over the water with their lacy wings, and their corselets glancing green, gold, and purple in the sun. Walter and Lucy ran along the edge of the lake watching the quick movements of the dragon-flies, till, suddenly stopping, Lucy declared it was growing dark and she wanted to go home.
"Dark!—Why, how can you say so?" said Walter. "It was only three o'clock when we came out." But, as he spoke, he looked up and saw that the sky had become covered with black clouds.
They began directly to clamber up the hill, and reached the top at last; but when they looked round, everything was strange. No steeple was in sight, nor did they see any tree or rock that they knew.
"We must have come up the wrong way," said Walter. "But don't be frightened, Lucy dear; let us get down to the lake again and try to find the way we came."
Trying to keep her courage up, Lucy took hold of his hand, and they were soon by the water again. It was easy to them, used as they were to clambering, to go safely down steep places. When they reached the borders of the lake they saw some large drops of rain falling into the water, and immediately afterwards they were startled by a loud clap of thunder.
"Make haste; let us find the way if we can," said Walter.
"I am so tired I cannot go on," said poor little Lucy, beginning to cry.
The rain now poured down, and a flash of lightning darted across the hill, followed by a clap of thunder still louder than the first.
"Oh mama, mama!" sobbed Lucy. "What shall I do? I wish we were at home with you."
"What now?—Dear heart!—what's amiss?" cried a voice behind her.
Both the children turned round, but saw no one. They were standing a little way from the edge of the lake, and a thicket of bushes was between them and it. The voice seemed to come from among them. Lucy clung to Walter in her fear. There was another clap of thunder.
"Come to the door; come in, then," cried the voice. "Heart alive! why do you stay out in the storm?"
"There must be a cottage near us," said Walter; "come with me."
Lucy tried to hold him back, for she was afraid of this strange voice; but he gently pulled her forward, and on the other side of the bushes, close to the edge of the lake, they came to the door of a very small, miserable looking cottage. He opened the door by the latch and they went in. It was so dark in there, that at first they saw nothing; but presently they could distinguish in one corner an old woman lying in a little narrow bed.
"Dear heart!" she exclaimed, as they stood together by her bed; "why, it's the little lady and gentleman from the house."
"Are you not old Mary Jones?" said Walter.
"Yes, indeed, sure I am," she replied. "Sit down, poor little dears. I would help you to take off your wet clothes, but I cannot move with the rheumatics."
She talked very kindly to them, and told them which corner to sit down in, where the rain could not come through. She had nothing to give them, she said, till her daughter and her grandson came in from work.
The two children sat down, and forgot their own little troubles entirely, so much greater did poor Mary Jones's appear. How miserable it seemed to them, she must be lying there alone all day long, with no one to help her, in this dark, damp cottage. Walter said something to her which shewed he was thinking so.
"It is a poor place," she replied. "We have no kind landlord to take care of our cottages, as your good papa does. Ours seldom comes into the country."
"But how long have you been so ill?" said Walter. "I remember seeing you in church in your red cloak a few months ago."
"Yes, sure you did." said she. "But I am afraid I shall never go to church again. I have been ill and not able to get up this three months."
"Poor Mary Jones!" sighed little Lucy.
All this time the rain poured down, and the thunder rolled; but it became more distant, and gradually the storm ceased. At the first gleam of sunshine the children began to think of going home, for they knew their mama must be uneasy about them; but they felt as if it was cruel to leave the old woman all alone, though they could do her no good. Meanwhile she tried to make them understand which way they ought to go; but it seemed difficult to make it out.
While they stood waiting and hesitating what to do, footsteps were heard outside, and Mary Jones's daughter and grandson came in, wet through, for they had walked home through the pelting rain.
"Ah! here's little Davy now, can take you the right way," said Mary.
They could not bear to take him out, but he made nothing of it; he said he should soon be home again; so they set off with true feelings of gratitude to these kind people, and glad to see that Mary Jones would soon have some tea and be attended to; for her daughter began to prepare things directly.
They were surprised to find how short a distance it was to get home, now they knew the way. They were soon there; but they found that their mama had been very uneasy about them, and she told them they must not wander so far away any more. They had begged of Davy to wait for a little while; and when they told their mama all about poor Mary Jones, and how kindly Davy had led them home in his wet clothes, she ordered him a good hot supper, and gave him a nice thick warm jacket to put on instead of his wet one; and she put up in a basket a piece of meat and bread, and some tea and sugar, to take to his grandmother.
Still, though all this was a great pleasure to Walter and Lucy, they thought very much about poor old Mary. When little Lucy lay down in her warm bed she sighed, and looked very sad, and when her mama came to give her a kiss, the last thing before she went to sleep, she said, "I wish poor Mary Jones's cottage was warm and dry." Walter dreamed that the lake overflowed, and the water came into the cottage; but just as it grew so deep that it would have drowned the old woman in her bed he started up and awoke. Next morning they could not help thinking of her when it was time for her daughter and Davy to go out to work and leave her, and they determined to ask their mama to let them go and see her when they had done their lessons.
When they went with this request to their mama she told them that their papa had already gone to Mary Jones's cottage, and that she would take them to meet him on his return. They soon saw him coming over the hill when they went out, and ran to meet him; and he told them he had proposed to let Mary have one of his cottages that was now empty, rent-free for the first year; and that she had gratefully accepted this offer. Her daughter, Peggy Davids, Davy's mother, was a good worker in the fields, he said, and Davy had got a place at one of the farmers near, that he was to go to next week; so he expected they would be able to live very comfortably, if they were placed in a cottage that was fit for people to live in, instead of their wretched damp one with only one dark room, and not a morsel of garden.
The children were quite delighted to hear all this; and Mrs. Lewis said she knew old Mary Jones used to make something herself, by knitting the soft Welsh wool into socks and stockings; she remembered buying some of her. Mr. Lewis said she had told him so, and that, if she could get the use of her hands again, she could get her work back.
They went to see the cottage. It was a nice little place, standing high and dry on a hill side, with its garden in front, and white and clean inside and out. Mary Jones, Peggy Davids, and Davy were established in it before a week was over. Mrs. Lewis gave them several little things to help them to furnish it; and, as Davy's wages soon began to come in, and his mother had constant work, they bought more things, and it looked as bright and comfortable as the old place had looked dismal.
But the greatest change was in Mary Jones herself. She had not been three days in her new abode when she declared the pain had all gone out of her joints, and that she was able to sleep instead of lying awake all night. In a week she could turn on her side and use her hands; and a few days afterwards Walter and Lucy went to see her, and found her sitting by the fire knitting.
It was about a month after this time, on a fine Sunday morning in autumn, that Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, with a young lady who was on a visit to them, and Walter and Lucy, were going to church, and noticed among the people going along the path before them an old woman in a bright red cloak and black bonnet, leaning on a younger woman with a nice warm shawl on, and a little boy cleanly dressed.
"Mama," said Walter, "I do believe that is old Mary Jones, with Davy and his mother."
"And we shall see her in the old place again," said Lucy.
"It really is Mary Jones," answered their mama.
"I am so glad!" said Walter. "This is a happy Sunday morning."
There could not be a quieter village anywhere than Southbourn, except once a year, when it was full of gaiety, noise, and bustle. Once a year the Fair was held there, and then nobody would have known that itwasSouthbourn. The cottages that went straggling up the hill were almost hidden from sight by the booths and shows, and nothing of the village could be seen except the church and the clergyman's house.
About half a mile off there lived a little girl named Jessie White, who, together with all the other little girls, and boys too, of the neighbourhood, looked forward to July, the month when the Fair was held, with the greatest pleasure. In that quiet country place they were no fine shops to go to when you wanted to buy anything, and no exhibitions, zoological gardens, and such agreeable places to amuse people; but the Fair came once a year, and for it they saved up their money, and they hoped to enjoy all manner of fine sights when they went to it.
July had come; and the 13th of July had come; and the next day the Fair began. Already there were several preparations. Some booths had been erected in the village, and wonderful things began to come along the road. The house that Jessie lived in was close to the roadside, but none of the windows looked that way. There was, however, one corner of the garden wall from which, if you got upon a wooden bench that was by it, and looked over, you could see all that passed. Here Jessie took her station whenever she had time to leave her lessons and work. She had already heard some heavy rumbling things go by this morning. And now she heard a sound as if something very wonderful indeed was coming. But whatever she expected, what she saw was far more extraordinary. She saw a great wooden caravan painted yellow, with pictures of lions, tigers, bears, and such savage creatures on it, and drawn by a large elephant, on each side of whom walked a man. The elephant came on in a stately manner with his great feet and strong legs, as if he did not care about his load. She watched him as he passed close by her, and she could see that, though his huge head and long trunk never moved, he looked at her, perched up in her corner, out of his wise little eye. Behind him came another caravan, painted with pictures of wolves, hyenas, jackals, and other animals, drawn by two camels. Their tall necks, with the small head at the end, might have touched her face if they had liked, and they looked so strange that she jumped down, but soon got up again, and saw that two more caravans drawn by horses followed.
"These must be the wild beasts," thought she to herself. She was sure of it, because, besides the pictures, she had heard strange sounds as they passed, of growls, howls, and squeaks. No wild beasts had come the year before. This was a great pleasure indeed!
While she was watching till the caravans were out of sight, a man passed carrying a box, on which was written, "The only real Mermaid!" Jessie was very much puzzled to think how a mermaid could live in a box. She thought they always lived in the sea.
Nothing else came for a long time; so she went to play in the garden, but presently saw a flag moving along behind the trees; so she went to look, and saw that the flag was fastened to the top of a wooden house on wheels, with a door in front. A man smoking a pipe, a woman and child, sat at the door, and two strong horses drew it. On the flag was written, "The greatest Wonder of the Age;" and on the side of the house "The Irish Giant, and his friend the American Dwarf;" and there was a picture of a giant about fourteen feet high, and by his side a little gentleman with a sword by his side, who came about to the giant's knee. Jessie supposed they were both inside, and the man in front was the showman; but she thought the giant must be very much crowded.
It was time to go in again, and she saw no more things pass; but she once heard a funny noise, that made her believe Punch was going by, and a great deal of barking, which she was told came from the dancing dogs, who were very tired, and barked for joy that they were near their journey's end.
Next morning she awoke to the happy feeling of a holiday and the Fair, and after breakfast set off with her mama towards the village. The road was thronged with country people in their Sunday clothes; and as they got near they heard the sound of bells, horns, fiddles, drums, and loud voices. The sound of horns became louder than all the rest; and, turning a corner, they saw advancing towards them a line of men on horseback, each blowing a brazen trumpet, and all dressed in grand scarlet coats, with blacket velvet hats ornamented with ribbons. Presently they stopped their horses and left off playing, and the foremost man began to proclaim with a loud voice, that on the common outside the village there was to be seen the finest collection of animals in the world. The great Elephant from Siam; the Royal Lion and Lioness—the great Bengal Tiger; the Black Bear and the Brown; Wolves and Panthers; a fine set of Monkeys; and a splendid show of Parrots, Mackaws, and Owls. They then began to blow their trumpets again and moved on. Jessie's mama promised her that she should go to see the wild beasts.
When they got to the first booth in the village, they found themselves among a crowd of people buying and bargaining. There was a gingerbread booth, with gilt cakes, parliament, and gingerbread nuts; a confectioner's, with sugar-plums, bull's-eyes, barley-sugar, sugar-candy, and all sorts of sweet things; a jeweller's, with necklaces, bracelets, brooches, and pins; a haberdasher's, with gay ribbons, laces, gloves, and handkerchiefs, and, best of all, a toy-shop.
Here Jessie and her mama stopped to look and admire. Then they went back to the first booths and bought a bagful of gingerbread nuts, sugar-plums, and such things, to give to some of Jessie's little friends. Again they went to the toy-shop. There was a kite that Jessie fancied would please her cousin Arthur very much, and she thought she would buy it; but she doubted between it and a horse on wheels. While she was deliberating, her mama looked at a pretty doll, and gave her the choice of it or a box of bricks, and after thinking a good while, she chose the bricks; so it was wrapped in paper and given into her hand. Still, the question between the kite and horse was not settled, when she heard behind her some shouts of admiration, and found that a conjuror was performing some wonderful tricks; so they went to look at him.
The conjuror had on a peaked hat and loose coat, and had a long beard, and beside him was a clown with a ridiculous red and white dress, who made fun of everything he did, and made him very angry every now and then. The conjuror did the most amazing things. He held up a ball to shew them, and then put it under a cup. He never touched the cup,—that they were sure of,—and yet, when he raised it, the ball was gone, and was under quite another one at the other end of the table. Then he put a sheet of paper into his mouth, all crumpled up, and drew it out, twenty yards long, out of his nose. And, last of all, he swallowed a knife. Always, while he was preparing some new trick, a man kept playing on the Pandean pipes, and beating a drum at the same time.
Behind the conjuror there was a theatre, where there was to be a play at night, and on the other side there was a peep-show. Jessie felt the greatest wish to see into it; so her mama told her she might. Two boys were looking at the last picture in it as she came up, and she heard one of them say, "Oh my! itisbeautiful!"
She paid her penny, and put her eyes to the glass, and there she saw a grand procession. The show-man told her it was Queen Victoria going to open Parliament-"There she sat," he said, "in her carriage, with her Crown upon her head, and her Sceptre in her hand, and the eight cream-coloured horses to draw her; and after her came the Royal Children in a carriage with four black horses; and then all the lords and ladies of her court, and the Royal Life Guards to guard her." All this disappeared; and there were the gold workings in Australia, with a man carrying a lump of gold half a hundred weight on his back, and all the hills and rivers shining with gold. Then came St. Paul's and the Tower of London. Afterwards, the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, the Aldermen, Sheriffs, and their ladies, taking water at London Bridge, to go up the river in the State Barge. Then a view of Edinburgh, with the castle-rock rising in the middle, and the sea in the distance. And there were a great many views in the peep-show besides. Jessie was very much delighted with it; but her mama told her she must not quite believe all the showman told her about Australia, nor exactly about all the other things; she must only remember it as something very amusing.
Jessie now went back to the toy-shop and bought the kite. It was time to go home, and much more remained to be seen; but her mama made her happy by telling her that she should have another holiday to-morrow, and that her cousin Arthur had promised to come, so that they could enjoy all the other sights together. Foremost among these were the wild beasts. Some friends they met in the Fair told them the animals were very fine indeed. Jessie asked them if they had seen the mermaid, but they had not heard of it.
"Oh!" said a boy standing near, "it's not a live mermaid,—only a dead one; and I believe that it's nothing in the world but a stuffed monkey with a fish's tail glued on it, and a green wig."
Jessie no longer wished to see it; but she was delighted at the prospect of having Arthur with her, and of going to the wild beasts. She found Arthur already arrived when she went home. He was very much pleased with his kite, and they were very happy together next day, and enjoyed the sight of the elephant, lions, tigers, and all the other creatures. They also had a swing with a great many other boys and girls, and all agreed they never remembered a better Fair than this had been.
One summer day a rosy-cheeked country girl was walking along the busy streets of a crowded city. Once or twice she had asked her way, and her last direction made her turn into a narrow lane, and then into a narrower court. A few minutes before, she had been admiring the gay shop windows; now, she had to hold her breath, the air was so dreadfully bad, and to pick her way among black pools and gutters. No fresh breezes, no sunshine, could get in there, and all the poor little children that lived in the dirty houses round looked pale and ill. The young woman asked for No. 10; and when she he had found it she inquired for Roger Block, and was shewn into a room where there seemed to be a number of people and children crowded together almost in the dark. Roger was her little brother, and she knew his face among them all, long as it was since she had seen him, and sickly as he looked. The poor Irish people he was with had taken him in when his mother died and he was left friendless, and had given him a share of their scanty stock of food and their little room, though there were a man and his wife, six children, and an old grandfather, with only that one dark room to live in. He was now to go with his sister Nancy to the farm where she was servant: her kind master had asked him. Roger was a grave, quiet boy. He bid his friends good-bye without showing much sorrow; but Nancy's eyes overflowed as she thanked them for their goodness, and helped the woman to make Roger's face as clean as half a pint of muddy water could make it, and to smooth down his shabby pinafore. He had no packing to do, for the clothes he wore were all he had; so he took his sister by the hand, and they went together to the inn where the wagon that brought her to the town had put up, and started for the farm in it before night.
Roger settled himself on some empty sacks and fell asleep, and there he slept all night, with Nancy and the wagoner's wife, who had come to keep her company, by his side. At five in the morning he was roused, for they were at the farm, and Nancy told him to come with her, for she must go and help the missis to milk the cows.
Roger got out of the wagon. What a new world he was in! Instead of the dark, crowded, stifling room, he was accustomed to, he was standing at the gate of a large field. The sun had just risen, and every blade of grass sparkled with dew-drops. The air was full of sweet scents. There was a grove of trees in sight, with cattle lying under them. The village church appeared in the distance. Bright flowers were on the ground. Birds were singing. Never, in all his life, did Roger forget that minute.
He walked by Nancy's side down the field, and she told him that was the missis milking one of the cows; and she shewed him how to pull his front hair when he made his bow after he had been spoken to.
"So you have brought your brother," said her mistress, continuing to milk the cow while she spoke. "Be a good boy, and we will see what can be done for you."
At a sign from Nancy, Roger pulled the front lock of his hair and tried to make a bow, and then stood staring out of his large eyes, and thinking he never saw anything so wonderful or pleasant as all this. The sheepdog came up to him and made acquaintance with him, and then Mrs. Truman told Nancy to carry in the milk pail that was full, and she would soon come with the other. On their way they met Farmer Truman, who was going his rounds of the farm before breakfast, on horseback.
"Well, Nancy," he said, "so that's the boy. Be a good boy, and we shall see what we can do for you."
Roger pulled his hair again. And now he went to the dairy with Nancy. It seemed to him a wonderful place, so clean, airy, and sweet, with numbers of pans of what Nancy told him was milk, standing in rows, and great jars of cream, and multitudes of rolls of butter. But the mistress came in, and then Nancy had plenty to do, and he must wait outside. No matter, however. All was wonder and pleasure to him. There were sheep feeding, and turkeys, geese, ducks, cocks, and hens wandering about. He did not even know the names of these different kinds of poultry. He had never seen any like them, except a few ragged, dirty cocks and hens in the court.
Presently he was called to breakfast in the kitchen, and sat down among the ploughmen and carters. It was more astonishing than all to see how they ate, and to find that he could have as much as he wanted, and was eating too. There were great slices of bread, bacon, and pudding, and hot coffee, with a quantity of milk in it. After breakfast he saw the farm-yard, the great hay-stacks, and corn-stacks, and the barns. Such high places! some full of corn stored away,—one that looked empty and immense at first, but in which he soon saw there were all manner of things, strange to him, and which he admired very much;—these were various tools and machines, spades, rakes, hoes, sickles, hay-knives, hay-forks, pitch-forks, brooms, harrows, chaff-cutters, and numbers of other fine things.
Then he saw the stables, with the fine, strong, well-fed horses in their stalls, and saw the men take them out to their work again; and he saw the large cow-house, ready for the cows when they were put up in winter, with the calf-pens in one corner; and he saw the pig-styes, with all the pigs, large and small. At dinner and at supper he had as much as he could eat. At night he slept at the wagoner's in a little bed up in the garret; the moon shone in at the window in the roof when he lay down, and he saw the blue sky through it when he awoke, and heard sparrows chirping in the thatch. This was all the greatest wonder and delight to him.
Three days of this kind of life had passed, when Farmer Truman sent for Nancy and Roger.
"I have got an admission for Roger into the Orphan School of our county town," said he. "Your mother longed for you to be a scholar and learn a trade. Be a good boy, and you may make a man of yourself."
Nancy curtsied, and thanked the master. Roger said nothing, and Nancy could not make him understand that he ought to make his bow. That very day his friend the wagoner took him to the school. It was a fine building, with large rooms, and a great many boys. Everything was in good order. Roger was dressed in new clothes, and well taken care of, but he looked very grave, and was thought a stupid boy.
Three evenings afterwards, as the wagoner's wife was shutting her shutter, she heard a tap at the door, and when she opened it there stood Roger.
"Why, Roger, how came you here?" said she.
He only said "He liked best to be here."
She gave him a scolding for running away, but took him in, gave him some supper, and sent him to bed. The farmer was very angry, would not see him, nor let Nancy speak to him, and sent him back next morning.
Four evenings afterwards there was a tap at the wagoner's door as he and his wife sat at supper; and when they opened it there stood Roger again.
They were very angry this time, and sent him to bed without any supper. The farmer reproved him severely when he sent him back, and told him not to dare to run away again.
A week afterwards, when the wagoner came home from work, he saw Roger sitting under a tree near his door; and this time they would not take him in again at the school.
Nobody knew what to do with him now. His new clothes were sent back to the Orphan School, and his shabby old ones put on. Nancy was in great distress, and Roger was shut up in the garret till the farmer made up his mind about him.
Some kind ladies, relations of the farmer's, who were rich, happened to be at the farm then, and they said they would take the poor boy home. They lived in a town sixty miles off; so it was impossible, they said, he could run back from there. They took him away, therefore, and were very kind to him, clothed him well, taught him to read and write, gave him all his meals beside them, made him walk before them when they walked out, and never let him be out of their sight, except when they went out visiting, and then he was locked into a room with some play-things, and the servants told to take care of him. He seemed contented, and learned fast, but he never forgot his happy days. If he was told about some beautiful place, he asked if it was like the farm. If he read of some great man, he asked if he was as great as Farmer Truman.
Six months of this life had passed, when one day, Roger was missing and could be found nowhere. The kind ladies wrote to the farm, but many weeks passed and no one saw or heard of him.
At last, one cold bitter night in winter, a little low tap was heard at the wagoner's door.
"See if that be not Roger!" said his wife.
And Roger it was. Tattered, thin, and wearied, there he stood. He had begged his way and come back all the sixty miles on foot. It was impossible for the good woman to refuse to take him in.
The farmer declared the boy must be an idiot, when she went to him in the morning with her story; but she said, it was all along of his love of a country life.
"He has no turn, like, for scholarship," said she. "Could not you please to find him some work to do on the farm, and give him a trial?" Nancy looked imploringly through her tears, and Mrs. Truman said a kind word for him; so the farmer consented, and Roger was made cow-boy that very day.
Never was such a change seen as came over him. He brightened up. He shewed himself the most active, clever boy that had ever been there. He soon learned to do all manner of things, and was always ready to help at everything. He could harness the horses for ploughing or carting, clean them, feed them, or bring them back. He could feed the pigs and calves, drive the sheep to the fold, and at shearing time, hay-making, and harvesting, was of the greatest use. In short, as the men said, he could lend a hand at anything; and all this was done without neglecting his cows. Before he was sixteen he was made a carter, and drove a team of horses, with a great whip on his shoulder, and a white smock frock on; and no king was ever prouder of his sceptre and his robes. The farmer said he never had a better lad in his service, and he hoped he would never leave it, but grow up to be one of his regular labourers, and have a good cottage, and get a good wife of his own.
Transcriber's Notes:
hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in the original
Page 31, eyes now,' cried ==> eyes now," cried
Page 35, lets them in. ==> lets them in."
Page 37, through the leaves, ==> through the leaves.
Page 39, pie? said Mrs. Grove, ==> pie?" said Mrs. Grove.
Page 39, let me, said ==> let me," said
Page 41, Florence? was shouted ==> Florence?" was shouted
Page 42, found! cried Emily ==> found!" cried Emily
Page 43, all be drowned? ==> all be drowned?"
Page 45, again, what shall ==> again, "what shall
Page 54, under it, But Thomas ==> under it. But Thomas
Page 60, rakes? said she. ==> rakes?" said she.
Page 60, dressed now, He had ==> dressed now. He had
Page 60, all over him, ==> all over him.
Page 51, famous shout, ==> famous shout.
Page 70, trust you. ==> trust you?"
Page 75, mama, said Rose ==> mama," said Rose
Page 103, "They could not bear ==> They could not bear
Page 122, coutinuing to milk ==> continuing to milk