CHAP. VI.
Myreaders may remember, that little Charles came home merely for the holidays, which being now over, his papa proposed taking him back to school; at the same time expressing a wish that Lady Seymour would be of the party, as she might then visit some relations, whom she had not seen for several years. The excellent mother did not like to leave her home, where she was always usefully occupied, for the benefit of her family or her poor neighbours; or agreeably entertained by the innocent gaiety of her children, during their hours of relaxation, which they always passed with her. No society was so delightful to her as theirs nor could any more pleasing indulgence begranted them, than permission to go to their dear mamma. However, she now yielded to Sir Charles’s earnest solicitation to accompany him, well knowing that she could place implicit confidence in Miss Sedley, during her absence.
My young friends behaved very sensibly on this occasion; for though they felt great uneasiness at parting with their beloved mother, they forbore all expressions of regret in her presence, lest they should diminish the pleasure she was likely to enjoy in visiting her relations. The two little girls who were in the nursery accompanied their mamma; for she observed, that it would be no loss of time to them, as they had not yet commenced their studies.
I shall pass over the parting scene, which was, indeed, a mournful one, and introduce my readers to my young friends in the school-room, where they assembled soon after the departure of their parents. They were evidently dejected,but no impatient expressions escaped them. Their kind governess insensibly diverted them from the contemplation of their grief, by various amusements, all contributing to their health or improvement. She at length succeeded in tranquillizing their minds, and they, sensible of her kindness, evinced towards her affection and gratitude.
I had now an opportunity of seeing them at all times, and my esteem for them was by no means diminished. Indeed, I never beheld a happier little society: they were obedient and attentive during the hours allotted to study, and so united in all their sentiments, that it seemed as if one mind animated the three. Their governess was indulgent, because she found that indulgence was not injurious to them; and they were happy, because they deserved to be so. Even their motives and incitements to virtue were of the noblest kind. They were early taught to believe, that happinessis derived from conferring benefits, rather than from receiving them. Their excellent mother knew this truth from experience, and was anxious that her daughters should learn it by the same means. She had established a school for poor children, on Sir Charles’s estate, to which she allowed each of the young ladies to send a little girl; and in order to enable them to pay for theirprotegées, she allowed a weekly stipend to those who, by their amiable conduct, deserved it. My young readers may easily suppose, that they always endeavoured to merit this reward; for it would have been at once vexatious and disgraceful, not to have had a child in the school. They were allowed to visit the poor children occasionally, to inspect their progress; and I observed that they always came home more cheerful and happy, from their favourite walk to the hill, on the summit of which stood the little school-house; so that I did notdoubt that they already felt the good effects of their mother’s sensible plan.
Several weeks passed without any material occurrence in my history, and my young friends were beginning to anticipate the return of their beloved parents, when my mistress remarked, one day, that I was not so merry as usual, (for I was not quite well.) “Poor little fellow,” said she, “he perhaps regrets being kept in doors this fine weather: I must let him out.”
The children looked as if they did not wish me to go, but said nothing. I should not have been so silent, could I have made myself understood; for I really wished to stay where I was so comfortable.
Not long after this they went out, and I was rejoicing at being left behind, when my dear mistress returned, and taking me in my cage, conveyed me to the shrubbery, where she rejoined her pupils. They, remembering what had passed on a former occasion, offered no remonstrance on this. We arrived at the little garden where Ihad so often been before; my cage was set down, and the doors placed open. I was still irresolute: I chirped to my mistress, came on the outside of my cage, and then went in again, to show that I was willing to remain with her. At length I ventured out again, and hopped on one of the flower-beds. My friends watched me for some time, and I, still anxious to show my affection and gratitude, flew on to my mistress’s shoulder.
“Dear little bird!” said she, “I trust you will be happy, and I shall then congratulate myself on having been the means of making you so.”
These words seemed to assure me, that my liberty was a desirable object, and, encouraged by the manner in which they were uttered, I ventured a short flight to an adjacent syringa. My friends followed me, and having scattered food near the spot, left me, in order to continue their walk. I felt rather timid when left alone, but my sensations were very different tothose I experienced when I was out before. I soon acquired sufficient courage to explore my new place of abode, which I found so delightful, that I regretted when the approach of night put an end to my rambles. I met with many other little birds, but felt no terror on their approach; for they seemed by no means inclined to molest me, and I was now strong enough to defend myself, if they had. I found plenty of food, for the trees abounded in insects; and my friends did not fail to strew about the paths, such seeds as they knew I liked. I frequently saw them pass along, and wished to show myself to them; but there was a little dog which generally accompanied them, and I was afraid of getting too near him. Once, however, I heard them talking very earnestly about me, and wishing to know whether I was still alive. This made me resolve to watch for an opportunity of assuring them of my safety.
It was not long before I fulfilled myintention, for my mistress and little Julia came out one afternoon without the dog. I was on a laburnum-tree near the house, and immediately flew from it to a grass-plot before them.
“There is my bird!” exclaimed my mistress, in an accent of delight.
“Where?” said Julia.
“There, on the grass. Do not you see him? Now he has flown towards the kitchen-window.”
“Now I see him, indeed,” said Julia: “are you not glad to find him alive and well?”
“And in good company too,” added my mistress; for just then I was taking a little flight with some young birds, who were very friendly to me, and with whom I made many pleasant excursions about the shrubbery, though we seldom passed its boundaries: for my young readers are, perhaps, to be informed, that Robins do not assemble in large companies, and take long flights, as larks, thrushes, linnets,and many other birds do, but content themselves with a less extensive range, about the hedges, woods, or gardens, where they are brought up.
After the first interview, I saw my friends almost every day, and as the dog seldom came with them, I took care that they should see me; for I knew that it gave them pleasure, and I was anxious to prove myself grateful for their kindness.
I was now extremely happy, much more so than I had ever been, enjoying, at once, liberty, society, and the affectionate notice of those to whom I owed all my enjoyments. But an unforeseen event deprived me of all my felicity. My mistress, in her extreme solicitude lest I should be unable to find food, or should be deprived of it by the other birds, who sometimes attack those who have been brought up tame, left my cage fixed to the enclosure of her garden, and constantly replenished the troughs with food and water. I frequently fed there, and found it extremely convenient;but it seems that I was observed by one of the little boys who weeded in the garden, and swept the gravel-walks of the shrubbery. He watched for an opportunity, and when I was feeding one evening, he suddenly shut the door of the cage. Soon after this he left off work, and taking me gently out of the cage, carried me home with him.
He lived in a little cottage, at some distance from my late residence. I had never seen any poor person’s house, therefore was greatly surprised at the appearance of this. While I was looking at the outside of it, a neat-looking little girl came to the door. “Ah, Willy! is it you,” said she: “I am glad you are come, for I wanted to show you my pretty kitten.”
“Oh! I am afraid I shall not wish you joy of it,” said the boy, “for I have something here worth twenty kittens, and both must not be together.”
“Then that must be a mouse,” said the child.
“Not a mouse. Guess again.”
“Perhaps a young rabbit, or a squirrel—but do show it me, pray do.”
“Yes, if you will promise to give me the kitten, that I may take it to aunt Patty, or give it to somebody; for see, you would not like this pretty little bird to be killed.”
“Oh dear, no! my good Willy. Did you bring it for me? Pray let me have it in my own hand.”
“Be patient,” said the boy; “first go and shut up your kitten in the shed, till I can take it away.”
“Aunt Patty gave it me,” said the little girl, “and she will take it back again. I should have been glad to have kept it, but I shall like a little bird much better.”
“Peggy, Peggy, where are you?” said a voice from the interior of the cottage: “I want you, child.”
“Coming, mother,” replied Peggy;“only I am looking at a pretty Robin Willy has brought me.”
“A Robin!” returned her mother; “then mind the cat you have been nursing all the afternoon. The bird would not like her so well as she would like him.”
“So Willy says, mother; and I am going to put puss in the shed, till he can take her back. May I, mother?”
“Yes, child, and make haste, for I want you here.”
Peggy made great haste, and when her mother had done with her, she returned to her brother, who had now entered the cottage, and requested to have me in her hand.
“Gently, then,” said Willy: “do not pinch it: it is not like a cat.”
“Oh! I will take great care,” said she, and she took me very tenderly from the boy, greatly surprised that I did not flutter, or struggle to get from her; and still more so, when, gently disengaging myself from her feeble grasp, I perchedon her shoulder. “Oh! you dear little creature,” said she, “why you know me already. But how did you contrive to make him so tame, Willy?”
“I did nothing to him,” said the boy; “I got him only this evening.” And then he related what my readers already know, about his finding me in the cage.
“Come, William,” said the boy’s mother, “get your supper, for I am sure you must be hungry; but, stop a moment, first take off your coat, that I may put a patch on the elbow. I cannot bear to see you in rags; no more could your poor father, he was always so tidy.”
“And so will I be, mother, when I am a man: and so shall you and Peggy be too, for I will buy you comfortable clothes.”
“What! will you buy me a new frock?” said Peggy: “when will you get it? I can make some of it myself. Cannot I, mother?”
“Not so fast, Peggy,” interrupted herbrother; “I am not rich enough yet, nor shall not be neither, till I am bigger, and able to earn more money.”
“I hope that will be soon, then, for both my frocks are very old: mother has patched them so often. And see, I put in these two pieces,” added she, showing her frock; which I then first observed to be of various pieces and colours. “But,” continued the talkative little girl, “I know what I had rather have now than a new frock:—dear Willy, if you could get me a little cage for my bird!”
“That will not cost much,” replied her brother, “for I can make you one myself, and so I will, when I have done my supper.”
“Thank you, thank you, dear Willy! You are always so good-natured,” said Peggy, “and that makes me feel so happy, that I never want a new frock, or any thing else, when I think of it.”
This interesting dialogue did not pass unnoticed by the poor mother. She hadlet fall her boy’s coat, and was gazing intently on her children, her eyes filled with tears of joy.
“Dear mother, you are crying!” said Willy: “what is the matter? Are you unhappy? Can I do any thing for you?”
“I am not unhappy, my dear boy,” replied she, “it was joy that overcame me, and, like Peggy, I seem to want nothing, while I am blest with two children so dutiful to me, and so fond of each other.”
“That, I hope, we shall always be,” said Willy, and he rose hastily, to get, as he said, the twigs for the cage; but I saw him brush off a tear from his cheek, with the back of his hand.
Willy was, indeed, a good-natured boy, and that in a different degree to what the common acceptation of the term implies; for I have known many children who thought themselves good-natured, because they gave away what they did not want, or deprived themselves of some superfluity,to relieve the wants of others. This boy, however, had no superfluities, but he gave up what he really wanted to his mother and sister, seeming never to consider himself; and his coat had not now been so ragged, if he had not expended the money which was to have bought a new one, on his little sister, the preceding winter. His poor mother had hoped to make it up to him, by the little she could earn at needle-work or spinning, but in this she had been disappointed. Her little girl had been ill of the measles in the spring, and all her resources had been then exhausted, in procuring proper nourishment and remedies for the little sufferer. Nor was this the only privation to which Willy submitted; for I am sure he frequently refused his share of their scanty provisions, that there might be more for his mother and sister.