CHAP. XI.
Sometime after the event just related in the preceding chapter, the snow disappeared, the poor birds became more lively, and winter at length yielded to the mild influence of spring: all nature seemed to rejoice at the change, which appeared more delightful from the late severity of the season. With the return of spring Henry’s desire of riding returned also, my young readers may therefore suppose, that he was greatly delighted when his papa informed him, one evening, that, if he would rise an hour earlier than usual on the following morning, he would take him to a neighbouring town, where there was to be a fair, and procure a poney for him.
The morning came—it was a delightful one! Henry was ready in time, and set out with his father to make the long-expected purchase. They had arrived within a mile of the fair, when a most distressing scene was presented to their view—a cottage in flames, which the villagers were vainly endeavouring to extinguish, and the wretched inhabitants of the heretofore peaceful and comfortable dwelling, deploring, with fruitless tears, the loss of their little all. The family consisted of a man, his wife, and six children, the eldest of whom was not more than eight years old, the youngest scarcely eight months.
I not having been present, cannot be expected to describe the agony of these unfortunate people, thus suddenly reduced to poverty, and destitute even of a resting-place for the night; indeed, I imagine that such misery surpasses description, and cannot even be conceived, except by those who have witnessed it. Henry for some time surveyed the sad scene in silent dismay.His father at length roused him by saying, “Come, my boy, we shall be too late, and I fear we can do no good here.”
“Dear papa,” said the amiable child, “I am in no hurry, and I think, if you would agree to my proposal, we might do some good here.”
“Indeed!” said his father: “pray what is your plan?”
“Why, you know, papa, that I can ride a donkey as well as a poney, but these poor people cannot do without a lodging and food; now, papa, if you would spend the money on them instead of the poney, I should be very glad.”
“But are you quite sure, Henry,” said his father, “that you will not regret this surrender? You cannot go to see Mary on your donkey, and you might frequently go on your poney, besides riding out with me:—consider well before you decide.”
“I have considered so well, dear papa,” returned the child, “that I am sure, were I to wait a whole week, I should notchange my mind; and I know Mary would advise me to do so too, even though she did not see me so often.”
“Well, then, my dear boy, I had intended giving ten pounds for your poney, you may, therefore, bestow that sum on the poor family.”
Henry was overjoyed at obtaining his father’s permission to relieve the unhappy sufferers, and begged his assistance and advice as to the manner of doing so. These the delighted father readily afforded, and so judicious were his arrangements, that, before night, Henry had the satisfaction of seeing the whole family settled in a snug little habitation, not far from his father’s house. His mamma kindly lent her assistance, sending provisions sufficient for their immediate wants, with some clothes for the poor woman and her children, all their own having been consumed in the flames.
It may easily be imagined, that thisevent was much talked of; indeed, many ladies and gentlemen called on Henry’s parents, in order to be more particularly informed on the subject; and by this means it was that I became acquainted with the facts I have just detailed. Numerous were the comments and compliments of the visitors, but happily for my little master, he heard very few of them. One lady in particular, after she had for some time extolled the child’s generosity, said (addressing his father,) “but surely, Sir, you still intend to get him a poney: I wish you would allow me to send him one.”
“Madam,” replied the sensible father, “I am greatly obliged to you, but I cannot allow Henry to have a poney till he has earned it: if he has done a good action, that must be his reward at present. Were I to reward him for it, two bad consequences would ensue; he might hereafter pretend to be generous from self-interest or vanity, for it would not be difficultto make a show of resigning what he was sure to obtain afterwards; and he might be taught to expect a reward for his good actions here, whereas, experience shows that kindness is frequently not only unrequited, but is even returned by ingratitude and enmity.”
“Indeed, that is too true,” returned the lady, “but I should have thought your observations more applicable to a grown person than to a child.”
“That,” said the father, “is, I know, a very general idea; but it is precisely because I expect Henry to become agrown person, and because I should wish him then to have such sentiments, that I now endeavour to inculcate them. The human heart cannot be too early formed to virtue: good principles cannot be impressed too soon.”
This and many similar arguments used by Henry’s father, convinced me of the propriety of his conduct with regard to his children: his prudence was amply rewardedby their improvement, for they daily became such as he desired they should be. My dear little master’s sister, the amiable Mary, came home shortly after this time for the Midsummer vacation, and it was then settled that she should not return to school, but that her mamma, (whose health had been delicate for some time, but was now considerably amended,) should, with some assistance, superintend her education.
This arrangement was highly pleasing to all parties, and I partook of the general joy; for Mary was a charming girl, and her presence added to my happiness as well as to that of my young master.
The summer of this year passed delightfully with me, for I had one great enjoyment, to which I had long been a stranger. Henry one day conversing with his sister about me, at the open window, before which was a balcony, regretted keeping me confined to the house. “Do you know, said he, I have a great mind to let him out; if I lose him by the experiment,I must console myself by thinking that he will be happier in the possession of his liberty: but I really think he will not go away, so let us try.”
Mary concurring in his opinion, he came and opened the door of my cage, then walking to the balcony, he called me to follow him. I joyfully complied, and flew to his shoulder, from thence I hopped to the rails of the balcony, and at last perched on a tree close to it, where I repaid his indulgence with a song. I saw Henry’s colour change when I flew towards the tree, therefore, to assure him that I had no intention of leaving him, I shortly after returned to my cage, and went out no more that day.
My behaviour on this occasion was so satisfactory to my young master, that he repeated the indulgence every fine day, and allowed me to bathe on the balcony, where he placed water for that purpose. However, towards the end of autumn he thought it prudent to discontinue thispractice, on account of the following circumstance, which has something interesting in it, more than relates to myself.
From having been brought up more tenderly than other birds, I was not so hardy as they, and not having had the same necessity for exerting my limbs, I was not so expert in the use of them; so that one day, when I was perched on my accustomed tree, a sudden gust of wind blew me down. Had I been wise, I should have reascended the tree, but finding some amusement on the ground, I continued hopping about till I got so far into the shrubbery, that I could not distinguish one tree from another, nor get a glimpse of the house through the foliage, so that I was fearful of getting further from home in my endeavours to return. In the mean time, Henry, who soon missed me, came himself in search of me, but not finding me near the spot, he returned to the house, to beg assistance from the domestics, promising a guinea (hiswhole stock at that time) to any one who should discover me, well knowing that I would return to him at his call. The search was continued some time in vain; for the noise of their approach terrified me so much, that I crept into the fork of a tree, where I remained in a state of great perplexity. At last, however, I was descried by a little boy, who helped my young master in his garden, and attended his donkey.
“Here, Master Henry, here he is!” exclaimed the boy, his countenance glowing with delight.
Henry, to my great joy, now appeared. I flew to him immediately, before he had time to call me, and testified my joy as well as I was able.
“Well, Frank,” said Henry, addressing the boy, “the guinea is yours; I am glad of it, and hope you will make a good use of it.”