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it doesn’t.
LITTLE. LADBDIE,
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“LITTLE MOTHER,†“LITTLE ROSY’S TRAVELS,â€
ETC., ETC.
With Twenty-four Mlustrations by L. Froth.
SEELEY, JACKSON, AND HALLIDAY, 54, FLEET STREET,
LONDON. MDCCCLXXIV.
CONTENTS,
CHAPTER
I.
II.
III.
IV.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
JOHNNY'S NEW SHOES 4
THE OLD UMBRELLA :
AT ELM COTTAGE . k
THE TUMBLE . : ‘
RATHER UPPISH
JOHNNY LISTENS TO MR. DON'T LIKE
THE LITTLE LADDIE GROWS WISER
A TIRED BOY . . .
A GREAT FRIGHT .
MAY COMES TO THE RESCUE
THE FIELD LESSON .
VPAGE
15
a2
48
62
8I
100
118
134
148
Le
iv
CHAPTER
XII.
XII
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVIL
XVII.
XIX.
XX,
XXL
XXIL
XXIII
XXIV.
Contents.
MAY’S PRESENT : ; ‘
A NEW GAME 3 ,
JOHNNY LEARNS BY EXPERIENCE
A NEW FRIEND FOUND . 6
JOHNNY TRIES TO BE USEFUL
JOHNNY'S SCHEME
MORE ABOUT MAY . A :
WHAT MAY TAUGHT JOHNNY .
SUCH A CAPITAL PLAN . :
A PRETTY SIGHT |. : d
THE WOUNDED BIRD
FATHER’S PLAN
OHNNY’S PET LOST AND FOUND AGAIN
J
PAGE.
185
198
210.
218
229.
241
250
258
267
272
280.
289
296
PPT LE LADDIE.
CHAI ER: t
JOHNNY'S NEW SHOES.
ifND these came in the great
big basket too—the big
basket which Mr. Wright,
the carrier, brought to us yesterday
evening, Johnny. And they came
from granny, you know, dear old
granny.’
It was Johnny’s good little sister
May who said all this; and as she
I
3 Fohuny's New Shoes.
talked to him, she was earnestly try-
ing to persuade five of Johnny’s ten
toes to go into one of a first-rate
pair of new shoes. '
‘Me heard him! me heard bang,
bang on the door; and me helped
to open the basket,’ cried Master
Johnny, with a revived enthusiasm
about the great event.
‘And you remember the dear
granny, too, don’t you? said May,
quite as eagerly.
‘No, me don’t,’ said Johnny.
‘You don’t! repeated his sister ;
‘and she was so good to you; and
it’s only just one year since she went
away—only last summer! Well,
you have got a short memory I’
Fohunys New Shoes. 3
‘Me don’t know what memory
stuff is; but me know me don’t
member granny one bit,’ returned
the little man very positively.
‘Then I think you ought to,’ said
May, a little seriously. ‘It isn’t
good to forget people who are kind
to us, father says so. But granny
doesn’t forget so soon: she remem-
bers mother when she was a little
baby.’
‘Mammy wasn’t ever a ikkle baby,’
returned Johnny opening his eyes
very wide.
‘Oh, but she was, Johnny —a tiny
tiny-—just like you were when you
wore that long white frock that
mother keeps in her drawer, which
I—2
4 ee s New Shoes,
went over your fee you euee Ro
kept them warm when you couldn’t
run about.’
‘Like the tiny tiny at the shop,’
said Johnny, chuckling. ‘Oh! May,
me couldn’t be like that; and mam-
my couldn’t, me sure.’
‘But she says she was, and that
granny carried her about, and fed
her with a spoon, and rocked her to
sleep in our big cradle; and mammy
must know,’ said May.
‘Johnny tink it very funny,’ re-
turned the young rogue, in a very
unconvinced tone of voice.
‘And granny remembers it all
quite well, continued May ; ‘so you
see it’s no wonder that she remem-
Fohunys New Shoes. 5
bers us, and what we were like only
a year ago; though still I don’t quite
see how she knew the sizes of our
shoes: because we’ve grown, you see ;
or how she should recollect exactly
how much stuff mammy takes for a
gown, or father’s fancy for blue
neckerchers. She must have a very
good memory, indeed. I shouldn't
think she ever found it hard to learn
her hymns when se was a little girl.
Ah, Johnny, Johnny! It’s a fine
thing for you that she has got a good
memory, or else youd never have
got these splendid new shoes.’
‘Johnny don’t much care for new
shoes. Johnny like the sweeties best,’
remarked the little fellow quietly
6 Fohuny's New Shoes.
‘Oh, Johnny, Johnny! Why, you
are a silly boy! When you haven't
had a new pair of shoes for ever
so long; and when you know that
daddy can’t afford to buy you any.
Of course, the sweeties are very nice;
but theyll be gone in no time; and
just think how long these strong
shoes will last! Besides, you needn’t
get your feet wet now, nor have
any pins or needles running into
them.
‘Pins don’t run into Johnny’s feet!
Pins can’t run at all. Do they ever
get into ’ou’s feet? returned the
little fellow, as if such an idea had
never entered his head before.
‘They might, answered May,
Fohunys New Shoes. 7.
gravely. ‘To which Johnny, after a
minute’s reflection, rejoined :—
‘Pussy don’t wear boots. Does
pussy have pins in her feet ?â€
‘TI don’t know. You had better
ask her,’ said May, laughing.
‘Me look at her feet. Me look
underneath, Johnny said quickly.
‘Well, at any rate, it will look
better to wear shoes on Sundays,
and when we want to be nice,’ re-
marked May, beginning to be half
convinced by Johnny’s arguments.
For the fact was, that both the chil-
dren had had to do without shoes so
long now, and had seen so many
other children doing without them,
that she hardly knew what to think.
8 Fohuny's New Shoes.
They did not live where they used
to live, when she remembered her-
self a tiny child—in the days when
father could always buy everything
she wanted; for some time ago they
had come toa place where most of
the children didn’t often wear shoes.
And so, though mother always said
she couldn’t a-bear such rough ways,
yet-—because they were poorer, they
all had to get used to them. May,
hearing what mother thought about
it, certainly padded about in hopes
of better times; but Johnny, never
thinking, was quite content ; and his
little toes learned to love their
liberty.
Nevertheless, there was another
Folnnys New Shoes. fe)
way of looking at the matter, which
his thoughtful little sister felt bound
to put before him ; and that was :—~
‘What would granny say if she heard
that they didn’t think much of her
nice presents? Wouldn’t she be
sorry? Wouldn’t she be very much
hurt ?’
Now, as a rule, our little friend
had always believed what May said.
She was like a little mother to him,
you see; for his big mother had to
go out to work so much, now that
the father was not so strong and able
to work as he used to be.. And be-
cause his May May, as he loved to
call her, was a steady young thing,
and as careful of her pet boy as any
10 Fohuny's New Shoes.
old nurse; the little laddie used very
seldom to dispute her opinion.
But it was really hard to come in
to this—besides that, as he grew
older, he was beginning to have views
of his own; and when she began again
to try to coax the shoes on, poor
Johnny said, ‘They so tiff, May.
They hurt me feet,’ with a face as
woe-begone as if the said feet really
were going to be condemned each
one to solitary confinement in a
narrow prison.
‘Oh! they won’t hurt when you
get used to them,’ replied May; ‘and
granny will be so sorry if you don’t
wear them. I think she would cry.
But you must not double up your
Fohuny's New Shoes. a
toes so, when I put them on. Come,
let’s have another try. Now, Johnny,
boy, look. This is the way. And
you must learn to put them on your-
self, you know;—a great big boy
like you!’
So the little man put his hand on
his sister’s shoulder, and gravely be-
gan to study the subject, though it
was not one that he very much cared
about.
For, you see, this little Johnny of
ours was rather a good little man.
He knew what he liked and what he
disliked as well as anybody; but then
ever since he was gute a baby he had
been taught by daddy and mammy,
and by May May too, that there
12 Fohnny's New Shoes.
are two small words, ‘ ought’ and.
‘oughtn’t, and that these must be
attended to, before any Mr. Like or
Don’t Like in the world.
Certainly, Mr. Ought or Oughtn’t
sometimes cost him a few tears.
Still, in the end, the one of them
who had to be attended to, generally
got the victory, and packed Mr. Like
or Don’t Like, whichever it happened
to be, about his business.
Then, when he was really gone,
Johnny was generally a good deal
happier. |
And so he was this time, as you
shall hear.
Mr. Ought said, ‘Come, get. on
those shoes as fast as you can, and
“Now, Johnny boy, look, this is the we
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Fohunys New Shoes. 13
try to like them to please granny,
and never mind what Mr. Don’t Like
says about it.’
And Johnny let the shoes come
on, one after another, and then slid
down off the bed to see how he
could walk in them.
Now there was no carpet in that
room; and do you know those shoes .
made such a delightful noise in
tramping over the boards, that their
young owner soon shouted again
with pleasure.
So May May, when she sat down
to write her letter to granny—as she
had to do very soon after—was able
to put in it that ‘Johnny was in
great joy about his new shoes, and
14 Fohuny's New Shoes.
making such a noise with them! She
wished granny could hear him!’
It was not long since May could
write a letter; but since she had
been able, she often did so to please
Johnny, who, besides always hearing
what she put in it (for there were no
secrets between him and May), was
very fond of acting postman.
He could not with this letter, you
see, because it was going too far off ;
but when she wrote to some of her
friends, he could take the letter, you
know, and wait for the answer too;
and that made him feel quite an im-
portant man.
5
CHAPTER II.
THE OLD UMBRELLA.
s‘T strikes me, that Johnny’s
granny would not have
been so very shocked as May
supposed, if she had heard that he
could not remember her; for, you
see, a whole year was a good piece
out of his little life—a larger piece
than it was out of May’s—at least,
in one way; for she, having lived
longer, her life would cut up into
more of such pieces than his would.
16 The Ola Umbrella.
This grandmother, the one who
liked to be called granny, I mean,
was mother to his mother. Very
kind and good she was to small
folks ; but then she lived such a long
way off, that she could not see Johnny
and May very often. She could only
think about them, and talk about
them, and sometimes send letters or
nice parcels, like the one we heard
of, besides asking the good God, who
lives far above the blue sky, to look
down on them, and do them good.
That was the best thing she could
do; and she did it very often.
But there was another grandmother
whom Johnny did know very well,
and she lived not so very far off, with
The Old Umbrella. 17
the grandfather who had once made
for Johnny a curious little soldier, with
arms and legs that could be moved
by a string at the back, which some
of his young friends know all about
very well indeed, though no doubt
there are some who do not.
Well, this grandfather said that if
his name must be shortened at all, he
would be called granddad; and as
for the grandmother, she couldn’t see
why her name wanted altering; so,
after a vast number of attempts, the
little fellow got as near to it as ‘dan-
mover ;’ and with that she was obliged
to be content.
These old people were father and
mother to Johnny’s father, you
2
18 The Old Umbrella.
must know; and though they were
rather particular about some things,
such as dirty feet on a clean floor—
yet our little brother and sister liked
nothing better than to pay a visit to
Elm Cottage, where they often had
buttered toast for tea, and heard lots
and lots of stories.
I think they would have been in
and out there every day if they
could; but, happily for the good old
folks, the cottage was just too far to
allow of such constant invasions. In-
deed, it was considered too far for
them to get at, unless either father or
mother could go with them—until
this afternoon of which I am going
to tell you.
The Old Umbrella. 19
And that was shortly after the
arrival of the new boots.
There had come a letter in the
morning to say that old granddad
had had a fall—his stick, a regular
old friend, having given way under
him, and let him down.
Of course, Johnny would not have
minded such a tumble as that one
bit; or, at most, it would have cost
him a few tears, and mother would
have had to kiss the place. But,
unfortunately, old granddad had no
mother to do that for him; so, what
was he to do? Besides, he was
heavy, and his limbs were stiff: and
when he was down, it was not so easy
for him to get up again, you see.
2—2
20 The Old Umbrella.
And he hurt himself a good deal,
and frightened his old wife, when he
got in doors again, by looking pale
and shakey: so that she sent off next
morning to ask her son to come up
and see him, or to send his wife, if
he could not come himself.
Now Johnny’s father had not had
good work for a long time; and just
then he had got a job, which seemed
to promise to last; so he turned to
his wife and asked :—
‘Couldn’t ye run over and see if
there be much the matter, mother ?
and if so be there be, why I must go
over myself this evening, after I’ve
done work; only it'll be late.’
‘Tm sure I'd go, and want no bid-
The Old Umbrella. 21
ding, Ben,’ said the good woman,
‘for ye know very well that I’ve
always counted your folk just the
same as My Own ; but what am I to
do about the washing at the great
house? It’s to be done so very par-
ticular to-day, the housekeeper says 5
and if I don’t go to it, why I shall
lose the work.’
‘And I wish, with all my heart, I
could afford thou should’st lose it.
I'd rather be slaving myself, than
have thee slave and leave the poor
bairns so much alone,’ returned
honest Ben with a heavy sigh. ‘And
that neither one of us should be able
to go up and see after the old people
too, it do seem hard.’
22 The Old Umbrella.
‘Father,’ said littlke May, coming
forward, ‘don’t you be too sorry;
it’s all of God’s sending, isn’t it?
You always tells me so. Let Johnny
and me go up. We can quite well
now, I’m sure; for we’re bigger than
what we were; and we'll be back
by dinner-time, and tell you all
about it. We won’t get playing on
the road, I promise you that we
won't; do let us go, father.’
‘What, all alone! Two scraps
like you—a good three-quarters of a
mile, and along a lonesome sort of a
way!’ And he looked at his wife,
saying, ‘I never heard of such a
thing ; did you, mother
‘Oh, yes; I know yow have,
The Old Umbrella. 26
mother, said May; ‘for Matty
Parker goes by pretty near every day
all alone, and past grandfather’s ; that
is not quite the same road, but a
further way, you know. Her mother
sends her ever so often of errands.
‘ fev mother,’ repeated the father,
with a look of disgust. ‘ Don’t name
her, May, along with thine. Poor
Matty’s mother wouldn’t care one
straw if all her children were lost to-
morrow. She’sa bad, wicked woman!’
‘But God takes care of Matty. She
never hurts, though she do go all
alone. And He'll take care of us too,
father; so let us go. I’m not afraid.’
‘God never promised me, that if
I neglected my children, He’d take
24 The Old Umbrella.
care of them,’ returned the father,
thoughtfully. ‘ What say you, wife ?
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure
but what our May is right. You're
not neglecting of them, Ben; you're
doing your best to keep them well
and hearty, and so am I too, you
know. And here’s the poor old
father wanting you; and you can’t
go. It seems to me that we must
trust a bit more than we have done,
and let them go. Their clothes
won't tempt anyone to hurt them,
poor dears; and they knows their
way, and most people knows them.
They won't come to no harm, Ben.
I'd let ’em go, if I was you.’
‘Well, if thee bain’t afraid, mother,
The Old Unibretla. 20
why, I spose, I mustn’t,’ returned
the father, shrugging his shoulders ;
‘but really, you women, there’s no
understanding yer. To think o°
your being bolder than a rough
fellow like me now.’
‘A rough fellow like you, father !’
cried little May. ‘ You’re not a rough
fellow at all, Pm sure; but the very
best, the very goodest of all the fathers
in the world! Only mother knows
how I take care of Johnny all day
long; and she knows God takes care
of us both at home; so, of course,
He'll take care of us when we’re out
too. I’m not afraid one bit.’
‘And I b’lieve He will,’ said the
good father, rubbing his hand across
26 The Old Umbrella.
his eyes, ‘ because it seems like a duty
for you to go, child; but, mind you, if
you were to go running into danger,
or I were to throw you into it—
*twouldn’t be the same thing at all;
so now, take care what you're about,
and don’t steal liberty another time.
But, dear me, how it does rain
The children looked rather blank
at that: for it certainly was some-
thing of a downpour; but the father
said that when a great black cloud
that was just overhead had passed, it
would not be so bad; and there was
one comfort—they could each go well
shod—so he thought.
Johnny did not know what that
meant; but when it was explained
The Old Umbrella. 27)
to him, he ran off to find his good
shoes, saying, ‘ What fun it will be
to show them to granddad! He'll
wonder who makes all the noise, and
think Pm a big man.’
But poor May looked down and
said nothing; for her shoes were
gone to the shop to have a nail
knocked down that would stick up
and hurt her; and she was afraid
that when mother thought of that
she would not let her go.
However, May’s mother didn’t
make difficulties of trifles; and she
knew that her little girl had been
obliged to run about so long without
shoes, that she would be no worse
off now than she had been.
28 The Old Umbrella.
The thing was, to find the old
umbrella, a great big affair that
was not often used, because the
mother’s work was near, and when
it rained she put a shawl over her
head and ran out; and as for the
father, he was used to wet, and de-
spised such things.
So there was a grand hunt for the
old thing; for it had been put away,
and no one knew where it was: but
mother hunted, and May hunted,
and Johnny hunted. And, after all,
it was the little man who found it.
Being so small, he could go under
all sorts of things; and the umbrella
had tumbled down behind a chest of
drawers. And there it lay, never
The Old Umbrella. 29
thinking, as Johnny said, that he
would find it and drag it out, and
make it go open.
However, open it he could not by
himself; for it had got very stiff;
but at last the father made it open,
whether it liked or not; and then it
looked such a great thing! There
was one point that would stick out
beyond where it was intended to
reach certainly; but that could not be
helped. There was room enough
under it for both—and that was the
great thing ; and Johnny could help
May to hold it up.
So when mother had charged May
not to lose sight of Johnny, and
Johnny had promised to be a good
30 The Old Umbrella.
boy, the children set off, feeling
quite grand to think that they were
trusted on such an important errand.
It did not rain much when they left
home ; but very soon it came down
again in torrents; and the wind rose
and blew, and pulled at the umbrella;
so that poor May’s arms got quite
tired.
And she began to feel afraid that
she would never be able to hold it
up all the way.
Of course, Johnny does not care
for the rain, not he. It wouldn’t
hurt him if he did get wet, he said ;
and it was rather fun to march along
with all that pitter patter over head.
But then he had got nobody to
Johnny doesn’t care for the rain ; not he !
The Old Umbrella. 31
take care of, you see; and that made
a great difference, because he had
only his small share of the weight of
the umbrella to carry, and nota great
weight of anxiety on his little mind
as well, like his sister.
Poor May! She was rather young
to have to bear so much of that sort
of thing. However, she was very
brave, I must say, and went toiling
on all that long way, although it
blew and blew, and rained and
rained, and hardly anybody passed
them on the road; and it was very
lonely and dreary, and seemed, oh,
such a long distance !
Go
Ny
CHAPTER III.
Abe! eb Te Vi iG ©) iad AG hs
wl last Elm Cottage came in
sight—and that raised May’s
spirits; and for about two
minutes also it left off raining too:
so that she could lay the umbrella
down, and rest her arms, But; it
soon began again, and she said to
Johnny;: “Meus, tiayea sun) tom
change. You keep close to me, and
we'll soon be at grandfather’s.’
So they made a fresh start, and
At Elm Cottage. 23
seemed to get a great bit nearer. But
still there was another good piece to
go; and now Johnny began to com-
plain of his shoes.
‘They so tiff. They hurt me,’
cried the little man, whimpering ;
and then he added, ‘Me can’t run
in shoes.’
‘Oh! but you must,’ said May
decidedly. ‘I only wish I had got
mine on. My feet wouldn’t be so
cold.’
‘Me don’t care for cold. Me
can’t bear them,’ said Johnny. ‘Me
take them off and carry them.’
‘Oh! no; you mustn’t; father
will be so angry; and you promised
to be a good boy,’ cried May.
me)
34 At Elm Cottage.
And then Johnny began to sob
and fret, until he saw how near they
were getting, when a new thought
struck him.
‘Johnny take them off when he
gets in; Johnny can.’
‘Oh! yes; if you like,’ returned
his sister; ‘only then grandfather
won’t hear the nice noise.’
‘Me don’t care, said Johnny,
brightening up, as he peeped under
the umbrella, and saw how close they
were.
Another gust of wind, and another
brave stand against it on the part of
his steady young sister ; and then the
battle is done, and they both cry out
at once, ‘ Here we are at last !’ and off
== s
if
it
:
ve
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Hit
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SS
** Here we are at last, May
\nd oif go Johnny’s shoes
At Elm Cottage. 35
go Johnny’s shoes, as he flings himself
out from under the umbrella and in
at the door of the kitchen, while
May still struggles with her great,
unwieldy machine, and tries with all
her might to keep it from turning
inside out, and to persuade it to shut
down, which apparently it was as
loath to do, as before it had been to
go up at her pleasure.
It had never been used to such a
young mistress, you see; and old
things don’t like to be ordered about
by young ones.
Well, though Johnny had now no
clattering shoes on to announce his
arrival, yet the old people upstairs
soon heard the young voices, and,
3—2
36 At Elm Cottage.
never dreaming that these small folks
had made the journey alone, the
good old lady cried out :—
‘Come up, my gal, do, and bring
the childer with you; don’t be
afeard; grandfather “ll like well to
seer emt © Newly doy hint alll ite
good in the world. He isn’t so bad
to-day, only a bit shaken. Come
up, do, and welcome; and don’t
wait for me—I’m just a-getting his
coat on, and can’t come down.’
‘Do be quick, May,’ cried Johnny,
pulling her. ‘ Danmover’s calling
US.
‘I know,’ said May, who heard
every word, and was growing quite
weary with her struggles outside ;
At Elm Cottage. a7
‘but I can’t help it. This thing
won't come in. What shall I do?
I think I must let it fy away. Do
go and tell grandmother.’
So the little fellow went forward
to the foot of the stairs and shouted,
‘It’s only May and me, dan-
mover ; and May can’t get in.’
‘Only you two childer! cried the
grandmother, ‘and you’ve come all
alone in this storm
‘No, said Johnny; ‘the um-
brella’s come too; but it won’t come
in, danmover: and so May can’t.’
‘So May can’t!’ repeated the old
man upstairs, laughing heartily.
‘Well, to be sure! But don’t you
be. served out by it, child. Turn
38 At Elm Cottage.
him on his side, and bring him in
open, and let him fly about in the
kitchen, if he must fly anywhere.’
©T didn’t know an umbrella was a
im? said May to herself, as she
gladly took the hint; and, after a
good deal of wriggling management,
succeeded in getting her refractory
burden safely inside the door ;, ‘ but
I'm glad it isn’t a she, because I
shouldn’t like such a tiresome crea-
ture to be called the same as I am.’
And then she followed Johnny,
who, by this time, was nearly at the
top of the stairs.
There they had to stand by the
fire and get dry; and May had to
tell her story, and explain how it was
At Elm Cottage. 39
they came all alone: and grand-
mother wondered; and grandfather
laughed, and chucked them each
under the chin, and told May she
was a brave little woman, and a good
girl too, for thinking so much of her
old granddaddy.
And then he showed them both
his poor bruised knee, and bid them
tell father and mother how at first
he thought he had broken his head,
and what a shaking he had got, so
that he must stop in bed a bit to get
over it.
After that, Johnny got what he
liked even better than buttered toast,
and that was, a nice slice of plum-
cake. He enjoyed it so much, that
40 At Elm Cottage.
his grandfather said it did him good
to see him eat; for the dear old man
loved to see little children happy.
And May had a slice too, and she
liked it very much, though she did
not pick out all the plums to eat first
as Johnny did, nor make quite such
large eyes over it.
This was not a cake of the grand-
mother’s making, though sometimes
she did make very nice ones when
she happened to have the flour and
the plums, and all the goodies to put
in. . It was a piece of one that ’a
neighbour had brought the evening
before, when she came in to have a
cup of tea,and cheer up the old people
after their upset; and grandfather
At Elm Cottage. Al
said he had eaten his share then,
and that he was as glad as could
be to have just two slices left for his
boy’s young ones when they came to
look after him. .
It sounded very funny to May and
Johnny to hear their father and
mother, who were such big, grown-up
people, called ‘ my gal and my boy ;’
but when Johnny made a funny face,
and looked as if he were going to
laugh, his grandfather said :—
‘Do you know, my little lad, that
your daddy used to sit on my knee
when he was a little one like you,
ay, and a deal smaller too; and
that’s why, when I think of him now
that I am old, and sit in my big
42 At Elm Cottage.
chair, and turn over things in my
mind, he never seems like the tall
fellow that he is, but a mite of a
brat, muling and puling just as you
do.’
‘Me don’t mooly pooly,’ exclaimed
Johnny, quite indignantly.
‘Oh, you don’t, don’t you? I
forgot, said the old man, chuckling
to himself. ‘ Well, you needn’t look
so fierce about it; but how comes it
that neither one of you has any shoes
on this soaking wet day
‘Father didn’t think it would rain
like this,’ replied May; and then she
proceeded to explain what had hap-
pened to her own shoes.
‘Well, but about this little lad’s ?’
At Elm Cottage. 43,
pursued the old man, while the
grandmother took him on her knee,
and began to cuddle him very close
to her, and to give him a great many
kisses.
But Johnny did not look up or
answer; he only hemmed and
coughed, and got very red. In fact,
I should not wonder if, when he re-
membered all the fuss that he had
made about them, he had a sort of
idea that this was just what the
grandfather meant by muling and
puling.
And May did not speak, though
she looked rather amused ; for I do
not think she quite knew what
Johnny would like her to say.
44 At Elm Cottage.
At last, making a bold effort, the
little fellow struggled off his grand-
mother’s knee, saying, ‘ Me fetch
em; ’ou see.
So he bundled downstairs very
quickly, and almost as quickly got
up again with the shoes in his hand.
And running up to his sister, he said,
‘Pease, put em on. Me let grand-
dad hear the nice noise.’
And then you should have seen
him marching up and down in noisy
triumph, much to the amusement of
the old couple !
But May remembered her promise,
and knew that it was now time for
them to go; so she asked Johnny if
he meant to keep them on or carry
At Elm Cottage. 45
them; to which he answered, ‘Teep
*em on, May, of course.’
‘Yes; of course, said the grand-
mother; but when May whispered
that Johnny said they hurt him, she
began feeling all round the edges and
stretching them a bit; and then she
soon remembered that she had lately
found a good pair of her own Ben’s
socks, Johnny’s father, you know;
and when the little boy got them on
first, and then the shoes, he was
quite comfortable, and ready for his
march homewards,
But the grandmother said that she
must go down and see what was the
matter with that naughty umbrella,
before she could let them start. So
46 At Elm Cottage.
the two children bid good-bye to
the dear old grandfather ; and then
each took one of ‘ danmover’s’ hands,
and down the steep cottage stairs
they went, to see whether the ob-
stinate thing had flown out of the
window, or whether it was waiting
quietly for their return.
They had not to look far, however,
for there it was up in the corner,
where the wind had taken it out of
May’s tired hands. So grandmother
made it go up and down several
times, to take off the stiffness, and
rubbed the catch with a little oil ;
but she said it was a rickety, dis-
agreeable old thing, and she hoped
they would not want to use it.
At Elm Cottage. 47
When her ship came in, she would
buy May a new one; but she did not
know when that would be; and May
felt rather in despair about it; for
erandmother had talked of that said
ship so long: and it had never come.
Fortunately, however, when they
opened the door, they saw that the
sun was shining brightly, and that
there was a beautiful blue sky. So,
instead of May’s tired hands having
to hold it up, Johnny found it very
good fun to drag it after him, at
least, for some distance: so the jour-
ney home was as easy and pleasant
as possible.
48
Cit BPE RIV.
THE TUMBLE.
VAMMY will be so glad to
hear that grandfather is
not very ill, and that he
was so pleased to see us,’ said May,
as they got near their own door, and
she found that her little brother’s
steps began to flag. ‘But I think
we shall be in first, she went on.
‘It isn’t dinner-time yet, I know,
because the shade isn’t all off that
side of the barn; and it always is
The Tumble. 49
now before the taties come out of
the pot. I wonder who put them
in though, to-day! There was no-
body at home to do it. Perhaps
mother made a big pudding instead,
and put it in before she went out.
She always says it doesn’t matter
how long our sort of puddings boil ;
they are all the better for it.’
‘Johnny like pudding,’ said the
little fellow, quickening his steps ;
and May smiled to see that her de-
vice had succeeded ; for he was be-
ginning to drag and tire her arm.
But another thing helped him on
too. Just at this moment, Neigh-
bour Johnson’s cat came out of the
house, accompanied by her two
4
50 The Tumble.
white kittens. Such pretty things
they were, and almost exactly alike !
Indeed, a stranger would not have
seen any difference between them,
I am sure.
But Johnny knew them apart,
quite well; for one of them was
promised to him as soon as it was
old enough to leave its mother ; and
that one had some little brown marks
over one eye, and on the tip of its
tail.
So, letting go of May’s hand and
of the umbrella too, off ran the little
laddie, calling out, ‘ Poof, poof,
poof, which meant pussie, you see,
only he could not pronounce his
letter s, and so could not say it right.
The Tumble. 51
But pussie was not particular
about that. She loved her little
master, that was to be; because he
often gave her some of his milk, and
things that she liked, and because
they had many a good game together
with reels of cotton and balls of
string, and such things as kittens
love to play with.
But she loved her good mother
too, and would not always come away
from her for anyone; and just now,
when Johnny called, she looked first
at him, and then at the great cat, and
did not seem to know what to do.
But, because she hesitated, Johnny
was more eager; and off he darted,
faster than his small legs would
4—2
52 The Tumble. ©
properly carry him, intending to
pounce on his little treasure and se-
cure it, whether it would or not.
Going so fast, however, he did not
look where he went; and _ soon
tumbled right over a heap of straw,
and sticks, and rubbish that had been
collected by some industrious boy
who was employed to keep the road
tidy.
So down Johnny went right into
the mud; and when he got up there
was his pinafore all dirty and his
hands quite black, and his mouth all
full of mud. He was in what we
call a sorry plight.
‘Me wish Dick wouldn’t make
heaps, he cried, scrambling up
The Tumble. 53
again very quickly; for he remem-
bered getting a scolding not long
ago for being a dirty boy, and giving
mother so much trouble in cleaning
him ; and now, though he was not
hurt a bit, Johnny began rubbing his
hands and knees, and fretting as he
looked round to see who was near,
half afraid that he would be blamed
again.
May was at his side in a minute,
and saying, ‘Oh! Johnny, boy, why
didn’t you look where you went?
There, it’s no use crying! Make
haste and come in, and let’s see if we
can’t make you a clean child before
mother comes in.’
‘Me got no clean pinny,’ sobbed
54 The Tumble.
the little man, somewhat comforted
by hearing himself called ‘ Johnny,
boy when he had an idea that he
had been too careless to deserve any
pet names.
‘Oh! yes, you have; for I washed
the stains out of that one you spoilt
yesterday, and hung it up to dry;
and it looks quite nice,’ said May.
‘So if you make haste we can have
you quite smart in a few minutes ;
and you know mother always likes
clean boys.’
So the three pussies were left
to their own devices; and while the
mother-pussie sat down and gave her
two babies’ paws a very good licking,
May took her big baby upstairs, and
The Tumble. 55
got a basin and water to wash off
all the muddy marks from his face,
and hands, and knees.
‘None on socks,’ said Johnny,
stroking his grandmother’s present
with great satisfaction.
‘No; that is a good thing,’ said
May; ‘ you must take care of them,
and keep them nice and clean. Only
think that father once wore them !
Mustn’t grandmother take care of
things, to have kept these safe all
this great while ?â€
So saying, she lifted the large
brown basin, and put it on a chair to
be just the right height for Johnny,
and then poured some water out, and
got a towel and some soap.
56 The Tumble.
The first thing was to make his
face clean; and this May did by
giving it a good scrubbing with the
corner of the towel. That was an
operation which Johnny never liked ;
for sometimes the soap got into his
eyes, and sometimes into his mouth ;
and then, when he was very dirty, he
had to be rubbed rather hard to get
him clean. Indeed, I do not think
that anybody likes to have his face
washed. It is much nicer to wash it
oneself if one can; but then as small
people like this little man cannot well
perform the operation, why I suppose
they must put up with the incon-
venience of having it done for them.
However, Johnny did not see the
The Tumble. 57.
dirt on his face; so it did not trouble
him so much as that on his hands.
He was in a great hurry to get
them clean, and put them straight
into the water without waiting his
sister’s time, saying, ‘Johnny wash
them his own self.’
‘Well, try,’ said May, thinking it
was really time that he helped him-
self a little, and seeing no reason why
he should not wash his own hands.
So, instead of taking the soap
away, she showed him how to use it,
teaching him to put a little on, and
then rub one hand with the other.
But he found it harder than he ex-
pected; for though he rubbed and
rubbed, they did not seem to get
58 The Tumble.
clean. And the right hand es-
pecially was very difficult, because
the left one would not rub hard—it
was so stupid! Johnny said.
After all, May was obliged to
finish them off, or they would not
have got done all day, I think. But
she said, ‘ Never mind; that’s very
well for the first time. You shall
try again to-morrow, and soon you'll
be quite a handy boy. Only think
when you can wash your own hands,
and put on your shoes and socks !’
‘And mine own pinny too,’ said
Johnny, with a very gleeful look on
his bright little face. ‘Den me soon
be a man, won’t me, May!
‘Well, I don’t know,’ answered
\\\
\
N \
Hh
NY
\
\\ \
\ ‘AW
x}
\
‘
Ny
AN
ING
iN
BE
\
‘\
Ni
th
ANY \\K
\\
Zz
“Johnny wash them his own self
The Tumble. 59
May, laughing. ‘I think I shall be
a woman before you are a man, be-
cause ’'m older ; and I don’t expect
to be a woman yet. There’s lots of
things I’ve got to learn first.’
‘Ts dere? said Johnny, wonder-
ingly ; for it seemed to him that his
sister could do most things.
‘Oh, yes! said May. ‘You see
I can’t wash clothes yet, at least, not
properly, only a mark or so out of a
pinafore, or the skirt of my frock,
you know; and that’s nothing to
speak of. Why, there are father’s
shirts and mother’s gowns, and the
sheets off the beds, and lots of things
that I couldn’t do: and women must
be able to do all such things. And
60 The Tumble.
then I can’t cut out, or even sew
very fast; and I can’t scrub the
floors, nor make the puddings—
at least, only about one or two—
oh! it would never do for me to be
a big woman yet awhile. And
there’s lots of things for men to
know too. Just see all the things
that father can do! Why, he can
drive a horse and cart; and I believe
sometimes he helps to build great
big houses. He can load a hay-
waggon, I know, because Pve seen
him. Oh, Johnny! you mustn’t be
a man for ever so long!’
‘Johnny make haste and learn.
May show him how to dig holes,’
returned the young gentleman with
The Tumble. 61
great determination. ‘ Johnny isn’t
a baby now; he knows he isn’t.
Johnny soon be a big man and build
houses.’
‘Johnny’s a very funny boy, I
think,’ replied his sage young sister,
who, between you and me, had an
idea, I must tell you, that there were
not many little boys so clever as her
brother, and who often used to think
that something must some day come
of this positive way that he had of
taking things into his head.
62
CHAPTER V.
RATHER UPPISH.
UT perhaps you may wonder
how it was that the little
sister, May, came to know
so much herself as to be able to
write letters, which you will remem-
ber I told you she could do, rather
cleverly, some time ago. For it
must seem to you that she was al-
ways employed in taking care of her
little brother, and so had no time to
learn herself.
Rather Uppish. 63
However, this was not always the
case. When he was a baby, yes, and
even after he could walk about, May
certainly had spent most of her
time with him; for at that time the
school was too far off for her to at-
tend.
Still, even then, her good mother
had no notion of letting her grow
up a dunce; and, as she could read
herself, she made May read to her
for a little while every day, and then
set her a copy to write. And she
did not leave it to May’s fancies,
whether she would do her lessons or
leave them alone, you know, but
what she set her that she would have
done, and done properly.
64. Rather Uppish.
After that, the family moved right
away to quite another part of the
country, where there was a school
close by; and then, for a while,
mother stayed at home and took care
of her baby boy, while the little
sister went to learn with many other
children.
But that did not last long, because
the father fell ill and got out of
work; and then there was nothing
for it but for the mother to get all
she could to do, and for May once
more to act nurse. And _ besides
that, I must tell you that both the
children got the whooping-cough,
and were not wanted among the
other scholars; or else perhaps
Rather Uppisnh. 65
Johnny would have gone, as he was
going soon, to sit on the gallery with
the babies, while May learnt her
lessons in earnest with the bigger
ones.
It was holiday time, now, however,
so there was no school for anybody,
unless for small folks who liked to
play at it. But our young friends
had a great fancy for amusing them-
selves in that way; and indeed it
was not only play with them. For
Johnny kept to his purpose of soon
learning how to grow a big man;
and May was bent on teaching him
all she knew herself.
There were some things, however,
which her little laddie fancied much
5
66 Rather Uppish.
better than others. For instance,
when she tried him with A, B, C, he
always preferred looking at the pic-
tures to learning the letters; and
though he soon mastered round O
and crooked S$, she could not get
him any farther. When he had said
these two, he would say, ‘No more
A’s, May, Johnny learn about dis,’
and then turn over to one of the pic-
tures and beg: ‘ ’Splain dis to Johnny;
Johnny like learning about dis.’
May always laughed; because he
was so funny about it, and had such
a positive little way ; but she used to
say : ‘Must learn it, Johnny, before
you are a man; must, you know.’
But to this the determined young
Rather Uppish. 67
gentleman would always reply :—
‘Me not a bigger man “nuff, yet.’
‘Then what will you learn,
Johnny?†she would say; and he
generally chose digging, going off to
fetch his spade, and returning to say,
‘Dig great, big hole like father; May
teach Johnny.’
If May did try to teach him this
art, however, he always maintained
that his own way was the best; and
as she did not think that this mat-
tered, she generally ended by getting
something else to do, and leaving
him to dig away until he was tired
of that occupation.
Sometimes, however, she tried a
slate instead of a spelling-book, and
5—2
68 Rather Uppish.
thought to entice him to make
strokes,and pothooks, and round O’s,
and so to make him begin writing
without knowing what he was doing.
But it did not often answer ; for
Master Johnny, who had a_ very
sturdy wrist of his own, very much
preferred showing off his strength by
scribbling with all his might all over
the slate until he had made it quite
white.
He thought he was learning
though, for all that, and perhaps he
was learning to get a certain mastery
over his pencil.
Very serious and earnest he was,
too, in doing whatever he set his
mind upon, though at present he
Rather Uppish. 69
seemed perfectly convinced that such
things as books and slates, to say
nothing of copy-books, were beyond
his tender years.
Johnny was never ‘a bigger man
*nuff’? when such things were pro-
posed; and May soon forbore to
produce them, though she would
sometimes say :—
‘Ah! Johnny; you'll be a dunce,
you know. You're not learning to
be a big man one bit.’
Wes mei, he would answer
complacently. ‘Me learn to dig,
me learn to build big house.’
That was because he had some
pieces of wood and tile and brick
in the garden, with which he used
70 Rather Uppish.
to construct various sorts of edi-
fices.
May did not know what to do.
She had the care of her dear Johnny
nearly every day in the week and all
day long, and she thought him the
cleverest boy in the world; so that
she felt quite sure that if he would
only try it would give him no
trouble, and that he would soon do
all sorts of things as well as any
prince.
And yet there were other boys,
and girls, too, children whom she
knew herself, and whom she did not
think half so clever as Johnny, who
could read a little and write a little,
and count the coloured balls in the
Rather Uppish. 7a
frame at school. Why could not
Johnny be sensible and show himself
off !
She was thinking so one day when
it came into her head to try some-
thing else. The little fellow could
at least learn to count his own
fingers.
It was a happy thought; for he
happened to be in a very steady
mood that day, and ready to do
whatever his young nurse wished to
make him do.
So she took him out of the back
door, that led into the yard and
garden beyond, and seated herself
very gravely on the step, first calling
her little pupil to come and learn
72 Rather Uppish.
something that she was going to
teach him.
‘You, mist think vow “ate i:
school,’ she said: ‘and fancy that I
am the governess; and now look
heres
‘But ’ou not governess; ‘ou May
May,’ returned the matter-of-fact
little pupil.
‘Never mind; we are going to
make believe ; we are going to pre-
tend, you know, Johnny; and that
will be great fun,’
CBs. es) that ‘be tum, ) “said
Johnny, pricking up his ears and
wondering what was coming next.
‘ Now, Johnny,’ May went on
very gravely, ‘you look here, Ive
Rather Uppish. 73
got ever so many fingers on this
hand, and ever so many on that one.
And you've got two hands as well as
me, and lots of fingers on each.’
“Yes, me have; me got two hands
and such lots of fingers,’ replied
Johnny.
‘And now we want to see sow
many, continued May. ‘ Look,
Dove lim come to count. One,
two, three, four, five. Five fingers
en tis hand, and—-
‘No, no, May May; dat one isa
fum: Johnny knows it is,’ interposed
the little man.
vc. ll low its a thumb, said
May; ‘but a thumb is a finger, you
know.’
74 Rather Uppish.
“No, no, said the litle jpupil.
‘A fum not a finger at all.
‘Well, you ask mother,’ said his
sister, somewhat discomposed at the
way in which he always wanted to
decide points now, instead of believ-
ing everything she told him, as he
used to do when he was a smaller
boy. ‘At any rate, we can count
them: one, two, three, four, five.’
‘No, no; me not say five, dat
one not a finger, dat one a fum;
me mot count him, ‘he objected
again.
“VYoumecdn t call ita, faeen;seau
it a thing, if you like,’ May said,
feeling very vexed. ‘ We'll say that
I've got five things on this hand ;
fey be
‘ n ee
SS von
‘No, no, May, Dat one isa fumb. Johnny knows it is.â€
Rather Uppish. 75
now let us count the other; and
then we'll do yours.’
So appeased, the fractious little
pupil condescended to repeat after
his sister; only, every time he came
to the thumb, he always said, ‘ Five
is a fum ; he not a finger at all.’
Before the lesson was finished,
however, both the children heard
their father come into the kitchen,
and, looking up, May saw him stand-
ing over her.
This was just what she wanted—
it was some one to appeal to. She
was getting rather out of heart at
Johnny’s positive little ways, and be-
ginning to think that if he would
not believe anything she said, she
76 Rather Uppist.
could not teach him anything. So
the matter was soon laid before the
great judge. Both May and Johnny
quite believed that father knew
everything ; but it was rather
amusing to see how the young
gentleman tried to shirk the ques-
tion, turning the subject off in all
sorts of ways, and trying to play all
kinds of pranks, by way of enticing
his father into a good game.
Happily, however, that father was
a very sensible man, who had long
noticed his little daughter’s devotion
to her small brother, and had seen of
late how that same brother was be-
ginning to show some little airs,
which he did not at all approve. So
Rather Uppish. wT
when May said, ‘Father, Johnny
will have it that a thumb can’t be a
finger, too,’ he opened his eyes very
wide ; and, stroking and _ feeling
his little son from top to toe, he
said, ‘ What’s this? What’s this
creature ?’
‘Me is Johnny, answered the
little fellow, laughing.
‘And is me a girl? asked the
good father, making a funny face.
‘No; me is a boy,’ returned the
little lad stoutly.
‘Me is a boy, and me is Johnny,
then,’ said the father. ‘Me has got
two names; and so has this thing,
too, playing with one of the fat
little thumbs. ‘ This thing is a
78 Rather Uppish.
finger, and this thing is a thumb,
too; who ever said it wasn’t ?’
‘Johnny said it wasn’t a finger,’
said May ; ‘and he wouldn’t believe
me.’
‘Ha, ha, ha! a wise little man he
must be to think he knows better
than this tall May May of mine!’
and he made the two children stand
side by side, that Johnny might feel
how short he was, compared with
his sister May, saying over and over
again, ‘ A very wise little man to be
sure! Why, I suppose he knows
better than father, too !’
‘Don’t ’augh,’ said Johnny, getting
very red; ‘me not ‘ike it.’
‘We can’t help it if you grow so
Rather Uppish. 79
clever,’ returned the father. ‘ Why,
there'll be nobody wise enough to
teach you soon. May May, I
wouldn’t try any more if I were you.
I'd let him see how he can get on
without you.’
On this, two big tears came into
Johnny’s eyes; and he half sobbed,
‘Me can’t tle me pinny, me own
self; me can’t wash me face.’
‘Oh, well, that can’t be helped.
They must go untied and unwashed,’
said his father. ‘ May can’t be teased
with conceited little boys, who won’t
believe anything she says. Go away,
May, and let him alone.’
On this, May looked half inclined
to cry, too, for she would rather have
80 Rather Uppish.
borne anything than give up her
Johnny ; and the little lad looked as
if he would have rushed into her
arms if his father had not been hold-
ing him.
And he did contrive, at last, to
slip out of that strong grasp, and to
get to May’s side, and hold up his
mouth for a kiss.
SI
CHAPTER VI.
JOHNNY LISTENS TO MR. DON’T LIKE.
SWETER this, May thought it
wiser not to say anything
about learning of any kind
whatever for some days. A weck, I
think it was, at least, before she said
another word on the subject, and that
was an immense time, you know, for
people of the ages of May and Johnny.
Indeed, for Johnny, it was quite long
enough to blot out of his mind all
disagreeable thoughts about his own
6
82 Fohuny listens to Mr. Dow t Like.
little airs and graces, and the promises
that he had whispered to his sister
never to be obstinate again any
more.
I do not mean to say that he could
not have been made to remember how
his father laughed at him, and how
vexed and foolish he had felt; only
as long as he was good and tractable,
meither May nor any one else tried
to make him think of these things,
and you may be quite sure that
Johnny would not try himself.
He was growing a very stout,
sturdy boy, and quite as restless as
most boys—never still a moment
when he was awake, and always in
mischief if he was not looked after.
ee) listens to Mr. Dowt Like. 83
So May fee ‘enough to Ae with
her young charge; and a patient
little woman she was.
But then she had a secret notion
that she understood this Johnny of
hers better than any one else in the
world —yes, better even than mother
or father !
That might be a mistake, of
course; very likely it was; for no
doubt when they were strict or sharp
with him it was because they knew
that boys want rather a tight hand
over them, and had no intention that
Johnny should get to be a little
Turk by having his own way too
much.
They had seen other on you see,
6-2
84 Fohuny hastens to Mr. Dowt Like.
and knew how easily they could be
spoilt; while May had never really
known any other than this little pet-
brother. And, being with him all
day long, she quite understood how
hard it was for his little legs and
arms to keep still even for a minute,
and how often he made a great noise,
or upset somebody’s arrangements,
without in the least knowing what
he was doing or meaning any
harm.
Besides, he loved her so very much,
and wanted her for so many things ;
and that was very pleasant—it always
is, to have people love us, and to
know that they can’t get on without
us.
4a
Fohuny listens to Mr. Don't Like. 85
It was because she wanted to have
him quite in a good temper, and to
make quite a new start about learn-
ing, that she never said one word
about it all that week.
And all the time, you see, he was
growing and becoming a bigger boy.
May took care that he should not for-
get that; for every time she put him
to bed, or got him up in the morning,
she would say, ‘Oh, Johnny, Johnny!
how you do grow !’ or, ‘How heavy
you do get; I shan’t be able to lift
you at all soon.’
And another thing the little maiden
did that was very cunning and
clever.
There was a very tall, big man
|
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LITTLE. LADBDIE,
BY THE AUTHOR OF
“LITTLE MOTHER,†“LITTLE ROSY’S TRAVELS,â€
ETC., ETC.
With Twenty-four Mlustrations by L. Froth.
SEELEY, JACKSON, AND HALLIDAY, 54, FLEET STREET,
LONDON. MDCCCLXXIV.
CONTENTS,
CHAPTER
I.
II.
III.
IV.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
JOHNNY'S NEW SHOES 4
THE OLD UMBRELLA :
AT ELM COTTAGE . k
THE TUMBLE . : ‘
RATHER UPPISH
JOHNNY LISTENS TO MR. DON'T LIKE
THE LITTLE LADDIE GROWS WISER
A TIRED BOY . . .
A GREAT FRIGHT .
MAY COMES TO THE RESCUE
THE FIELD LESSON .
VPAGE
15
a2
48
62
8I
100
118
134
148
Le
iv
CHAPTER
XII.
XII
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVIL
XVII.
XIX.
XX,
XXL
XXIL
XXIII
XXIV.
Contents.
MAY’S PRESENT : ; ‘
A NEW GAME 3 ,
JOHNNY LEARNS BY EXPERIENCE
A NEW FRIEND FOUND . 6
JOHNNY TRIES TO BE USEFUL
JOHNNY'S SCHEME
MORE ABOUT MAY . A :
WHAT MAY TAUGHT JOHNNY .
SUCH A CAPITAL PLAN . :
A PRETTY SIGHT |. : d
THE WOUNDED BIRD
FATHER’S PLAN
OHNNY’S PET LOST AND FOUND AGAIN
J
PAGE.
185
198
210.
218
229.
241
250
258
267
272
280.
289
296
PPT LE LADDIE.
CHAI ER: t
JOHNNY'S NEW SHOES.
ifND these came in the great
big basket too—the big
basket which Mr. Wright,
the carrier, brought to us yesterday
evening, Johnny. And they came
from granny, you know, dear old
granny.’
It was Johnny’s good little sister
May who said all this; and as she
I
3 Fohuny's New Shoes.
talked to him, she was earnestly try-
ing to persuade five of Johnny’s ten
toes to go into one of a first-rate
pair of new shoes. '
‘Me heard him! me heard bang,
bang on the door; and me helped
to open the basket,’ cried Master
Johnny, with a revived enthusiasm
about the great event.
‘And you remember the dear
granny, too, don’t you? said May,
quite as eagerly.
‘No, me don’t,’ said Johnny.
‘You don’t! repeated his sister ;
‘and she was so good to you; and
it’s only just one year since she went
away—only last summer! Well,
you have got a short memory I’
Fohunys New Shoes. 3
‘Me don’t know what memory
stuff is; but me know me don’t
member granny one bit,’ returned
the little man very positively.
‘Then I think you ought to,’ said
May, a little seriously. ‘It isn’t
good to forget people who are kind
to us, father says so. But granny
doesn’t forget so soon: she remem-
bers mother when she was a little
baby.’
‘Mammy wasn’t ever a ikkle baby,’
returned Johnny opening his eyes
very wide.
‘Oh, but she was, Johnny —a tiny
tiny-—just like you were when you
wore that long white frock that
mother keeps in her drawer, which
I—2
4 ee s New Shoes,
went over your fee you euee Ro
kept them warm when you couldn’t
run about.’
‘Like the tiny tiny at the shop,’
said Johnny, chuckling. ‘Oh! May,
me couldn’t be like that; and mam-
my couldn’t, me sure.’
‘But she says she was, and that
granny carried her about, and fed
her with a spoon, and rocked her to
sleep in our big cradle; and mammy
must know,’ said May.
‘Johnny tink it very funny,’ re-
turned the young rogue, in a very
unconvinced tone of voice.
‘And granny remembers it all
quite well, continued May ; ‘so you
see it’s no wonder that she remem-
Fohunys New Shoes. 5
bers us, and what we were like only
a year ago; though still I don’t quite
see how she knew the sizes of our
shoes: because we’ve grown, you see ;
or how she should recollect exactly
how much stuff mammy takes for a
gown, or father’s fancy for blue
neckerchers. She must have a very
good memory, indeed. I shouldn't
think she ever found it hard to learn
her hymns when se was a little girl.
Ah, Johnny, Johnny! It’s a fine
thing for you that she has got a good
memory, or else youd never have
got these splendid new shoes.’
‘Johnny don’t much care for new
shoes. Johnny like the sweeties best,’
remarked the little fellow quietly
6 Fohuny's New Shoes.
‘Oh, Johnny, Johnny! Why, you
are a silly boy! When you haven't
had a new pair of shoes for ever
so long; and when you know that
daddy can’t afford to buy you any.
Of course, the sweeties are very nice;
but theyll be gone in no time; and
just think how long these strong
shoes will last! Besides, you needn’t
get your feet wet now, nor have
any pins or needles running into
them.
‘Pins don’t run into Johnny’s feet!
Pins can’t run at all. Do they ever
get into ’ou’s feet? returned the
little fellow, as if such an idea had
never entered his head before.
‘They might, answered May,
Fohunys New Shoes. 7.
gravely. ‘To which Johnny, after a
minute’s reflection, rejoined :—
‘Pussy don’t wear boots. Does
pussy have pins in her feet ?â€
‘TI don’t know. You had better
ask her,’ said May, laughing.
‘Me look at her feet. Me look
underneath, Johnny said quickly.
‘Well, at any rate, it will look
better to wear shoes on Sundays,
and when we want to be nice,’ re-
marked May, beginning to be half
convinced by Johnny’s arguments.
For the fact was, that both the chil-
dren had had to do without shoes so
long now, and had seen so many
other children doing without them,
that she hardly knew what to think.
8 Fohuny's New Shoes.
They did not live where they used
to live, when she remembered her-
self a tiny child—in the days when
father could always buy everything
she wanted; for some time ago they
had come toa place where most of
the children didn’t often wear shoes.
And so, though mother always said
she couldn’t a-bear such rough ways,
yet-—because they were poorer, they
all had to get used to them. May,
hearing what mother thought about
it, certainly padded about in hopes
of better times; but Johnny, never
thinking, was quite content ; and his
little toes learned to love their
liberty.
Nevertheless, there was another
Folnnys New Shoes. fe)
way of looking at the matter, which
his thoughtful little sister felt bound
to put before him ; and that was :—~
‘What would granny say if she heard
that they didn’t think much of her
nice presents? Wouldn’t she be
sorry? Wouldn’t she be very much
hurt ?’
Now, as a rule, our little friend
had always believed what May said.
She was like a little mother to him,
you see; for his big mother had to
go out to work so much, now that
the father was not so strong and able
to work as he used to be.. And be-
cause his May May, as he loved to
call her, was a steady young thing,
and as careful of her pet boy as any
10 Fohuny's New Shoes.
old nurse; the little laddie used very
seldom to dispute her opinion.
But it was really hard to come in
to this—besides that, as he grew
older, he was beginning to have views
of his own; and when she began again
to try to coax the shoes on, poor
Johnny said, ‘They so tiff, May.
They hurt me feet,’ with a face as
woe-begone as if the said feet really
were going to be condemned each
one to solitary confinement in a
narrow prison.
‘Oh! they won’t hurt when you
get used to them,’ replied May; ‘and
granny will be so sorry if you don’t
wear them. I think she would cry.
But you must not double up your
Fohuny's New Shoes. a
toes so, when I put them on. Come,
let’s have another try. Now, Johnny,
boy, look. This is the way. And
you must learn to put them on your-
self, you know;—a great big boy
like you!’
So the little man put his hand on
his sister’s shoulder, and gravely be-
gan to study the subject, though it
was not one that he very much cared
about.
For, you see, this little Johnny of
ours was rather a good little man.
He knew what he liked and what he
disliked as well as anybody; but then
ever since he was gute a baby he had
been taught by daddy and mammy,
and by May May too, that there
12 Fohnny's New Shoes.
are two small words, ‘ ought’ and.
‘oughtn’t, and that these must be
attended to, before any Mr. Like or
Don’t Like in the world.
Certainly, Mr. Ought or Oughtn’t
sometimes cost him a few tears.
Still, in the end, the one of them
who had to be attended to, generally
got the victory, and packed Mr. Like
or Don’t Like, whichever it happened
to be, about his business.
Then, when he was really gone,
Johnny was generally a good deal
happier. |
And so he was this time, as you
shall hear.
Mr. Ought said, ‘Come, get. on
those shoes as fast as you can, and
“Now, Johnny boy, look, this is the we
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Fohunys New Shoes. 13
try to like them to please granny,
and never mind what Mr. Don’t Like
says about it.’
And Johnny let the shoes come
on, one after another, and then slid
down off the bed to see how he
could walk in them.
Now there was no carpet in that
room; and do you know those shoes .
made such a delightful noise in
tramping over the boards, that their
young owner soon shouted again
with pleasure.
So May May, when she sat down
to write her letter to granny—as she
had to do very soon after—was able
to put in it that ‘Johnny was in
great joy about his new shoes, and
14 Fohuny's New Shoes.
making such a noise with them! She
wished granny could hear him!’
It was not long since May could
write a letter; but since she had
been able, she often did so to please
Johnny, who, besides always hearing
what she put in it (for there were no
secrets between him and May), was
very fond of acting postman.
He could not with this letter, you
see, because it was going too far off ;
but when she wrote to some of her
friends, he could take the letter, you
know, and wait for the answer too;
and that made him feel quite an im-
portant man.
5
CHAPTER II.
THE OLD UMBRELLA.
s‘T strikes me, that Johnny’s
granny would not have
been so very shocked as May
supposed, if she had heard that he
could not remember her; for, you
see, a whole year was a good piece
out of his little life—a larger piece
than it was out of May’s—at least,
in one way; for she, having lived
longer, her life would cut up into
more of such pieces than his would.
16 The Ola Umbrella.
This grandmother, the one who
liked to be called granny, I mean,
was mother to his mother. Very
kind and good she was to small
folks ; but then she lived such a long
way off, that she could not see Johnny
and May very often. She could only
think about them, and talk about
them, and sometimes send letters or
nice parcels, like the one we heard
of, besides asking the good God, who
lives far above the blue sky, to look
down on them, and do them good.
That was the best thing she could
do; and she did it very often.
But there was another grandmother
whom Johnny did know very well,
and she lived not so very far off, with
The Old Umbrella. 17
the grandfather who had once made
for Johnny a curious little soldier, with
arms and legs that could be moved
by a string at the back, which some
of his young friends know all about
very well indeed, though no doubt
there are some who do not.
Well, this grandfather said that if
his name must be shortened at all, he
would be called granddad; and as
for the grandmother, she couldn’t see
why her name wanted altering; so,
after a vast number of attempts, the
little fellow got as near to it as ‘dan-
mover ;’ and with that she was obliged
to be content.
These old people were father and
mother to Johnny’s father, you
2
18 The Old Umbrella.
must know; and though they were
rather particular about some things,
such as dirty feet on a clean floor—
yet our little brother and sister liked
nothing better than to pay a visit to
Elm Cottage, where they often had
buttered toast for tea, and heard lots
and lots of stories.
I think they would have been in
and out there every day if they
could; but, happily for the good old
folks, the cottage was just too far to
allow of such constant invasions. In-
deed, it was considered too far for
them to get at, unless either father or
mother could go with them—until
this afternoon of which I am going
to tell you.
The Old Umbrella. 19
And that was shortly after the
arrival of the new boots.
There had come a letter in the
morning to say that old granddad
had had a fall—his stick, a regular
old friend, having given way under
him, and let him down.
Of course, Johnny would not have
minded such a tumble as that one
bit; or, at most, it would have cost
him a few tears, and mother would
have had to kiss the place. But,
unfortunately, old granddad had no
mother to do that for him; so, what
was he to do? Besides, he was
heavy, and his limbs were stiff: and
when he was down, it was not so easy
for him to get up again, you see.
2—2
20 The Old Umbrella.
And he hurt himself a good deal,
and frightened his old wife, when he
got in doors again, by looking pale
and shakey: so that she sent off next
morning to ask her son to come up
and see him, or to send his wife, if
he could not come himself.
Now Johnny’s father had not had
good work for a long time; and just
then he had got a job, which seemed
to promise to last; so he turned to
his wife and asked :—
‘Couldn’t ye run over and see if
there be much the matter, mother ?
and if so be there be, why I must go
over myself this evening, after I’ve
done work; only it'll be late.’
‘Tm sure I'd go, and want no bid-
The Old Umbrella. 21
ding, Ben,’ said the good woman,
‘for ye know very well that I’ve
always counted your folk just the
same as My Own ; but what am I to
do about the washing at the great
house? It’s to be done so very par-
ticular to-day, the housekeeper says 5
and if I don’t go to it, why I shall
lose the work.’
‘And I wish, with all my heart, I
could afford thou should’st lose it.
I'd rather be slaving myself, than
have thee slave and leave the poor
bairns so much alone,’ returned
honest Ben with a heavy sigh. ‘And
that neither one of us should be able
to go up and see after the old people
too, it do seem hard.’
22 The Old Umbrella.
‘Father,’ said littlke May, coming
forward, ‘don’t you be too sorry;
it’s all of God’s sending, isn’t it?
You always tells me so. Let Johnny
and me go up. We can quite well
now, I’m sure; for we’re bigger than
what we were; and we'll be back
by dinner-time, and tell you all
about it. We won’t get playing on
the road, I promise you that we
won't; do let us go, father.’
‘What, all alone! Two scraps
like you—a good three-quarters of a
mile, and along a lonesome sort of a
way!’ And he looked at his wife,
saying, ‘I never heard of such a
thing ; did you, mother
‘Oh, yes; I know yow have,
The Old Umbrella. 26
mother, said May; ‘for Matty
Parker goes by pretty near every day
all alone, and past grandfather’s ; that
is not quite the same road, but a
further way, you know. Her mother
sends her ever so often of errands.
‘ fev mother,’ repeated the father,
with a look of disgust. ‘ Don’t name
her, May, along with thine. Poor
Matty’s mother wouldn’t care one
straw if all her children were lost to-
morrow. She’sa bad, wicked woman!’
‘But God takes care of Matty. She
never hurts, though she do go all
alone. And He'll take care of us too,
father; so let us go. I’m not afraid.’
‘God never promised me, that if
I neglected my children, He’d take
24 The Old Umbrella.
care of them,’ returned the father,
thoughtfully. ‘ What say you, wife ?
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure
but what our May is right. You're
not neglecting of them, Ben; you're
doing your best to keep them well
and hearty, and so am I too, you
know. And here’s the poor old
father wanting you; and you can’t
go. It seems to me that we must
trust a bit more than we have done,
and let them go. Their clothes
won't tempt anyone to hurt them,
poor dears; and they knows their
way, and most people knows them.
They won't come to no harm, Ben.
I'd let ’em go, if I was you.’
‘Well, if thee bain’t afraid, mother,
The Old Unibretla. 20
why, I spose, I mustn’t,’ returned
the father, shrugging his shoulders ;
‘but really, you women, there’s no
understanding yer. To think o°
your being bolder than a rough
fellow like me now.’
‘A rough fellow like you, father !’
cried little May. ‘ You’re not a rough
fellow at all, Pm sure; but the very
best, the very goodest of all the fathers
in the world! Only mother knows
how I take care of Johnny all day
long; and she knows God takes care
of us both at home; so, of course,
He'll take care of us when we’re out
too. I’m not afraid one bit.’
‘And I b’lieve He will,’ said the
good father, rubbing his hand across
26 The Old Umbrella.
his eyes, ‘ because it seems like a duty
for you to go, child; but, mind you, if
you were to go running into danger,
or I were to throw you into it—
*twouldn’t be the same thing at all;
so now, take care what you're about,
and don’t steal liberty another time.
But, dear me, how it does rain
The children looked rather blank
at that: for it certainly was some-
thing of a downpour; but the father
said that when a great black cloud
that was just overhead had passed, it
would not be so bad; and there was
one comfort—they could each go well
shod—so he thought.
Johnny did not know what that
meant; but when it was explained
The Old Umbrella. 27)
to him, he ran off to find his good
shoes, saying, ‘ What fun it will be
to show them to granddad! He'll
wonder who makes all the noise, and
think Pm a big man.’
But poor May looked down and
said nothing; for her shoes were
gone to the shop to have a nail
knocked down that would stick up
and hurt her; and she was afraid
that when mother thought of that
she would not let her go.
However, May’s mother didn’t
make difficulties of trifles; and she
knew that her little girl had been
obliged to run about so long without
shoes, that she would be no worse
off now than she had been.
28 The Old Umbrella.
The thing was, to find the old
umbrella, a great big affair that
was not often used, because the
mother’s work was near, and when
it rained she put a shawl over her
head and ran out; and as for the
father, he was used to wet, and de-
spised such things.
So there was a grand hunt for the
old thing; for it had been put away,
and no one knew where it was: but
mother hunted, and May hunted,
and Johnny hunted. And, after all,
it was the little man who found it.
Being so small, he could go under
all sorts of things; and the umbrella
had tumbled down behind a chest of
drawers. And there it lay, never
The Old Umbrella. 29
thinking, as Johnny said, that he
would find it and drag it out, and
make it go open.
However, open it he could not by
himself; for it had got very stiff;
but at last the father made it open,
whether it liked or not; and then it
looked such a great thing! There
was one point that would stick out
beyond where it was intended to
reach certainly; but that could not be
helped. There was room enough
under it for both—and that was the
great thing ; and Johnny could help
May to hold it up.
So when mother had charged May
not to lose sight of Johnny, and
Johnny had promised to be a good
30 The Old Umbrella.
boy, the children set off, feeling
quite grand to think that they were
trusted on such an important errand.
It did not rain much when they left
home ; but very soon it came down
again in torrents; and the wind rose
and blew, and pulled at the umbrella;
so that poor May’s arms got quite
tired.
And she began to feel afraid that
she would never be able to hold it
up all the way.
Of course, Johnny does not care
for the rain, not he. It wouldn’t
hurt him if he did get wet, he said ;
and it was rather fun to march along
with all that pitter patter over head.
But then he had got nobody to
Johnny doesn’t care for the rain ; not he !
The Old Umbrella. 31
take care of, you see; and that made
a great difference, because he had
only his small share of the weight of
the umbrella to carry, and nota great
weight of anxiety on his little mind
as well, like his sister.
Poor May! She was rather young
to have to bear so much of that sort
of thing. However, she was very
brave, I must say, and went toiling
on all that long way, although it
blew and blew, and rained and
rained, and hardly anybody passed
them on the road; and it was very
lonely and dreary, and seemed, oh,
such a long distance !
Go
Ny
CHAPTER III.
Abe! eb Te Vi iG ©) iad AG hs
wl last Elm Cottage came in
sight—and that raised May’s
spirits; and for about two
minutes also it left off raining too:
so that she could lay the umbrella
down, and rest her arms, But; it
soon began again, and she said to
Johnny;: “Meus, tiayea sun) tom
change. You keep close to me, and
we'll soon be at grandfather’s.’
So they made a fresh start, and
At Elm Cottage. 23
seemed to get a great bit nearer. But
still there was another good piece to
go; and now Johnny began to com-
plain of his shoes.
‘They so tiff. They hurt me,’
cried the little man, whimpering ;
and then he added, ‘Me can’t run
in shoes.’
‘Oh! but you must,’ said May
decidedly. ‘I only wish I had got
mine on. My feet wouldn’t be so
cold.’
‘Me don’t care for cold. Me
can’t bear them,’ said Johnny. ‘Me
take them off and carry them.’
‘Oh! no; you mustn’t; father
will be so angry; and you promised
to be a good boy,’ cried May.
me)
34 At Elm Cottage.
And then Johnny began to sob
and fret, until he saw how near they
were getting, when a new thought
struck him.
‘Johnny take them off when he
gets in; Johnny can.’
‘Oh! yes; if you like,’ returned
his sister; ‘only then grandfather
won’t hear the nice noise.’
‘Me don’t care, said Johnny,
brightening up, as he peeped under
the umbrella, and saw how close they
were.
Another gust of wind, and another
brave stand against it on the part of
his steady young sister ; and then the
battle is done, and they both cry out
at once, ‘ Here we are at last !’ and off
== s
if
it
:
ve
i i
i
\ Li i
ie > i in}
oe
=
va
an Ht a
HVA
a i a Ht
a A)
Hit
ENG
SSS
SS
SS
** Here we are at last, May
\nd oif go Johnny’s shoes
At Elm Cottage. 35
go Johnny’s shoes, as he flings himself
out from under the umbrella and in
at the door of the kitchen, while
May still struggles with her great,
unwieldy machine, and tries with all
her might to keep it from turning
inside out, and to persuade it to shut
down, which apparently it was as
loath to do, as before it had been to
go up at her pleasure.
It had never been used to such a
young mistress, you see; and old
things don’t like to be ordered about
by young ones.
Well, though Johnny had now no
clattering shoes on to announce his
arrival, yet the old people upstairs
soon heard the young voices, and,
3—2
36 At Elm Cottage.
never dreaming that these small folks
had made the journey alone, the
good old lady cried out :—
‘Come up, my gal, do, and bring
the childer with you; don’t be
afeard; grandfather “ll like well to
seer emt © Newly doy hint alll ite
good in the world. He isn’t so bad
to-day, only a bit shaken. Come
up, do, and welcome; and don’t
wait for me—I’m just a-getting his
coat on, and can’t come down.’
‘Do be quick, May,’ cried Johnny,
pulling her. ‘ Danmover’s calling
US.
‘I know,’ said May, who heard
every word, and was growing quite
weary with her struggles outside ;
At Elm Cottage. a7
‘but I can’t help it. This thing
won't come in. What shall I do?
I think I must let it fy away. Do
go and tell grandmother.’
So the little fellow went forward
to the foot of the stairs and shouted,
‘It’s only May and me, dan-
mover ; and May can’t get in.’
‘Only you two childer! cried the
grandmother, ‘and you’ve come all
alone in this storm
‘No, said Johnny; ‘the um-
brella’s come too; but it won’t come
in, danmover: and so May can’t.’
‘So May can’t!’ repeated the old
man upstairs, laughing heartily.
‘Well, to be sure! But don’t you
be. served out by it, child. Turn
38 At Elm Cottage.
him on his side, and bring him in
open, and let him fly about in the
kitchen, if he must fly anywhere.’
©T didn’t know an umbrella was a
im? said May to herself, as she
gladly took the hint; and, after a
good deal of wriggling management,
succeeded in getting her refractory
burden safely inside the door ;, ‘ but
I'm glad it isn’t a she, because I
shouldn’t like such a tiresome crea-
ture to be called the same as I am.’
And then she followed Johnny,
who, by this time, was nearly at the
top of the stairs.
There they had to stand by the
fire and get dry; and May had to
tell her story, and explain how it was
At Elm Cottage. 39
they came all alone: and grand-
mother wondered; and grandfather
laughed, and chucked them each
under the chin, and told May she
was a brave little woman, and a good
girl too, for thinking so much of her
old granddaddy.
And then he showed them both
his poor bruised knee, and bid them
tell father and mother how at first
he thought he had broken his head,
and what a shaking he had got, so
that he must stop in bed a bit to get
over it.
After that, Johnny got what he
liked even better than buttered toast,
and that was, a nice slice of plum-
cake. He enjoyed it so much, that
40 At Elm Cottage.
his grandfather said it did him good
to see him eat; for the dear old man
loved to see little children happy.
And May had a slice too, and she
liked it very much, though she did
not pick out all the plums to eat first
as Johnny did, nor make quite such
large eyes over it.
This was not a cake of the grand-
mother’s making, though sometimes
she did make very nice ones when
she happened to have the flour and
the plums, and all the goodies to put
in. . It was a piece of one that ’a
neighbour had brought the evening
before, when she came in to have a
cup of tea,and cheer up the old people
after their upset; and grandfather
At Elm Cottage. Al
said he had eaten his share then,
and that he was as glad as could
be to have just two slices left for his
boy’s young ones when they came to
look after him. .
It sounded very funny to May and
Johnny to hear their father and
mother, who were such big, grown-up
people, called ‘ my gal and my boy ;’
but when Johnny made a funny face,
and looked as if he were going to
laugh, his grandfather said :—
‘Do you know, my little lad, that
your daddy used to sit on my knee
when he was a little one like you,
ay, and a deal smaller too; and
that’s why, when I think of him now
that I am old, and sit in my big
42 At Elm Cottage.
chair, and turn over things in my
mind, he never seems like the tall
fellow that he is, but a mite of a
brat, muling and puling just as you
do.’
‘Me don’t mooly pooly,’ exclaimed
Johnny, quite indignantly.
‘Oh, you don’t, don’t you? I
forgot, said the old man, chuckling
to himself. ‘ Well, you needn’t look
so fierce about it; but how comes it
that neither one of you has any shoes
on this soaking wet day
‘Father didn’t think it would rain
like this,’ replied May; and then she
proceeded to explain what had hap-
pened to her own shoes.
‘Well, but about this little lad’s ?’
At Elm Cottage. 43,
pursued the old man, while the
grandmother took him on her knee,
and began to cuddle him very close
to her, and to give him a great many
kisses.
But Johnny did not look up or
answer; he only hemmed and
coughed, and got very red. In fact,
I should not wonder if, when he re-
membered all the fuss that he had
made about them, he had a sort of
idea that this was just what the
grandfather meant by muling and
puling.
And May did not speak, though
she looked rather amused ; for I do
not think she quite knew what
Johnny would like her to say.
44 At Elm Cottage.
At last, making a bold effort, the
little fellow struggled off his grand-
mother’s knee, saying, ‘ Me fetch
em; ’ou see.
So he bundled downstairs very
quickly, and almost as quickly got
up again with the shoes in his hand.
And running up to his sister, he said,
‘Pease, put em on. Me let grand-
dad hear the nice noise.’
And then you should have seen
him marching up and down in noisy
triumph, much to the amusement of
the old couple !
But May remembered her promise,
and knew that it was now time for
them to go; so she asked Johnny if
he meant to keep them on or carry
At Elm Cottage. 45
them; to which he answered, ‘Teep
*em on, May, of course.’
‘Yes; of course, said the grand-
mother; but when May whispered
that Johnny said they hurt him, she
began feeling all round the edges and
stretching them a bit; and then she
soon remembered that she had lately
found a good pair of her own Ben’s
socks, Johnny’s father, you know;
and when the little boy got them on
first, and then the shoes, he was
quite comfortable, and ready for his
march homewards,
But the grandmother said that she
must go down and see what was the
matter with that naughty umbrella,
before she could let them start. So
46 At Elm Cottage.
the two children bid good-bye to
the dear old grandfather ; and then
each took one of ‘ danmover’s’ hands,
and down the steep cottage stairs
they went, to see whether the ob-
stinate thing had flown out of the
window, or whether it was waiting
quietly for their return.
They had not to look far, however,
for there it was up in the corner,
where the wind had taken it out of
May’s tired hands. So grandmother
made it go up and down several
times, to take off the stiffness, and
rubbed the catch with a little oil ;
but she said it was a rickety, dis-
agreeable old thing, and she hoped
they would not want to use it.
At Elm Cottage. 47
When her ship came in, she would
buy May a new one; but she did not
know when that would be; and May
felt rather in despair about it; for
erandmother had talked of that said
ship so long: and it had never come.
Fortunately, however, when they
opened the door, they saw that the
sun was shining brightly, and that
there was a beautiful blue sky. So,
instead of May’s tired hands having
to hold it up, Johnny found it very
good fun to drag it after him, at
least, for some distance: so the jour-
ney home was as easy and pleasant
as possible.
48
Cit BPE RIV.
THE TUMBLE.
VAMMY will be so glad to
hear that grandfather is
not very ill, and that he
was so pleased to see us,’ said May,
as they got near their own door, and
she found that her little brother’s
steps began to flag. ‘But I think
we shall be in first, she went on.
‘It isn’t dinner-time yet, I know,
because the shade isn’t all off that
side of the barn; and it always is
The Tumble. 49
now before the taties come out of
the pot. I wonder who put them
in though, to-day! There was no-
body at home to do it. Perhaps
mother made a big pudding instead,
and put it in before she went out.
She always says it doesn’t matter
how long our sort of puddings boil ;
they are all the better for it.’
‘Johnny like pudding,’ said the
little fellow, quickening his steps ;
and May smiled to see that her de-
vice had succeeded ; for he was be-
ginning to drag and tire her arm.
But another thing helped him on
too. Just at this moment, Neigh-
bour Johnson’s cat came out of the
house, accompanied by her two
4
50 The Tumble.
white kittens. Such pretty things
they were, and almost exactly alike !
Indeed, a stranger would not have
seen any difference between them,
I am sure.
But Johnny knew them apart,
quite well; for one of them was
promised to him as soon as it was
old enough to leave its mother ; and
that one had some little brown marks
over one eye, and on the tip of its
tail.
So, letting go of May’s hand and
of the umbrella too, off ran the little
laddie, calling out, ‘ Poof, poof,
poof, which meant pussie, you see,
only he could not pronounce his
letter s, and so could not say it right.
The Tumble. 51
But pussie was not particular
about that. She loved her little
master, that was to be; because he
often gave her some of his milk, and
things that she liked, and because
they had many a good game together
with reels of cotton and balls of
string, and such things as kittens
love to play with.
But she loved her good mother
too, and would not always come away
from her for anyone; and just now,
when Johnny called, she looked first
at him, and then at the great cat, and
did not seem to know what to do.
But, because she hesitated, Johnny
was more eager; and off he darted,
faster than his small legs would
4—2
52 The Tumble. ©
properly carry him, intending to
pounce on his little treasure and se-
cure it, whether it would or not.
Going so fast, however, he did not
look where he went; and _ soon
tumbled right over a heap of straw,
and sticks, and rubbish that had been
collected by some industrious boy
who was employed to keep the road
tidy.
So down Johnny went right into
the mud; and when he got up there
was his pinafore all dirty and his
hands quite black, and his mouth all
full of mud. He was in what we
call a sorry plight.
‘Me wish Dick wouldn’t make
heaps, he cried, scrambling up
The Tumble. 53
again very quickly; for he remem-
bered getting a scolding not long
ago for being a dirty boy, and giving
mother so much trouble in cleaning
him ; and now, though he was not
hurt a bit, Johnny began rubbing his
hands and knees, and fretting as he
looked round to see who was near,
half afraid that he would be blamed
again.
May was at his side in a minute,
and saying, ‘Oh! Johnny, boy, why
didn’t you look where you went?
There, it’s no use crying! Make
haste and come in, and let’s see if we
can’t make you a clean child before
mother comes in.’
‘Me got no clean pinny,’ sobbed
54 The Tumble.
the little man, somewhat comforted
by hearing himself called ‘ Johnny,
boy when he had an idea that he
had been too careless to deserve any
pet names.
‘Oh! yes, you have; for I washed
the stains out of that one you spoilt
yesterday, and hung it up to dry;
and it looks quite nice,’ said May.
‘So if you make haste we can have
you quite smart in a few minutes ;
and you know mother always likes
clean boys.’
So the three pussies were left
to their own devices; and while the
mother-pussie sat down and gave her
two babies’ paws a very good licking,
May took her big baby upstairs, and
The Tumble. 55
got a basin and water to wash off
all the muddy marks from his face,
and hands, and knees.
‘None on socks,’ said Johnny,
stroking his grandmother’s present
with great satisfaction.
‘No; that is a good thing,’ said
May; ‘ you must take care of them,
and keep them nice and clean. Only
think that father once wore them !
Mustn’t grandmother take care of
things, to have kept these safe all
this great while ?â€
So saying, she lifted the large
brown basin, and put it on a chair to
be just the right height for Johnny,
and then poured some water out, and
got a towel and some soap.
56 The Tumble.
The first thing was to make his
face clean; and this May did by
giving it a good scrubbing with the
corner of the towel. That was an
operation which Johnny never liked ;
for sometimes the soap got into his
eyes, and sometimes into his mouth ;
and then, when he was very dirty, he
had to be rubbed rather hard to get
him clean. Indeed, I do not think
that anybody likes to have his face
washed. It is much nicer to wash it
oneself if one can; but then as small
people like this little man cannot well
perform the operation, why I suppose
they must put up with the incon-
venience of having it done for them.
However, Johnny did not see the
The Tumble. 57.
dirt on his face; so it did not trouble
him so much as that on his hands.
He was in a great hurry to get
them clean, and put them straight
into the water without waiting his
sister’s time, saying, ‘Johnny wash
them his own self.’
‘Well, try,’ said May, thinking it
was really time that he helped him-
self a little, and seeing no reason why
he should not wash his own hands.
So, instead of taking the soap
away, she showed him how to use it,
teaching him to put a little on, and
then rub one hand with the other.
But he found it harder than he ex-
pected; for though he rubbed and
rubbed, they did not seem to get
58 The Tumble.
clean. And the right hand es-
pecially was very difficult, because
the left one would not rub hard—it
was so stupid! Johnny said.
After all, May was obliged to
finish them off, or they would not
have got done all day, I think. But
she said, ‘ Never mind; that’s very
well for the first time. You shall
try again to-morrow, and soon you'll
be quite a handy boy. Only think
when you can wash your own hands,
and put on your shoes and socks !’
‘And mine own pinny too,’ said
Johnny, with a very gleeful look on
his bright little face. ‘Den me soon
be a man, won’t me, May!
‘Well, I don’t know,’ answered
\\\
\
N \
Hh
NY
\
\\ \
\ ‘AW
x}
\
‘
Ny
AN
ING
iN
BE
\
‘\
Ni
th
ANY \\K
\\
Zz
“Johnny wash them his own self
The Tumble. 59
May, laughing. ‘I think I shall be
a woman before you are a man, be-
cause ’'m older ; and I don’t expect
to be a woman yet. There’s lots of
things I’ve got to learn first.’
‘Ts dere? said Johnny, wonder-
ingly ; for it seemed to him that his
sister could do most things.
‘Oh, yes! said May. ‘You see
I can’t wash clothes yet, at least, not
properly, only a mark or so out of a
pinafore, or the skirt of my frock,
you know; and that’s nothing to
speak of. Why, there are father’s
shirts and mother’s gowns, and the
sheets off the beds, and lots of things
that I couldn’t do: and women must
be able to do all such things. And
60 The Tumble.
then I can’t cut out, or even sew
very fast; and I can’t scrub the
floors, nor make the puddings—
at least, only about one or two—
oh! it would never do for me to be
a big woman yet awhile. And
there’s lots of things for men to
know too. Just see all the things
that father can do! Why, he can
drive a horse and cart; and I believe
sometimes he helps to build great
big houses. He can load a hay-
waggon, I know, because Pve seen
him. Oh, Johnny! you mustn’t be
a man for ever so long!’
‘Johnny make haste and learn.
May show him how to dig holes,’
returned the young gentleman with
The Tumble. 61
great determination. ‘ Johnny isn’t
a baby now; he knows he isn’t.
Johnny soon be a big man and build
houses.’
‘Johnny’s a very funny boy, I
think,’ replied his sage young sister,
who, between you and me, had an
idea, I must tell you, that there were
not many little boys so clever as her
brother, and who often used to think
that something must some day come
of this positive way that he had of
taking things into his head.
62
CHAPTER V.
RATHER UPPISH.
UT perhaps you may wonder
how it was that the little
sister, May, came to know
so much herself as to be able to
write letters, which you will remem-
ber I told you she could do, rather
cleverly, some time ago. For it
must seem to you that she was al-
ways employed in taking care of her
little brother, and so had no time to
learn herself.
Rather Uppish. 63
However, this was not always the
case. When he was a baby, yes, and
even after he could walk about, May
certainly had spent most of her
time with him; for at that time the
school was too far off for her to at-
tend.
Still, even then, her good mother
had no notion of letting her grow
up a dunce; and, as she could read
herself, she made May read to her
for a little while every day, and then
set her a copy to write. And she
did not leave it to May’s fancies,
whether she would do her lessons or
leave them alone, you know, but
what she set her that she would have
done, and done properly.
64. Rather Uppish.
After that, the family moved right
away to quite another part of the
country, where there was a school
close by; and then, for a while,
mother stayed at home and took care
of her baby boy, while the little
sister went to learn with many other
children.
But that did not last long, because
the father fell ill and got out of
work; and then there was nothing
for it but for the mother to get all
she could to do, and for May once
more to act nurse. And _ besides
that, I must tell you that both the
children got the whooping-cough,
and were not wanted among the
other scholars; or else perhaps
Rather Uppisnh. 65
Johnny would have gone, as he was
going soon, to sit on the gallery with
the babies, while May learnt her
lessons in earnest with the bigger
ones.
It was holiday time, now, however,
so there was no school for anybody,
unless for small folks who liked to
play at it. But our young friends
had a great fancy for amusing them-
selves in that way; and indeed it
was not only play with them. For
Johnny kept to his purpose of soon
learning how to grow a big man;
and May was bent on teaching him
all she knew herself.
There were some things, however,
which her little laddie fancied much
5
66 Rather Uppish.
better than others. For instance,
when she tried him with A, B, C, he
always preferred looking at the pic-
tures to learning the letters; and
though he soon mastered round O
and crooked S$, she could not get
him any farther. When he had said
these two, he would say, ‘No more
A’s, May, Johnny learn about dis,’
and then turn over to one of the pic-
tures and beg: ‘ ’Splain dis to Johnny;
Johnny like learning about dis.’
May always laughed; because he
was so funny about it, and had such
a positive little way ; but she used to
say : ‘Must learn it, Johnny, before
you are a man; must, you know.’
But to this the determined young
Rather Uppish. 67
gentleman would always reply :—
‘Me not a bigger man “nuff, yet.’
‘Then what will you learn,
Johnny?†she would say; and he
generally chose digging, going off to
fetch his spade, and returning to say,
‘Dig great, big hole like father; May
teach Johnny.’
If May did try to teach him this
art, however, he always maintained
that his own way was the best; and
as she did not think that this mat-
tered, she generally ended by getting
something else to do, and leaving
him to dig away until he was tired
of that occupation.
Sometimes, however, she tried a
slate instead of a spelling-book, and
5—2
68 Rather Uppish.
thought to entice him to make
strokes,and pothooks, and round O’s,
and so to make him begin writing
without knowing what he was doing.
But it did not often answer ; for
Master Johnny, who had a_ very
sturdy wrist of his own, very much
preferred showing off his strength by
scribbling with all his might all over
the slate until he had made it quite
white.
He thought he was learning
though, for all that, and perhaps he
was learning to get a certain mastery
over his pencil.
Very serious and earnest he was,
too, in doing whatever he set his
mind upon, though at present he
Rather Uppish. 69
seemed perfectly convinced that such
things as books and slates, to say
nothing of copy-books, were beyond
his tender years.
Johnny was never ‘a bigger man
*nuff’? when such things were pro-
posed; and May soon forbore to
produce them, though she would
sometimes say :—
‘Ah! Johnny; you'll be a dunce,
you know. You're not learning to
be a big man one bit.’
Wes mei, he would answer
complacently. ‘Me learn to dig,
me learn to build big house.’
That was because he had some
pieces of wood and tile and brick
in the garden, with which he used
70 Rather Uppish.
to construct various sorts of edi-
fices.
May did not know what to do.
She had the care of her dear Johnny
nearly every day in the week and all
day long, and she thought him the
cleverest boy in the world; so that
she felt quite sure that if he would
only try it would give him no
trouble, and that he would soon do
all sorts of things as well as any
prince.
And yet there were other boys,
and girls, too, children whom she
knew herself, and whom she did not
think half so clever as Johnny, who
could read a little and write a little,
and count the coloured balls in the
Rather Uppish. 7a
frame at school. Why could not
Johnny be sensible and show himself
off !
She was thinking so one day when
it came into her head to try some-
thing else. The little fellow could
at least learn to count his own
fingers.
It was a happy thought; for he
happened to be in a very steady
mood that day, and ready to do
whatever his young nurse wished to
make him do.
So she took him out of the back
door, that led into the yard and
garden beyond, and seated herself
very gravely on the step, first calling
her little pupil to come and learn
72 Rather Uppish.
something that she was going to
teach him.
‘You, mist think vow “ate i:
school,’ she said: ‘and fancy that I
am the governess; and now look
heres
‘But ’ou not governess; ‘ou May
May,’ returned the matter-of-fact
little pupil.
‘Never mind; we are going to
make believe ; we are going to pre-
tend, you know, Johnny; and that
will be great fun,’
CBs. es) that ‘be tum, ) “said
Johnny, pricking up his ears and
wondering what was coming next.
‘ Now, Johnny,’ May went on
very gravely, ‘you look here, Ive
Rather Uppish. 73
got ever so many fingers on this
hand, and ever so many on that one.
And you've got two hands as well as
me, and lots of fingers on each.’
“Yes, me have; me got two hands
and such lots of fingers,’ replied
Johnny.
‘And now we want to see sow
many, continued May. ‘ Look,
Dove lim come to count. One,
two, three, four, five. Five fingers
en tis hand, and—-
‘No, no, May May; dat one isa
fum: Johnny knows it is,’ interposed
the little man.
vc. ll low its a thumb, said
May; ‘but a thumb is a finger, you
know.’
74 Rather Uppish.
“No, no, said the litle jpupil.
‘A fum not a finger at all.
‘Well, you ask mother,’ said his
sister, somewhat discomposed at the
way in which he always wanted to
decide points now, instead of believ-
ing everything she told him, as he
used to do when he was a smaller
boy. ‘At any rate, we can count
them: one, two, three, four, five.’
‘No, no; me not say five, dat
one not a finger, dat one a fum;
me mot count him, ‘he objected
again.
“VYoumecdn t call ita, faeen;seau
it a thing, if you like,’ May said,
feeling very vexed. ‘ We'll say that
I've got five things on this hand ;
fey be
‘ n ee
SS von
‘No, no, May, Dat one isa fumb. Johnny knows it is.â€
Rather Uppish. 75
now let us count the other; and
then we'll do yours.’
So appeased, the fractious little
pupil condescended to repeat after
his sister; only, every time he came
to the thumb, he always said, ‘ Five
is a fum ; he not a finger at all.’
Before the lesson was finished,
however, both the children heard
their father come into the kitchen,
and, looking up, May saw him stand-
ing over her.
This was just what she wanted—
it was some one to appeal to. She
was getting rather out of heart at
Johnny’s positive little ways, and be-
ginning to think that if he would
not believe anything she said, she
76 Rather Uppist.
could not teach him anything. So
the matter was soon laid before the
great judge. Both May and Johnny
quite believed that father knew
everything ; but it was rather
amusing to see how the young
gentleman tried to shirk the ques-
tion, turning the subject off in all
sorts of ways, and trying to play all
kinds of pranks, by way of enticing
his father into a good game.
Happily, however, that father was
a very sensible man, who had long
noticed his little daughter’s devotion
to her small brother, and had seen of
late how that same brother was be-
ginning to show some little airs,
which he did not at all approve. So
Rather Uppish. wT
when May said, ‘Father, Johnny
will have it that a thumb can’t be a
finger, too,’ he opened his eyes very
wide ; and, stroking and _ feeling
his little son from top to toe, he
said, ‘ What’s this? What’s this
creature ?’
‘Me is Johnny, answered the
little fellow, laughing.
‘And is me a girl? asked the
good father, making a funny face.
‘No; me is a boy,’ returned the
little lad stoutly.
‘Me is a boy, and me is Johnny,
then,’ said the father. ‘Me has got
two names; and so has this thing,
too, playing with one of the fat
little thumbs. ‘ This thing is a
78 Rather Uppish.
finger, and this thing is a thumb,
too; who ever said it wasn’t ?’
‘Johnny said it wasn’t a finger,’
said May ; ‘and he wouldn’t believe
me.’
‘Ha, ha, ha! a wise little man he
must be to think he knows better
than this tall May May of mine!’
and he made the two children stand
side by side, that Johnny might feel
how short he was, compared with
his sister May, saying over and over
again, ‘ A very wise little man to be
sure! Why, I suppose he knows
better than father, too !’
‘Don’t ’augh,’ said Johnny, getting
very red; ‘me not ‘ike it.’
‘We can’t help it if you grow so
Rather Uppish. 79
clever,’ returned the father. ‘ Why,
there'll be nobody wise enough to
teach you soon. May May, I
wouldn’t try any more if I were you.
I'd let him see how he can get on
without you.’
On this, two big tears came into
Johnny’s eyes; and he half sobbed,
‘Me can’t tle me pinny, me own
self; me can’t wash me face.’
‘Oh, well, that can’t be helped.
They must go untied and unwashed,’
said his father. ‘ May can’t be teased
with conceited little boys, who won’t
believe anything she says. Go away,
May, and let him alone.’
On this, May looked half inclined
to cry, too, for she would rather have
80 Rather Uppish.
borne anything than give up her
Johnny ; and the little lad looked as
if he would have rushed into her
arms if his father had not been hold-
ing him.
And he did contrive, at last, to
slip out of that strong grasp, and to
get to May’s side, and hold up his
mouth for a kiss.
SI
CHAPTER VI.
JOHNNY LISTENS TO MR. DON’T LIKE.
SWETER this, May thought it
wiser not to say anything
about learning of any kind
whatever for some days. A weck, I
think it was, at least, before she said
another word on the subject, and that
was an immense time, you know, for
people of the ages of May and Johnny.
Indeed, for Johnny, it was quite long
enough to blot out of his mind all
disagreeable thoughts about his own
6
82 Fohuny listens to Mr. Dow t Like.
little airs and graces, and the promises
that he had whispered to his sister
never to be obstinate again any
more.
I do not mean to say that he could
not have been made to remember how
his father laughed at him, and how
vexed and foolish he had felt; only
as long as he was good and tractable,
meither May nor any one else tried
to make him think of these things,
and you may be quite sure that
Johnny would not try himself.
He was growing a very stout,
sturdy boy, and quite as restless as
most boys—never still a moment
when he was awake, and always in
mischief if he was not looked after.
ee) listens to Mr. Dowt Like. 83
So May fee ‘enough to Ae with
her young charge; and a patient
little woman she was.
But then she had a secret notion
that she understood this Johnny of
hers better than any one else in the
world —yes, better even than mother
or father !
That might be a mistake, of
course; very likely it was; for no
doubt when they were strict or sharp
with him it was because they knew
that boys want rather a tight hand
over them, and had no intention that
Johnny should get to be a little
Turk by having his own way too
much.
They had seen other on you see,
6-2
84 Fohuny hastens to Mr. Dowt Like.
and knew how easily they could be
spoilt; while May had never really
known any other than this little pet-
brother. And, being with him all
day long, she quite understood how
hard it was for his little legs and
arms to keep still even for a minute,
and how often he made a great noise,
or upset somebody’s arrangements,
without in the least knowing what
he was doing or meaning any
harm.
Besides, he loved her so very much,
and wanted her for so many things ;
and that was very pleasant—it always
is, to have people love us, and to
know that they can’t get on without
us.
4a
Fohuny listens to Mr. Don't Like. 85
It was because she wanted to have
him quite in a good temper, and to
make quite a new start about learn-
ing, that she never said one word
about it all that week.
And all the time, you see, he was
growing and becoming a bigger boy.
May took care that he should not for-
get that; for every time she put him
to bed, or got him up in the morning,
she would say, ‘Oh, Johnny, Johnny!
how you do grow !’ or, ‘How heavy
you do get; I shan’t be able to lift
you at all soon.’
And another thing the little maiden
did that was very cunning and
clever.
There was a very tall, big man
86 Fohuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like.
who used to go by their door every
day—-a head taller, at least, this man
was than May and Johnny’s father.
Well, this man could not read, and
he could not write; in fact there were
very few things that he could do;
so he was nearly always out of
work, and often very hungry, because
no masters wanted a workman who
could not do anything !
So May used often to say, ‘ There
goes poor Sammy. Oh! I’m so glad
he isn’t my father. What a dreadful
thing it must be to grow up to be a
man before you're ready to be one !
Only think! to keep on growing and
growing, and yet never learning any-
thing all the while! I should feel so
Fohuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like. 87
frightened if I was like that. I
wonder how it was. Perhaps Sammy
hadn’t got a good father and mother
to teach him and make him learn.
Or perhaps he was naughty and
wouldn’t learn anything.
‘They say you can’t learn half so
well when you’re grown up, and that
often you don’t care to do anything
if you haven’t been made while you
were young.’
Oh! May, you know that this
Johnny brother of yours had plenty
of thoughts in his little head, and
when you washed his face you could
tell pretty well that now he was put-
ting a good many things together.
And so he was; and though she
88 Fohuny listens to Mr. Dow t Like.
never once said, ‘Take care, Johnny,
that you don’t grow up a great, use-
less dunce like that,’ yet by degrees
the little laddie was taken with a
great fear lest he should.
So more than ever did he go on
trying his hand on all sorts of things,
and puzzling his young brain how
this was made, and how that was
done, by no means always to the
amusement of his elders—because,
like other little boys, he often found
it easier to get things to pieces than
to put them together again; and
made sila orts of litters about the
house or in the garden, and all, too,
without doing himself much good.
It would have been a good deal
Fohnny listens to Mr. Dow t Like. 89
wiser, you see, if he had just set to
work to learn the things that little
boys should learn, and many of which
May could have taught him so very
well.
But wise heads are not often found
on young shoulders; and a great deal
of this was that good-for-nothing
Mr. Don’t Like’s doing, whom, in
the end, poor Johnny so often found
it necessary to send about his busi-
ness.
He was getting a bigger boy every
day, as I said, but still when he saw
that spelling-book lying on the shelf,
and something inside him whispered,
‘Hadn’t you better begin to learn
those letters that May May wanted
90 Fohuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like.
to teach you so long ago? he only
gave his shoulders an impatient little
shake, and said to himself, ‘Johnny’s
not a bigger boy ’nuff yet; no he
isn’t.’
May used to hear him saying this
over and over again as if he wanted
to make himself feel that it was
quite true; and sometimes she very
nearly got out: ‘A dig boy enough,
you mean, Johnny,’ but she always
stopped short, because she thought
that while he kept repeating this he
would not really try even if he agreed
to begin.
So she waited and waited still; for
she said to herself: ‘I could not do
as mother would if she meant to
Fohuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like. 91
make him learn. I can’t say, “Now,
Johnny, you are quite old enough,
and I’m going to teach you to read.
So you must be a good boy and try
how fast you can learn.†Mother
would, bthinie im sac had time so tor
I don’t believe I was one scrap bigger
when she made me learn; but I’m
not his mother, only his sister, so I
must manage another way.’
So May and Johnny went on for
a whole week. Oh, what a long
one it did seem! There was a
secret now between them, though
they did not think of it; but, you'll
see, they could not keep it long.
It was beginning to burn inside
each of them; and, I dare say, you
92 Fohnuny listens to Mr. Don't Leke.
know how ines onable it is hen
secrets take to doing that.
Johnny found his particularly dis-
agreeable, because every time he
looked in the glass he seemed to get
taller; and sometimes he began to
be quite afraid that he might wake
up some morning and find himself a
great tall man, like the one who
went by the window so often. And
then he thought of a certain little
girl, who also went past every day—
a tiny child she was, who went tod-
dling along by her elder sister’s side—
and not so tall as himself, Johnny
was nearly sure, though he was
afraid to ask her to stand by him and
measure ; and yet she carried a little
Fohnny listens to Mr. Dowt Like. 93
book, and a little slate in her bag;
and Johnny knew that she went to
school and learnt her lessons there.
Then he was a boy ; and May had
often told him that boys ought to be
more clever than girls. So when he
saw her, he couldn’t help going on
thinking, ‘If Fan is big ’nuff,
Johnny must be.’
Only he didn’t like that thought.
He was very cross with it for coming
into his head at all; and he tried to
push it back, and choke it, and make
it go away altogether.
But it was of no use trying. It
would come back; for, you see,
Johnny’s mother had often told him
that good little children always liked
94 Tey listens to Mr. Dowt Like,
to en eee was good an een or
if they didn’t “ke it they learnt all
the same, that they might grow up
to be wise men and women; and
that it was only the naughty, lazy
ones who would not try to learn as
soon as they were big enough.
And Johnny knew very well that
the great God up in Heaven could
see quite well when he was trying to
be a very good boy, and that he
knew, too, when he made excuses.
So that was how it was, that
Mr. Ought began to talk again very
fast, and very, loud inside _ this
Johnny’s little heart. And soon he
and Mr. Don’t Like began to have
such a hot wrangle together that
Fohuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like. 95
eee Johnny’s Hee did not look SO
happy and comfortable as usual.
Nobody, except himself, could
hear what either of those two gentle-
men said, you must know; but very
soon they made him talk, too.
May was sitting just then on 4
great box; and she had the old
spelling-book in her hand, and was
wishing very much for the pleasure
of teaching her brother all those big
letters.
She could read herself quite easily ;
and it was so nice to read stories.
She thought that Johnny would
like it so much if he would only
learn.
And while she was thinking so,
96 Fohnuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like.
up to her side came the little man,
saying :—
‘What ’ou doing, May May ?â€
‘Reading a story to myself,
Johnny. Such a nice one! an-
swered his sister.
‘Me tink me learn,’ said Master
Johnny. ‘Me a bigger boy, now.’
‘Very well, said May, feeling
quite pleased. ‘Come here, then,
and sit by me; and I'll teach you
the big letters. You'll soon learn.’
So Johnny went close to May, and
began to pore over the book, asking,
‘What dis about? And is dis a nice
story ?’
“Yes, yes,’ said May, ‘ very nice ;
but that’s not the way to learn,
Fohuny listens to Mr, Dowt Like. 97
Johnny. You must say the letters
first, and then get to little words,
and then to big ones. Come, look
here; this is great A, and this next
is bouncing B, and—’
‘Great A! said Johnny. ‘I
don’t think he’s very great. He’s a
great deal littler than I am,’
Then he tried to turn over the leaf
to see what was on the other side.
‘Oh! but you must look,’ said
May: ‘ you must look at it well; or
else you won’t know it again.’
So Johnny gave one more look,
and then he patted May’s cheek and
kissed her; saying in a coaxing sort
of way, that he had when he was
lazy :—
98 SFohuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like.
‘Me won’t say A, B, C, May; me
read a story.’
‘Read a story! how can you,
Johnny, before you know your
letters? Come, now, be a steady
boy, and look at them.’
¢Oh! me don’t like them. © They
very stupid letters, me sure,’ said her
little pupil, jumping about and play-
ing all sorts of antics. ‘/"Eeach
Johnny a story, May.’
‘Yl vead you one afterwards, if
youll say the letters nicely, May
answered, eagerly catching at this
suggestion.
But Johnny was not in a learning
mood at all; and he would do no-
thing but caper about and turn
\ “ee WS a Wy S \N\
a | AO cr
\\
“Me won't say A, B,C, May. Me read a story.â€
Fohuny listens to Mr. Dowt Like. 99
everything into play, until it was tea-
time, SO tiat lesson Came tones
thing, you see.
Ue
TOO
Clive iik Vil.
THE LITTLE LADDIE GROWS WISER.
@MALL people have to fight
greater battles sometimes than
big people think; and when
those battles are zwsidec the little people
and nobody can take either side of the
fight or help at all, very few great
big men and women guess how hard
these battles are. Indeed, very few
people know that anything is going
on at all, except that they think the
children are cross.
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. tot
Even May, though she watched
him so closely, had only a shrewd
guess or two about Johnny that evening.
She did not know half his troubles.
Only she had noticed that when
that little lad was very eager and
frisky, and rather cross, too, between
whiles, it was ‘because he had got
something in his head,’ to use her
own expression.
My idea is that if we could have
looked inside him we should have
found more the matter with his heart
than his head, but very likely the
little boy or girl who gets this book
may not even know where that part
of our bodies lies.
And that does not matter one bit;
102 The Little Laddie grows Wiser.
indeed, while they are quite small,
perhaps they had better not know.
But this much all little folks can
understand. They all know the
difference between a little boy who
loves his mother and father and sister
and brother very much indeed, and
a little boy who only seems to care
about himself.
And they all know the difference
between a little boy who dearly loves
a good game of romps, and who
laughs and shouts and gets merry
over it, and another who goes creep-
ing about like a little mouse, and
does not care for anything, or cares
only a very little.
We say of those loving, eager
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. 103
children that they have plenty of
heart, or that they are very warm-
licatted., * (ikem that sorts -doms
you? and I don’t care much for the
cold, stony young people.
But, you see, it is the heart that
makes all the difference. It is there
where our lovings and likings live.
And that is what “I meant -abott
Johnny. He had lots of lovings and
likings; and lots of dislikings, too.
And sometimes if we could have seen
inside that little “heart or is, we
should have seen quite a bustle, and
a scuffle, and a storm in there.
That was because Johnny, small
boy as he was, knew very well that
these likings and dislikings were not
104 The Little Laddie grows Wiser.
found out that sometimes they almost
told stories, and that very often they
got him into trouble. And that was
why, sometimes, our small friend did
not like to tell what they said, no not
even to his patient sister May.
When he was a tiny baby he did not
mind, but told everything, and cried
or laughed just as he felt disposed.
That was before he knew anything
of that curious person, Mr. Ought,
who so often changed his name to
Oughtn’t, you know.
He was a good person, Johnny
knew; and he had a great respect for
him; though, for all that, sometimes
he wished he would hold his tongue
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. 105
and not keep saying, ‘Don’t,’ or ‘Do’
so very loud.
I have a great notion that he talked
inside him a good deal on that evening
after he had been so silly about learn-
ing his letters; and that while he was
at tea he said to him several times :
‘Ah, you silly boy, you! you don’t
feel half so comfortable now as you
would have done if you had just been
wise and tried to learn some of those
big letters. How nice it would have
been to think that you really knew a
little bit of reading, instead of having
to remember that you behaved like a
baby rather than like such a big boy as
you are. You'll have to go to school
soon, and then what a dunce you will
106 The Little Ladde grows Wiser.
look! Andit will beall your own fault,
because you wouldn’t learn when
May tried to teach you. Poor May,
foot Wear May, just lookrat her
idee and sec low vexed shes). Oh’!
you are a naughty boy to serve her so;
you know you are, and you don’t de-
Schve such a kama sister,
So Mr. Ought talked away inside
Johnny’s heart; and he was obliged
to listen to him though he did not
want to at all.
He kept eating his bread and but-
ter callethe while: but he “said it
was not nice, and wanted to leave it.
Only mother said he was dainty, and
that she could not have waste. At
last, when Mr. Ought came to that
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. 107
bit about May, Johnny could not help
taking a peep at her face, though the
great tears that would come into his
eyes would not let him see her plainly.
May saw them; but she did not
know a bit what made them come.
She thought it was all about the
bread and butter, and because he
had got more than he wanted. And
so she said :—
‘Tl eat some of yours, Johnny, if
you don’t want it all. Give me
what you can’t eat.’
That was very kind; was it not?
And May was surprised to find that,
after all, Johnny gave her a very
little piece, and said he could eat all
the rest.
108 The Little Laddie grows Wiser.
Afrey tea,s the aiatiter tsaidhe thiey
would have a walk in the fields, and
that Johnny might go, too, if he was
a good boy. ‘That was most delight-
ful !
A walk with father came so sel-
dom, because he did not often get
home from work soon enough; but
when it did come, the children knew
that it meant a game of play, too,
and a good one; for father was a
famous hand at games.
And this was a splendid evening ;
and mother was so glad to go out,
too; and she told Johnny that, if he
liked, he might go and ask for his
white pussy, that was to be, and that
they would put it in a basket and
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. 109
carry it with them, because it would
like a game in the hay.
So the little laddie forgot all his
troubles, and was as happy as a king,
with his dear father and mother, and
May May, and the pussy; and it
seemed time to come home and go
to bed a long while before he was
ready.
Mother put him to bed that night.
She always did when she could get
home from work in time; and then
she gave him a good bath, and lots
of kisses; because she loved her
little Johnny very much.
And though he did not tell her
quite all the secrets that he told to
May, yet he used to ask her lots of
110 The Little Laddie grows Wiser.
questions, and some that he thought
May May could not answer.
That evening he was very full of
talk, and chattered away as fast as
his little tongue could go, about his
dear white pussy and the ‘ douful’
daisy-chain, that May had made and
put round its neck; and about the
hay, and how nice it smelt; and
what fun it was to see father hide
himself quite up in it, and then
come bouncing out.
And his mother told him that
she thought he was a very happy
little boy to have so many nice
things, and that he ought to try to
be very good. And then she talked
to him about God, his great Father
The Little Laddte grows Wiser. 111
up in Heaven, and how it was He
who made all those things so nice
and pretty, that Johnny, and other
little boys and girls, might have so
much pleasure.
She told him how God could
always see him, and how He watched
over him, and took care of him, even
when father and mother were obliged
to be out; and how He knew every-
thing that he thought about. And
Johnny listened; but he did not say
much, only he looked rather uncom-
fortable when mother said that God
knew even what he thought about.
That was because he had so many
naughty thoughts, you know. Of
course, he would not have minded if
112 The Little Laddie SD Wiser.
they had) seen All sood ones. ond
I do not suppose there is any little
boy or girl who likes to think that
all the things that he or she thinks
about are known by any one.
Besides, Johnny knew that God
is quite good; and so, of course,
he knew that He could not like
some of his own naughty, cross
thoughts.
So he began to leave off talking,
and became very quiet. His mother
supposed that he was getting sleepy ;
but it was not that. He was thinking
about things that he did not like to
tell her, and making up his mind
what he would do to-morrow.
And so he said his little prayers,
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. 1123
and gave mammy his good-night
kiss; and then she went away.
Well, Johnny did not lie awake
very long, though it seemed a great
while to him: but before he went to
sleep he made up his mind about
something.
I need not tell you what that was;
for you will soon see.
He did, mot sleep very late mexe
morning; for, when he had been
asleep about eleven hours, all his
tired “feelings awener pone; “so; of
course, he could not help waking.
He was not by himself when he
opened his eyes; for though mother
had been obliged to go out, yet there
stood his dear May May waiting as
8
114 The Little Laddie grows Wiser.
quietly as a mouse until he opened
his eyes.
He had a good splash first of all,
for he always got into a great tub and
put head and all under water that he
might come out a nice clean boy.
And then he rubbed with one
towel, and May with another until he
was quite warm and dry.
After that he got his clothes on,
and May brushed his hair and taught
him his little hymn and prayers which
he could not yet say quite by himself.
Then they went down and had their
bread and milk, and Johnny was very
funny over it that morning: for he
kept eating very fast for a minute or
two and then looking up at May and
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. 115
saying ‘ Me tell ou something when
me’s done.’
May did not think much of that.
She only laughed and said: ‘ Well,
make haste.’
But no sooner had Johnny finished
than he set to work hunting for some-
thing; and when he had found it he
brought it to May; and it turned out
to be—what do you think? Why,
that famous old spelling-book that ho
was so silly over last evening.
He took it to May and laid it on
her lap; and she soon found out the
truth; the little man is sensible at
last, and consents to learn A for Ass.
‘Me be a good boy to-day, May,’
he said. ‘Me won’t play; me going
8—2
116 The Little Laddie grows Wiser.
to learn wearily and fooly if ’ou'll
teach Johnny.’
‘Will you really ? said May, look-
ing as if she did not know how to
trust him.
‘Yes, wearlly and fooly,’ repeated
the little lad in the most emphatic
way he could.
Really and truly, I must tell you,
were very favourite words of his; but
he was not contented with repeating
them over and over now, but added
very vehemently, ‘ Me will, May.’
He did, too, truly enough; Mr.
Ought had quite conquered again,
you see, though it was after a hard
battle with Mr. Don’t Like; and
Johnny was a quiet, happy little man
==> SSS
——— =
SSS
LL Aes
wipe Lg
62 Eee
ast, and consents to learn A for Ass.
at |
The little man is sensible
The Little Laddie grows Wiser. 117
again; while May said to herself that
she had been quite right in think-
ing that he had something in his
head.
118
Crea ae ay ae
A TIRED BOY.
jf TILL, you know, with the best
| will in the world, every one
must get tited im time; and
say what you like, Miss May, it isa
voiy long job to learn all thece
twenty-six great letters, though when
they are learnt they do seem easy
enough.
There was a lady once who had a
number of boys and girls, whom she
brought up to mind every word she
A Tived Boy. 119
said, and to be very good children.
They do say that somehow or other
she got them all, except one, to learn
every one of their letters on one day,
so that there should be no more
trouble with them.
Well, it was a good job over
certainly; but I think they must have
been very clever, little children. ot
least, I am sure that 7 couldn’t have
learnt all the letters in one day, and
I don’t believe I could now, though
[ve been grown up a long, long
time. It took Johnny’s sister longer,
too; but then she had known them
all a long while now, and had learnt
a great many other things since. So
little May forgot how hard it was at
120 A Tived Boy.
the time to learn them, and Johnny
was quite tired before he got to X.
He had said them all very patiently
right through down to that letter, and
twice over each letter as May pointed ;
for he had made up his mind to be
a very wise boy. Still, when he got
to that one, which is the last but two,
you know, he could not help giving a
great yawn and saying: ‘ That’s
enough, May. Me tired. Do it
again morrow-day.’
And I am sure that if May had
been a big woman instead of a little
girl, she would have quite understood
how tired he was, and put the book
away for that day.
But you see she was not a grown up
Vif
Yh
My)! Mi
Wy
May forgets how hard the letters were to learn; and Johnny gets
quite tired before he gets to X.
A Tived Boy. Lag
woman; and she could not help that.
She was not a bit tired herself; and she
thought they were getting on so
beautifully that she did not want to
stop.
So she was quite disappointed, and
tried to persuade him to go on,
saying :—
‘Oh! go on, Johnny, why, we
haven’t half done yet! I wanted you
to say them all over again and see
how many you knew before we put
the book away.’
But Johnny’s patience was quite
exhausted; and he had made up his
mind to stop. So it was of no use
talking ; for he was a positive little
gentleman, as we know now; don’t
Tae A Tived Boy.
we? And when he had made up
his mind to anything it was not easy to
turn him.
‘ All over again,’ he repeated, with
a look of despair. ‘Oh! May, me
couldn’t; me done plenty. Morrow,
May; me say them ’gain morrow-
day.’
So the book went back to its place;
and Johnny’s bricks came out instead,
and his ball; and he had a splendid
game by himself, while his sister
washed the basins that had held their
bread and milk and put them away
in the cupboard, and made their little
beds, and dusted the room, and swept
up the kitchen hearth.
There was a nice lot of work for
A Tived Boy. Fo3
a little girl like May! I wonder how
many girls can make themselves as
useful !
And when morrow-day came, I
am glad to tell you that she had
thought of a much better way of teach-
ing Johnny his letters than that of
making him say them _ straight
through.
And this was it.
First, she opened the book in the
right place; and Johnny came with
his very steadiest face on, to stand
beside her. ‘They could not do any-
thing without that, of course. And
Johnny said :-—
‘ Now, me going to say A’s.’
Yes = so we are sana L thine
124 A Tired Boy.
will be good fun to see how many
A’s we can find, Johnny,’ said his
anxious young teacher. ‘ Look, this
is what A is like—one stroke goes
this way, and another goes that;
and there is a bar between; and
two straight marks at the bottom
for feet. Now, you look and see if
you can find any more letters like
that; and Ill look, too: and well
see who'll find the most. Make
haste
teu. me look, Heres one, said
Johnny, quite excited.
Pncueviciy, chicd, ° Tete s aaormcn,
and here’s another. That’s two I’ve
found.’
And Johnny looked again, and
A Tived Boy. 125
chuckled, and said, ‘ Here’s another
A, May, and here’s another ;’ until
at last they were tired of looking for
that letter any more. So then May
taught him bouncing B; and they
hunted for that in the same way, and
then for C’s. Afterwards, she went
back again, to make sure that Johnny
had not forgotten the two first ; and
then they stopped.
For May had been thinking that
she must get Johnny to like his les-
son, and not tire: of it, or else he
would soon say again that he
couldn’t learn, and declare that he
wasn’t a ‘ bigger boy ’nuft,’ as he did
before.
But after the lesson was done, I
126 A Tired Boy.
must tell you that May did not forget
to read her little pupil a story.
For Johnny loved stories with all
his heart; and when there was a
chance of one, he would get his
little three-legged stool that father
made for him a long time ago, and
sit down on it, very often resting his
fat cheeks on his fat hands, and
looking very earnestly into the
reader’s face. Because, you know,
May was not the only person to read
stories. There was the father—he
would read some good ones, and
make Johnny laugh by the funny
way in which he read them; and
mother, too: sometimes she related
stories without a book—told about
A Tired Boy. 27
things that happened when she was
a child, you know ;—and then there
was the old grandfather, who
tumbled down and hurt his knee ;
he knew lots.
And so, one way or another,
Johnny came in for a good many
stories.
But now for May’s. It was out
of that spelling-book; and this is
what it was :—
©A little girl was walking one day
in a nice garden that belonged to her
papa. It was early in the morning ;
and she had come out before break-
fast, because her papa had told her that
she might go and see whether there
were any strawberries that were ripe.
128 wd 17ed Boy,
low wall covered with pretty creepers,
and om the other sidé on the wall
tiicrer were ulck ‘bushy trees, the
boughs of which hung over, so that
she could take hold of them.
‘Besides this, there was one tree
that grew on her side of the fence;
and just as she passed by that, some-
thing ran behind the trunk between it
and the wall. It ran very quickly,
and she could not see what it was;
but while she was looking about, she
heard a little quick cry in a tree near
—one of those whose boughs came
over the wall. It sounded almost like
the cry of a child; but there was no
child to be seen up there.
A Tived Boy, 129
“The litde girl looked about in
all directions to make out where the
cry came from; and soon, peeping
up into the thick branches, she spied
something that looked like a nest ;
and sitting on it was the bird that
made that cry. It went on making
it still, opening its beak very wide,
and looking so frightened and un-
happy, that she was sure something
was the matter.
What couldsst) ber od he ‘bind,
which, she was sure, was the father
or mother one, was looking down on
the ground, as if there was some-
thing terrible to be seen there; and
yet it did not leave the nest and fly
away.
130 4 Tirea Boy.
© So the little girl looked down, too;
and soon she saw something moving
again behind the tree. At first, she
thought that it looked like a cat;
but soon she saw that it was not so
big, that it had a pointed head.
Then she knew that this creature was
a weasel; and she remembered that
weasels cat birds’ eggs and young
birds. What could she do? She
did not wonder now at the poor
parent bird’s distress; for she knew
that if she went away the dread-
ful weasel would get its poor little
ones.
‘F ortunately, at that very moment,
good-natured Thomas, the gardener,
came out of a hot-house near, and
A Tired Boy. 131
was just going to see after his bees,
when he caught sight of his master’s
child, and saw that something
troubled her. She did not speak ;
but beckoned him to come to her.
And when he came, she soon made
him understand her trouble, and the
trouble of the poor bird.
‘The weasel was still hiding be-
hind the trunk of the tree; and he
said he could easily poke it out and
make it go away. But then it would
be sure to come back, because it had
discovered this nest so conveniently
low down in the branches.
© Tl tell you what Pll do, miss,â€
said Thomas. “If you'll bide here,
I'll go and get my gun, and see if I
Ora,
122 A Tired Boy.
can’t shoot the creature, You ain’t
afeard, are you ?â€
‘Oh, no; little missy was not
afraid. She had heard Thomas’s
gun many a time, and longed to
have the little birds saved.
‘So he very quickly fetched it;
but the first time he fired he only
hit the tree, and frightened the
weasel into a hole.
«« That'sseood,’: he said. "New
I have you, Master Weasel ;†and he
put his gun close to the hole, and
fired again.
‘And then he bade the little girl
look over the wall and see how the
birds were getting on; for he knew
that, though she wanted to save
A Tived Boy. 123
them, yet she would be very sorry if
she saw the dead weasel.
‘And while she looked up at the
nest, he made the hole bigger with
his spade, and pulled the enemy of
the little birdies out; and when he
saw that it was quite dead, he hid it
out of sight; and told the child that
she could go and get her strawberries
now, for that her young pets were
perfectly safe, and that there was no
longer a cruel weasel to hurt them.’
134
CHAPTER IX.
Av -GREAT.-ER TG HT;
MOHNNY had a great many
new thoughts in his head
after he- had heard - that
story about the weasel; and it was
one of the nice things about this
little laddie, that he had always
plenty of thoughts of his own; he
was not like some boys and _ girls
whom I have seen, whose heads
seem no better than pieces of wood,
without any ideas of their own at all.
A Great Fright. 135
Such children as those are not at
all amusing; and it is dry work
teaching them, taking care of them,
or playing with them ; for, you see,
they really are not much better than
wooden dolls. May would not have
been so fond of Johnny if he had
been a boy of that kind.
But he was not a bit.
I think he was a very happy little
man, though, of course, he had his
troubles like all the rest of us. In-
deed, perhaps, he was more sorry
about many things than some of
those wooden-headed young, people
might be, just as he was more glad
about others.
One thing is certain. This little
136 A Great Fright.
Johnny was all alive; and he was
very seldom still, and never idle.
From the time he got up till he
went to bed again, he was always
busy about something in his way.
Now, I do not say that it was
altogether pleasant, either to May or
any one else, to have so much noise
and bustle about the house, and to
have so many things put out of
order to suit some game of Johnny’s.
His mother sometimes used to say,
‘Ah, Johnny, now, if you had
only been a girl, I shouldn’t have
had half the trouble to keep you
clean and quiet !
And often she was glad to turn
him out in front of the house to.
A Great Fright. Tez
play there; for, she said, he could
make as much noise and as much
mess there as he liked.
And out of doors he had lots of
friends, so that. he was not at all
unhappy about that.
I might tell you about a good
many small boys and girls who used
to come and play with him, and
about the grottoes they made with
oyster-shells, and the pies they con-
structed out of mud, and the games
they had at horses, and at ball; and
lots of other things that they did.
Some, you know, would play with
all their hearts, and do everything
well, and be favourites with all the
others; but some were not well, or
133 A Great Fright.
they were dull and stupid. Nobody
cared whether they played or not.
It seemed to make very little diffe-
rence,
Johnny, however, was always
wanted; but just now it was only
those children who had had the
whooping-cough, who were allowed
to play with him. The mothers of
the others were afraid lest their
children should get it; and so they
kept them away.
And thus it happened that some-
times when there was going to bea
great scrubbing of the floor, or a
great wash of the clothes, and Master
Johnny was so very active, that he
had to be turned outside to play,
A Great Fright. 139
there were no little companions
there to romp with him.
And then what do you suppose
the little man did with himself?
‘Oh! hell amuse himself, his
mother said one day to a neighbour
who was helping her, ‘never fear.
Only, May, you must give him a
look, now and then, to see that he
isil t In mischier.
And so he did. The mother was
quite right. Johnny had his white
pussy now. It lived in the house
with tum, and thad: a nice lictle
basket to sleep in, with straw in it to
keep it warm. He had only to call,
and pussy would come directly for a
game,
140 A Great Fright.
And then there was Wolf, his old
friend Wolf, whom he loved so
dearly, and who loved him better
than anything else in the world.
Johnny and Wolf could be happy
by the hour together, talking to each
other, each in his own way, which
the other understood quite well,
though they did not talk the same
language.
The only thing was, that now and
then, Wolf had some other work to
do, besides attending to his young
master; for, being a very sensible
dog, he was sometimes sent with
mecaces +» He. could: canny “the
money in a little basket to buy a loaf
at the baker’s, and bring back the
A Great Fright. I4I
bread quite safely; and he knew,
too, where his big master was work-
ing, and could take a note to him,
quite as well as May could. Indeed,
once when May was not quite well,
the faithful dog managed to carry his
master’s dinner, never touching a bit
of it, though he could smell the
meat, and knew there was a bone
with it—and Wolf had a very par-
ticular fancy for bones.
So, you see, Johnny could not have
Wolf to play when he had other
work in hand.
And he was always sorry when he
could >not, because he was such. a
capital companion, and there was no
end of the fun they had together.
142 A Great Fright.
But Johnny liked a great many
sorts of animals, and of birds, too.
He thought a great deal about birds
after that story that May read to
him, and made a great many plans
about defending the little ones
against their enemies, the weasels,
and against those great cats that he
well knew were always on the look-
out for the dear little birds, or for
their mothers either.
Indeed, when he was a great man,
he purposed to do something really
noble for the defence of these help-
less creatures.
But we were talking about dogs,
and Johnny’s fancy for them all.
He had not yet met with an unkind
A Great Fright. 143.
one, though he knew a_ good
many; and most of them would
play with him whenever he invited
them.
Those were the dogs belonging to
the neighbours ; his little friends’
dogs, you see.
One day, however, it was a hot
day in summer; mother was busy
indoors, and May weeding in the
garden, while Johnny had run out
into the lane close by.
May had been watching him; and
she had been talking to him not a
minute before. He was out of her
sight before she knew it, for he had
run into the lane because he thought
he saw his dear friend Wolf coming
144 A Great Fright.
back from an errand on which he
had been sent.
It was not Wolf though, but
another big dog something like him,
only he had not such a good-natured
face. But Johnny did not notice
that. He had an idea that all dogs
were kind like his old friend, and as
fond of a game.
That was why he ran on after he
had found out his mistake, and went
a little way after the stranger, calling
out :—
‘ Doggie, doggie, stop, doggie.’
But, unfortunately, this was not a
kind dog at all, that was going by.
And he could not understand being
stopped like that. Perhaps he was
A Great Fright. 145
and it might be that he was not
used to children, and did not like
them.
At any rate, he only turned round
and growled in a very surly, disagree-
able way, instead of coming forward
politely, as a well-bred dog would
do, to meet the little boy.
Johnny, however, did not wait to
see how he met him. He rushed
forward, and, standing in front of
the surly animal, began to talk to
him, and to try to pat his back.
‘That isn’t to be borne at all,’
thinks Mr. Stranger Doggie. ‘I
wonder who this upstart of a boy
can be.’ And he growled again.
IO
146 A Great Fright.
‘Don’t be fightened; don’t run
away. Johnny won’t hurt ’ou,’ said
our little friend, putting out his
hand once more. But, indeed, he
had no thought of being frightened.
It was angry and insulted that the
stranger felt. And, instead of let-
ting him pat him, he gave such a
snarl and such a snap, that Johnny
could not make it out at all, and
thought he had better make the best
of his way home.
Mr. Dog, however, did not intend
now to allow him to do that in
peace. He had been a great deal
too much offended. So, as soon as
Johnny began to run, he ran too,
and the next minute our poor little
Poor Johnny screams for May, May.
A Great Fright. 147
friend felt himself seized behind by
his pinafore.
Oh, dear, dear, he has never had
such a fright before! Poor Johnny
screams for May May, though he
really believes he shall be eaten up
before she can come.
HO} 92
Cra PRR 2@
MAY COMES TO THE RESCUR.
OR'TUNATELY, May was not
far off. She had just that
minute missed her pet, and
wondered where he could have gone.
So she ran down to the bottom of
the garden directly she heard his
cry; and you may guess what she
felt when she saw him struggling
with this great, strange dog.
Now, some little girls would have
been too frightened to do anything
ff.
far o
t
ay wasn’
M
ortunately
F
May comes to the Resciie. 149
in such a case; or perhaps they
would have set up a loud scream for
somebody else to come.
May did scream, certainly; but
she did something else, too; for she
took up a great stone that lay in the
road, and, as soon as she was near
enough to take care that she did not
hit Johnny, she threw it with all her
strength at his enemy’s back.
Then the great rough dog let go
his hold; and setting up a loud howl,
he ran off as fast as his legs would
carry him.
You see, cross, cruel creatures,
whether they be men or beasts, are
often great cowards,
It was a good thing for Johnny
150 May comes to the Rescue.
that this dog was such a coward,
though, or he might have been
bitten in a shocking way. As it
was, he tore a great hole in poor
Johnny’s pinafore.
However, they did not think much
of that—either the little boy or his
sister; they were so glad to see the
horrid dog go away. Only Johnny
clung to May, while she made as
much noise as she could to frighten
his dreadful foe still more, and pre-
vent his coming back again; and
when the danger was all over, he
began to cry and sob, and to hold
his sister tighter and tighter.
‘Never mind, Johnny,’ she said,
‘never mind; he’s gone now. You
May comes to the Rescue. 151
must keep out of the way of strange
dogs. Let's go in to mother and
tell her all about it.’
Of course, Johnny was very glad
to go, although it did come into his
head that very likely she would say
that he ought not to have gone so far
away. Still, he thought that even if
she did scold a little, yet his own
mammy would make him well
sooner than anybody else; and so
they went into the house together,
and told her all about it.
‘What! did he bite you, Johnny ?
the good mother asked, as soon as
she heard what was the matter; and
she looked quite frightened until she
had examined her little boy all over,
152 May comes to the Rescue.
from top to toe, tosee if she could
find any marks of the horrid beast’s
great teeth on him.
‘Me don’t know,’ sobbed the
child: ‘me fizk he did.’
‘No; it’s only the pinafore,’ said
his mother: ‘and that’s not of much
consequence. We can soon mend
that. It’s a very good thing that he
didn’t make a hole in you instead.
You mustn't be running after dogs
that you don’t know anything about.
Or did he run at you first? Which
was it, my little man
“Me fought it was Wolf at first,’
sobbed Johnny, ‘and then me didn’t
know he’d bite.’
‘We shall have to tell our good
May comes to the Rescue. 153
Wolf ali about it, and get him to
keep his cousins in better order,’ re-
turned his mother, giving her little
boy a very comforting hug, and a
great many kisses. ‘ Wolf must
serve him out for touching his
young master, if ever he meets
him.’
‘Me tell Wolf, replied Johnny,
with boyish glee at the prospect of a
fight between the two dogs; ‘but
me don’t b’lieve hell come again.
He’s so fightened I’
©‘ That’s because he knows he’s
done wrong,’ answered his mother.
‘Bad dogs are often cowards, just as
bad boys are. I hope my little boy
will never do anything that will
154 May comes to the Rescue.
make him afraid to meet either his
friends or his foes.’
‘What are foes?’ Johnny asked,
opening his eyes very wide.
‘People who hate you, Johnny,’
answered May, cager to show that
she knew that.
‘Does anybody hate Johnny ?
asked the little laddie, looking quite
concerned.
Nes, nobody, ['m sure, » -his
mother said, catching him up for
another hug.
‘But you know, Johnny,’ added
May, ‘somebody may, some day, if
you do anything that they don’t like.’
‘Well, we won’t think of that,’
said the mother, seeing her little boy’s
May comes to the Rescue. 155
lip quiver again. ‘ Johnny must be
very kind to everybody, and then
everybody will love him.’
That cleared away the choky feel-
ing, and the little boy slipped off his
mother’s lap, and trotted off with his
sister to have a game in the garden.
But it was not very long before he
got into another sad piece of trouble,
that I must tell you about; and it
was a worse trouble, much, to my
mind, than this with the strange
dog.
It would be a good thing if one
never had to tell such stories, as I
must now relate, about any little
boys; but then, if they happen, we
must tell them, or else people would
156 May comes to the Rescue.
only half understand what they are
like.
Now get ready for a very sad
story. Johnny had, as you know,
what is called a very sweet tooth; in
other words, he was very fond of
what I daresay you call, as he did,
by the name of goodies.
And his father, who liked to
please his little man, pretty often
brought him home a pennyworth or
so on a Saturday night, when he
came home from work; while his
kind mother would sometimes, when
he had been very good, give him a
taste out of the sugar-basin.
When grandmother came over she
sometimes brought a little lump sugar
May comes to the Rescue. 157
with her for a present to mother,
and then, if Johnny got a white
lump, he was happy indeed, and
thought it as good as any ‘sweeties’
out of the shop.
But his mother did not like him to
tease for such things; and so, if she
forgot to give him a lump, he did not
much like to ask for one.
Now it so happened that, a week
after this scuffle with the dog,
Johnny’s grandmother did come over
to see them, and did bring a pound
of lump sugar with some other
things in her bag.
This lump sugar was put into the
best sugar-basin, and the grand-
mother and father and mother had
158 May comes to the Rescue.
some in their tea when they all sat
down together, while one lump each
was given to May and Johnny to do
as they liked with. And as you may
be sure, they each chose to keep it to
eat afterwards, being quite content
with moist sugar in their milk and
water.
Well, they both enjoyed the sugar
very much; but May, when she had
finished hers, thought no more of it.
Not so Master Johnny. Un-
fortunately, as she was busy talking,
the mother left that basin, with a
good many lumps still in it, on the
chest at the end of the room; and
thus, as he ran in and out at his
play, and was every now and then
May comes to the Rescue. 159
stopped for a little fun with his
grandmother, he saw this tempting
basin, and could not help thinking
how delightful it must be to have
money enough to buy all that sugar,
and how, when he was a man, he
would always keep his pockets filled,
so that he could eat a lump when-
ever he felt inclined.
So he went to bed with his young
head full of the thoughts of those
lumps of sugar. He did not know
that there was any harm in thinking
about them, or any danger either; and
so he lay awake a long time for him,
thinking these thoughts, and wonder-
ing whether mother would give him
another lump next morning.
160 May comes to the Rescue.
At last he went to sleep; and I
cannot tell you what his dreams were
about, or whether he had any. I
know, however, that next morning
while May was washing and dressing
him, he asked her more than once
whether she thought that all the
sugar had been eaten up for supper,
or whether the basin would come
out again for tea that day.
May did not know; and besides,
she was getting quite tired of the
subject, and did net encourage him to
talk about it. However, Johnny
made haste to go down, that he
might just see whether the basin was
still left out of the cupboard, and
whether it was empty now or not.
May comes to the Rescue. 161
He spied it directly, and it was
not empty; for mother had quite
forgotten to put it away. Johnny
only meant to look, of course ; for
he knew very well that it was steal-
ing to take a lump of sugar without
leave.
If May had come down with him,
she would have put it away into the
cupboard at once, and locked the
door ; but there were some things to
put tidy upstairs; and she waited a
few minutes before she followed him.
Oh, May May! if you had only
known !
So Johnny stood and gazed at the
lumps of sugar. How delicious
they did lookmte™ be ‘sure! 7 ilis
if
162 May comes to the Rescue.
mouth began to water; and he
thought if mother had only been
there, he could not have helped ask-
ing for one piece.
But she was not; and so next he
began to wonder—would she mind
very much—would one lump less
make much difference ?
It was Mr. Like, you know, that
put those thoughts into his head ;
and he talked very fast and loud.
But that other little talker, who
called himself Mr. Oughtn’t this
time, was not silent. He whispered
too, loud, and then louder :—
“No, no; don’t touch them. You
know very well that they are not
yours, and that it will be stealing if
May comes to the Rescue. 163
you do. And God will know if
mother never finds out.’
Oh! Johnny, you know Mr.
Oughtn’t is quite right; listen to
what he has got to say, and tell Mr.
Like to go about his business.
Dear, dear! Johnny does not. He
lets naughty Mr. Like go on chatter-
ing ; and he listens to every word he
has to say, and takes no notice of the
other speaker, who had so often been
a good friend to him.
Another minute, and Johnny’s
fingers are in the basin. Oh dear
me! who would have thought it !—
the little laddie has taken one, two,
three Jumps, and actually put one
into his mouth!
1I—2
164 May comes to the Rescue.
Just then May began to come
downstairs; and Johnny heard her
foot on the first step. So there was
no time to enjoy that lump. He
had to munch it up, and swallow it
as fast as he could. It was not any
pleasure; and what to do with the
other two lumps he did not know.
Before May could get downstairs,
too, in came somebody else, and that
somebody was Johnny’s mother.
Now Johnny’s mother had very
quick eyes. She found out in a
minute when anything was the
matter; and her little boy’s red
cheeks and confused way of looking
at her, instantly made her suspect
something. Then she looked all
May comes to the Rescue. 165
round the room, and the sight of
that sugar-basin, which she had for-
gotten, told the story.
‘Come here, Johnny; come to
me directly,’ she said, ‘and open
your hand. Open it now,’ she re-
peated, seeing that he clenched his
fist very tight, and got still redder in
the face.
Johnny threw the lumps into his
mother’s lap, and then buried his
head there, too, and sobbed as if his
little heart would break, crying out,
‘I so sorry! I so sorry?
‘And so am I, Johnny,’ said his
mother, gravely. ‘I never thought
my little boy would stead,’
May was downstairs now; and
166 May comes to the Rescue,
eicH aie head hat was hen matter
she began to cry, too; for ske never
thought her Johnny-boy would do
anything so bad. And when Johnny
had done crying himself,-and could
hear and see anything, he heard the
sound of May May’s sobs, and saw
the tears in his dear mammy’s eyes,
which made him begin to cry again,
and to feel himself the most miserable
little boy in the world.
Of course, he could not have any
sugar in his bread and milk that
morning ; and he knew that in the
evening his father must be told.
What else would happen to him he
could not tell; but, you see, this was
not a happy ey at all: but a very
May comes to the Rescue. 167
miserable one indeed. It would
have been very different if he had
listened to Mr. Oughtn’t.
If any of the neighbours did but
look at him, he shrank out of their
way, thinking that they knew how
bad tiem yee inaced, he was
ashamed to look even Wolf in the
face. In fact, he was afraid of every-
thing, and was become quite a
coward, like the strange dog that he
had seen in the lane.
And, of course, that evening when
his father heard all about it, was the
saddest that he had ever known.
The next day was Sunday; and
his father and mother took him to
church as usual with them. He al-
168 May comes to the Rescite.
ways liked to go, though he could
not understand very much that the
minister said. And his mother said
that at least he was learning to sit
still and listen; and that every Sun-
day he ought to be able to under-
stand more than the last, because his
father was teaching him at home a
good many words that were said
there.
His mother could not tell whether
he was listening much that day; but’
when they came out of church he
surprised her by saying,
©T didn’t think he’d have done it.’
‘Done what? What do you
mean?’ she asked, looking at her
child in wonder.
May comes to the Rescue. 169
‘Why,’ said Johnny, ‘ of course,
I knew he meant me; but he needn’t
have said it so loud.’
‘Oh! I see,’ she answered then.
‘You heard the minister say, “ Thou
shalt not siecle:
‘Yes cadeeoimny; ‘but he
need t ewieiemmedileds if: out . so
loud.’
Now, the minister did not know
anything about Johnny’s fault; for
his mother did not tell any one that
she could help. She was too much
ashamed of her little son.
But, you see, it was that voice in-
side him, that we have been calling
Mr. Ought and Oughtn’t, that was
making him so wide awake and
170 May comes to the Rescite.
quick to hear everything that was
said about him.
People do not generally call that
voice by the names that I have given
iit mamed 1t-thus, “-beeatces I
thought that little folks could under-
stand those names. But now I will
tell you what most people call it.
They name it ‘ Conscience†A long
word, isn’t it? But you will know
now what it means; and you must
think of it whenever you seem to
hear something saying inside you,
PNows dont do\that, or -* Douthe
other ;’ and you should recollect that
God gives you that voice to speak to
you, and tell you when you are try-
May comes to the Rescue. 171
ing to do what is right and when
you are not.
So never listen to the other voice
which talks of likes and dislikes, if
conscience says no. Mind that.
We
CHAPTER XI.
THE FIELD LESSON.
OU see what lots of things
Johnny had to learn, and
how difficult and even sad
his lessons sometimes were.
But Tam glad to tell you that we
shall not have to talk about any
more such dreadful things as the last
chapter was about, for the little fel-
low never forgot that lesson as long
as he lived.
Other things that May had to
The Field Lessoi:. 173
(each ane were more like play; ava
Wolf often took great interest in
watching how he got on with those
lessons.
For sometimes he had to learn
how to do things that Wolf had
been expert in nearly all his life ;
and I dare say the good dog won-
dered how it was that his little
master was so much behind himself
in some matters.
Well, it is of no use trying to
guess at Wolf’s thoughts. Very
ier they were funny enough at
times, aa would have made him
laugh if he had been able; but that is
a thing that no dog can manage, be
he ever so clever; for no dog or
174 The field Lesson.
cat either has ever been known to
laugh.
Yet Johnny could laugh when he
was a tiny baby, you know; so that
was one difference between him and
Wolf.
It was out in the fields and
meadows that May taught him a
great many things. Very often she
did not know that she was teaching
him anything; and it did not seem
like a lesson at all: she was just
showing him how to do something ;
and they both enjoyed those times
together very much indeed. It was
so nice running about amongst the
sheep and lambs when the sun
shone, and there were lots of sweet
The field Lesson. 175
wild flowers, which they knew they
might have without asking any one’s
leave, because they belonged to no
one in particular, Often Johnny
used to gather a lot of some
kind that his sister asked for, and
she would make them into chains,
and wreaths, and crowns for herself
and him.
Their mother used at one time
to be rather afraid lest her baby-
boy should put poisonous flowers
or leaves into his mouth, and make
himself ill. But Johnny was not a
baby now; and he knew quite well
that he must not put anything into
his mouth that he picked in the
fields’. He had been told not to
176 The Field Lesson.
taste anything ; aad sO he elie not.
And, as he did not, he could be
trusted, you see.
May knew the names of some of
the flowers that he brought her, and
could teach him things about them
that many London children know
nothing of.
Shall I tell you some that Johnny
had learnt to call by their names?
He could find daisies and buttercups,
of course, a long time ago, and now
he knew the pretty scarlet ae
and the yellow one, too, and the
poppy, and the lovely blue speedwell,
and the forget-me-not, besides lots
of other flowers. And he knew just
where they grew, and what their
The Feld Lesson. Wy
leaves were like; and when he went
to hunt for them Wolf always went
to help. Johnny told him what
kind he wanted; but I don’t know
whether he understood that, only he
liked to go with his master, and be-
lieved that Johnny could not do
without him.
Perhaps he went to sce that his
little master did not get into danger ;
but this he never told me: so I only
know that he always seemed to en-
joy himself very much indeed.
And, anyhow, he was useful ; tor,
in one of the fields in which they
used to play, there were a number
of tiny rills of water, not deep
enough to hurt even Johnny, if he
I2
178 fhe Field Lesson,
lay flat down in them, except by
making him very wet, but things to
be avoided for all that.
Wolf knew that Johnny could
not get over these little streamlets by
himself; and often the grass grew so
thickly in those places, that he might
have slipped in without knowing
that he was near one.
So Wolf always ran first to look
out for them; and then, if she was
wanted, he went to fetch May May.
Now, to tell a small secret, Master
Johnny was not quite so clever at
jumping as some little boys. You
must not tell him that I told you,
you know, if ever you meet with him,
because no boys like to be thought
The Field Lesson. 179
backward at such things as that.
But the truth is that, being rather
stout, he was not quite so light as
some young men of his age, and
could not jump so well.
And May, who did not like er
boy to be behind any other, was be-
coming rather distressed at this, and
was taking him in hand about it.
She did not explain her reason ;
but nearly every day now she led
him into one meadow, full of these
little streams, but full of very nice
flowers, too. ‘There often are very
nice ones by the side of streams and
ditches, you know.
In this one there grew the tall
meadow-sweet, and two or three
12——2
180 The Field Lesson.
sorts of pink flowers—dog-roses,
too, and honeysuckles ; and so, by
going from one stream to another,
they got splendid nosegays.
So Johnny had to practise jump-
ing over the little rills a great deal ;
he was tempted on by the sight of
the flowers, or else he would not have
tried—still he did not like them, and
was in a great way when he had to
jump.
However, in time May got him to
go alone over the very very tiny ones ;
at least, with only his friend Wolf,
who jumped them so easily that he
went over and back again two or
three times while Johnny was think-
ing about it,
The Field Lesson. 18I
At last, there was only one to
conquer ; but, poor little man, that
was rather hard for his short, fat
legs; and May still helped him over
It.
The first time she jumped over
herself, to show him how easy it
was; and Wolf stood by looking
very much interested, while she tried
to encourage him to give a good
jump.
He did not like to seem a coward,
you know; still he looked at that
wide thing, as it seemed to him, and
said once or twice, ‘ Me not a bigger
boy *nuff, May.’
‘ Well, if you’re not a bigger one,
youre a dig boy enough,’ said May,
182 The Fricld Lesson.
laughing. ‘Come along, now, and
don’t be afraid. Now, for a good
jump
But Johnny was rather afraid, tor
all that; and at last he jumped so
timidly that down he went flat on
his face, right into the water and
grass.
I do believe that Wolf would have
laughed then cif «he
seemed to understand so well that
the little boy could not possibly have
hurt himself. It was so shallow,
and the grass on each side so thick
and soft |
‘Oh, dear,’ said May, ‘what a
pity! But never mind, that pina-
fore was just going to be washed ;
ENS
SAN
NAN
Ml
a
SMALE Fal le
“ Now for a good jump !â€
The Field Lesson. 183
its only a a little wet. We ‘1 run
home directly, and get another on
for tea; only, Johnny-boy, you
can’t be conquered by this small
thing. J must come over and help
you.’
So Johnny scrambled up again,
and would not let himself cry; for he
knew he was not hurt—only just a
little out of breath; and May
jumped over again as easily as pos-
sible; and then she took her little
man’s hand, and said again :—
‘Now, for a good jump! and
they both went over together in
triumph, and got nicely to the other
side, which made Johnny feel quite
a big man, and so clever; because,
i84 The Field Lessoit.
though May did give him a good
swing, still his own legs jumped, you
know, and higher, too, than they
had ever done before.
So this little rill was conquered ;
and Johnny quite intended to jump
all by himself to-morrow, and to let
Wolf see what a clever boy he had
got to be.
185
CHAPTER XII.
MAY'S. PRESENT.
GHEY had a good run home
/ after that jump; for May
was quite relieved: because
she thought that now Sally Brown
could not say that /er brother was
more forward of his age than
Johnny.
And all that afternoon the little
fellow amused himself with prac-
tising jumping from the first stair,
then from the second, and afterwards
186 May's Present.
from mammy’s hassock, while May
told him stories about boys and
horses.
He liked the stories about horses
best of all; for Johnny loved horses,
and meant to have one himself when
he should be a big, grown-up man !
May did not think then how soon
that brother of hers might take to
risking more serious falls than that
into the tiny rill, when his short, fat
legs have grown longer and_ less
stout. At present, she was just bent
on making a bold, brave boy of him,
and delighted to see him so merry
after that bit of a tumble.
For, indeed, this scrap of a Johnny
filled a great part of May May’s
May's Present. 187
heart; and her thoughts ran on him
more than on anything else in the
world.
Well, very soon after this she got
a ride in a neighbour’s cart to a big
town where there were many fine
shops, with plenty of pretty things
to look at, set out tastefully in the
windows.
She liked looking at these shops
very much indeed, and especially at
the toy-shops; in the windows of
which there were dolls of all descrip-
tions, rag dolls, wooden dolls, china
dolls, wax dolls—tiny dolls, middle-
sized dolls, large dolls, and one the
size of a good big baby, at which
she gazed for a very long time.
188 May's Present.
If May had had a pocketful of
money she would have bought that
great doll, I feel sure ; for she loved
dolls with all her heart. But just
then she had not so much as a single
halfpenny, no, not one! So all she
could do was to indulge herself by
looking as long as she could at the
beautiful things in the window, and
settling what she would have bought
if she had been rich.
Johnny liked dolls, too, in his
heart, she knew; but he would not
have chosen one for himself, because
somebody had lately told him that
dolls were only for girls.
But then there were many other
toys, sheep and goats, donkeys and
Afay's Present. 189
horses; and many of each kind, and
one horse that was marked, On/v one
shilling.
And now the idea came into her
head that perhaps she might carw a
penny now and then, and that if she
saved them all up, possibly by
Johnny’s next birthday she might
have got together a whole shilling
and be able to buy it.
She thought of that little scheme
all the way home, so that the good
farmer's wife several times asked,
‘Had she not enjoyed her ride to
that fine place? she was so quict.
‘Oh, yes? May said; ‘and will
you take me there some day again,
Mrs. Grundler °’
190 Mays Preset.
‘Some day,’ kind Mrs. Grundler
said.
And May grew silent again, for
she was thinking of ways of earning
money; nor was it long before she
found them.
She got elevenpence pretty quickly;
but the last penny seemed slow to
come in her way; and just the day
before the birthday, when neighbour
Grundler had promised her a seat in
her cart, she got up in the morning
still this one penny short.
However, just at the last minute,
in came a big girl, whom she well
knew, crying out,
‘Tve only a minute to run in and
speak to you, but if you'll take these
Mays Present. 1Ql
two patterns of stuff and get the
man to match them for me, and
bring back the parcel safe, I'll give
you twopence, May.’
‘Thank you, Betsy,’ returned the
little girl, flushing with pleasure.
‘But I’d rather have only one penny
and have it now than two after-
wards, if you don’t mind.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind; but what’s -
up? asked Betsy.
‘Tf you please, I can’t tell you;
it’s a secret,’ said May, decidedly.
‘Well, here’s your penny, child,
said Betsy, laughing, ‘and you may
have the other when you bring my
parcel,’ |
‘Thank you, May said, cagerly,
192 May's Present.
and she ran up stairs, in great glee,
to get ready.
So the happy girl went off in the
cart to the great town, and when she
came back she brought with her two
parcels—one tor Betsy, and the other
we know tor whom.
But Johnny did not; and he was
very curious about it, as soon as he
opened his eyes next morning; for
he was asleep when his sister re-
turned.
May let him wonder on all the
while he was being dressed, and
peep, too, on this side and on that;
but she would not let him touch it.
‘Who put it there?’ asked the
little laddie.
May's Present. 193
‘J did, answered May, looking
very knowing.
‘And who buy’d it? he went
on.
‘Who do you think? asked
May.
‘Did ’ou? said Johnny; ‘and is
it for me ?’
‘For you? I dare say!’ returned
his sister. ‘What in the world could
possibly make you think of that?
“(Cause ie my) birtday,, said
Johnny, coaxingly.
‘Well, and suppose it were for
you, now, what would you like it to
be ?? replied May, laughing.
‘Me don’t know,’ said Johnny, rub-
bing his hands, and opening his eyes
13
194 May's Present.
very wide; ‘me fink a soft white
lamb.’
‘A lamb? Oh, but it is not that,’
said May; ‘so you must wish for
something else. Wouldn’t you like
a slate, now, to do sums on?’
“Me don’t fink it a slate; me fink
it got legs,’ answered the little man,
very knowingly. |
‘Legs ? exclaimed May. ‘What
can make you think that
‘Me know it has, May May,’
said Johnny; ‘me sure it a great
doggie.’
‘Indeed it isn’t,’ May answered.
‘You must guess again.’
‘Oh! me can’t. Show it to
ohnny. Do, dear May;’ and then
Johnny y
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“A horse! I declare! Is it for Johnny?â€
Mays Present. 195
the little man gave her such a num-
ber of very sweet kisses that his sister
could not resist his pleading any
longer, but began slowly untying the
string.
‘A horse, I declare! Is it for
Johnny ? cried the little boy, jump-
ing about for joy. And then kneel-
ing down beside it, he began a
thorough examination, stroking its
mane, admiring its face, and counting
its legs; interrupting himself every
other minute by such exclamations
as :—
‘Oh, its a booty! ’Ou dear
horse, ou! Ou belong to me, ’ou
know, and so on; while May stood
by enjoying his pleasure more than
13—2
e
196 May's Present.
she could tell, and feeling very glad
that she had kept her pennies, and
not bought sweeties with them.
As for Johnny, in his ecstasy, he
quite forgot, at first, to wonder how
his May May got all the money to
make this great purchase.
He thought of that at last, though,
as he did of most things; and when
his sister told him all about it—that
this horse had cost twelve pennies,
he
and how she had got each one
innocently said—
‘If Johnny had a penny, he’d buy
a nice cakey ; he wouldn’t save it.’
‘But if May had done so, Johnny
couldn’t have had his horsey,’ re-
turned May.
Mays Present. 197
‘Me fink ’ou a very good May
May,’ answered the little man, giving
her another hug.
And May was quite repaid for all
her self-denial.
CHAPTER XIII.
A NEW GAME,
O Johnny, you see, was really
growing quite a little man.
And just about this time
something else happened to give him
another jog onwards.
It is the way with all of us, and
with all our lives. Something is
always happening to make us keep
pushing on, and either growing up
or growing old.
And this something for Johnny,
A New Game. 199
was just a company of soldiers pass-
ing through the village in which he
lived—a lot of men with red coats,
and different hats from other men,
and with swords by their sides, and
guns, and bayonets.
Very fine fellows Johnny thought
they looked ; and so, I believe,
thought his little sister May also.
They had music with them, too ;
and very nice music it was. And
then they marched so well, all step-
ping out at the same time, holding
their heads up, and their shoulders
back, quite in a different way from
the labourers, and carpenters, and
tradesmen whom these children
knew.
200 A New Gate.
As for May, when she looked at
them, the thought that came into
her sisterly young head was, that she
would much rather have her Johnny
grow up to be a bold, noble look-
ing youth, like some of them, than
an awkward, clumsy sort of fellow,
like the Johns, and Toms, and
Timothys who were her neigh-
bours.
And so, what did May do? Why,
she went over to her grandfather
one day, all by herself. And she
asked her good, clever grandfather
to make them some things such as
soldiers carry.
Of course, he laughed, and won-
dered why a girl should want swords
A New Game. 201
and guns; but she didn’t mind that,
as he said he would see what he
could do for her.
May went back quite content with
that promise; and it was not many
days before the kind old man
brought over just what you see in
the picture; for his leg was quite
well by that time, and he could
walk as well as anybody.
And while he was sitting to rest
himself, he asked for a sheet of
white paper, and made such a
famous cap of it, that Johnny felt
himself a great soldier at once, and
could almost fancy he had been in
some of the battles of which grand-
father told him.
202 A New Game.
There was not enough paper to
make two caps; so May decided
that the one should be for Johnny,
and that she would tie a piece of
ribbon round her head, and stick a
feather in it. The ribbon was a piece
that had once been tied round her
hat; and the feather she had found
onthe common. That had formerly
belonged to an old goose. May
knew that, for she had seen it fall
out of her wing; and when it fell,
she thought what a pity it was to
lose such a good feather, and that
she would have taken better care of
it had it been hers. However, as
the goose did not want it, May had
picked it up and kept it for ever so
xcellent little soldier,
akes an e
Johnny m
A New Ganie. 202
long; and now it came in quite
handily.
She had watched the soldiers do
their exercises, too, and could show
Johnny how to march and shoulder
his musket like any drill-sergeant.
It was capital fun; and Johnny
made an excellent little soldier. He
looked so nice and so boyish while
he was ‘on duty,’ as they called it,
that his sister was quite delighted.
Then another happy thought
struck them.
There was a beautiful trumpet to
be sold at that shop where May
bought the horse; and Johnny had
twopence of his own now. So the
two pennies were sent by the first
204 A New Game.
person who went to the town from
their village, and the trumpet brought
back. And then, what do you think
they did?
Why, Johnny stood up boldly,
and blew his trumpet like a man;
and as for May, she got the sieve
and a big spoon, with which she
beat away on it, making believe that
it was a drum; while Wolf, who
often stood by during their games,
held up his head and made a loud
sort of noise, which perhaps he
thought was singing.
So altogether they made a famous
band.
Only I cannot recommend Miss
May’s drum; that I must say; be-
A New Gaine. 205
cause, you see, though she never
thought of it, she might have beaten
a hole in the sieve, which would not
have pleased her good mother at all.
The two children and their dog
were very happy, until the father
began telling them in the evenings
about what really happens in battles,
how the men fight and kill cach
other, or give each other dreadful
wounds that hurt very much; so
that sometimes poor fellows are
obliged to have their arms or their
legs cut off, and do with only one,
or perhaps without any, all the rest
of their lives.
And then May decided that she
had rather that Johnny should not
206 A New Came.
be a soldier when he was a man; for
that it would be very dreadful if he
were to lose one of his good legs or
arms. Nor, when she came to think
of it, did she fancy that she would
like it much better if he were to cut
off somebody else’s arm or leg.
It was all very well to play at
soldiers, and to march about and
make music, but not at all nice to
think of killing and hurting people ;
and May almost cried when she
heard about the many poor children
who have been expecting their dear
fathers home after some great battle,
and how the news have come that
they would never, never sce them
any more, because they had died out
A New Game. 207
wounded and thirsty, with no one
near to nurse or cheer them.
May thought of all these sad
things a great deal; and at last she
went to her father, and asked :—
‘Father, why do there be any sol-
diers, or any wars at all? God’s
Book says that we ought to love one
another.’
‘Ah, May, and so we ought. But
what if a great army should come
here, right into England, and want
to kill all the women and children,
and take away our homes from us?
Don’t you think that we strong men
ought to fight them to prevent all
the weak ones from being killed—
208 A New Game.
the poor little children who can’t
fight for themselves !’
‘Oh, yes, father, I do indeed,
May said, eagerly.
‘ And so, you see, while the world
is so wicked, we must have soldiers.
But there will be a time, my dear
girl,’ he said, ‘when there won’t be
any more quarrelling and fighting.
‘That will be a happy time, won’t
it? I mean for all the good people.
The bad people will be all turned
out then, right out of God’s sight;
and the blessed Saviour will come
again, and be King over all who love
Him.’ |
I wonder if you know who that
blessed Saviour is, my little reader?
A New Game. 209
May did; but, in case you do not, I
must tell you about Him some day,
because He has done more for you
than any one else; and I want you
to learn to love Him.
14
210
CHAPTER XIV.
JOHNNY LEARNS BY EXPERIENCE.
aT is a long time now since I
told you anything about
Johnny’s white kitten,—that
dear little creature that was such a
pet of his even while it lived with
its own mother in another house,
and which he loved still more when
it came to stay always with him, and
to be his very own.
But one of poor Johnny’s first
troubles was about that little kitten ;
Fohkuny learns by Lexperience. 211
and a very great trouble it was, as I
am going to tell you.
For it was not long before poor
kitty was taken very poorly. Its
young master did not know how to
manage it, perhaps, as well as its
own mother, and the silly little
thing would get into mischief and
danger.
First, it stayed out playing all one
night--got away, you know, so that
it could not be found when it was
wanted ; and when they opened the
door next morning, there was kitty
sneezing away. It had caught a bad
cold.
May and Johnny were greatly
concerned about that; and they
14—~2
212 OE dearns bY cin lage ENCE
| dite fee creature very ten-
derly, feeding it with warm ae
and making a nice bed for it by the
kitchen fire.
Still, it had a cough, and grew
weak and thin, and did not care to
play as merrily as it used to do.
Our little laddie became quite
anxious about his baby cat, and
would nurse and watch it by the
hour together.
By degrees it got better, and more
like itself, and they were all growing
happier, when what should happen
but that a strange dog, something like
one that once attacked Johnny him-
self, should fly at the poor pussy when
nobody was by to take care of it, and
Fohuny learus by Experience.’ 213
bite it so much that it would have
been killed at once, if a kind man
had not made the furious thing loose
his hold, and then carried the little
wounded cat indoors to Johnny’s
mother !
Happily, he was out in the fields
with May just then; so poor kitty
was washed, and fed, and laid in its
own bed before the children came
in. But 2 cannot tell you how
grieved they were, nor how Johnny
cricd awiemene sneard his pet cry,
and when his mother told the
story.
And you will not much wonder if
I tell you that he went to bed in a
desperate rage with the ‘horrid great
i Re e learns by Eexperience
dase as Ke called ini: and declan
that if he could catch him he would
cut off his head with his wooden
sword,
Well, in spite of all Johnny’s
plans of revenge, and all the care
they took of the wounded pet, poor
pussy died; and though its young
master sobbed as if his heart would
break, yet they were obliged to dig
a hole and bury it.
Johnny was very sad for a day or
two after that. He wondered whe-
ther he should ever get another kit-
ten; and he used to talk to all the
cats that he met, and ask them whe-
ther they had any baby ones to give
to him.
Fohuny learns by Lexpertence, 215
You sce, this little man loved
animals; and he had not found out
yet that all cats are not kind and
gentle any more than all dogs. But
live and learn, you know; only don’t
expect everything that you learn to
be pleasant.
Master Johnny soon learnt a
lesson that he did not like at all.
For one day there came into his
mother’s kitchen a very big, fine cat.
‘ate dssi6 was iat, and had a mice,
thick, smooth coat; though, as for
its face, that was not to my fancy.
However, people have different
opinions about beauty; and our
young friend fell in love with it at
once, and, running up to this new
216 Fohnuy learus by Iixperience.
acquaintance, he began to try to
make friends with her.
But Mrs. Puss was not to be so
easily won. She knew her own
worth better than that ; and, instead
of advancing to meet the young
gentleman, she drew back and took
2 good look at him.
Not a bit daunted, Johnny ran
after her, and put out his hand to
give her a friendly pat. But she only
bristled up at that and began to spit.
Of course, that meant that she was
angry at the liberty he was taking;
yet he did not understand. He only
laughed at the funny noise, and sud-
denly seized her by one ear, and that
so tightly, that she could not escape.
s can scratch if Johnny can pull
Pus
TO learis by eee ar)
‘No matter,’ ils Shes J ave
other ways of defending ays
So, as Johnny held her by his
tight hand, out goes Mrs. Puss’s
tight paw, with the claws out, too ;
and then the other fat arm feels them
so sharp, that its owner soon pulls it
back, and lets go his hold.
So, you see, he finds out that puss
can scratch if Johnny can pull, and
that if this cat is ever to be his
friend, he must try and win her more
cautiously, and not be in such a
hurry about it.
Johnny was no coward, you
know, and he was not going to be
daunted by that little bit of a scratch.
218
CHAPTER XV.
A NEW FRIEND FOUND.
Â¥U'T Johnny had no idea of all
the learning being on his
side.
He made up his mind that puss
did not approve of either her ears or
her moustache being touched; and
he told May this when some time
after she was going to pat her head.
‘No, don’t, May,’ he said, ‘this
pussy doesn’t like that. You must
only stroke her back.’
Nevertheless, he had taken a fancy
A new Friend fous. 219
to this cat; and, as she seemed bent
on coming into his mother’s kitchen,
he thought that he would make a
friend of her in place of his dear
dead kitten.
True, this was a grown-up cat;
and she would not submit to all the
lugging about which his dear kitty
had quite enjoyed.
Still, when puss had got over her
tantrum, and was in a mood to
listen, the little man gave her a great
lecture on the mean, spiteful habit
of scratching, which he told her he
considered ‘ quite *bominable,’ that
he ‘wouldn’t have it,’ and that, if
she persisted, she ‘ shouldn’t come
into their house at all.’
220 41 new Frien es
To all ie puss seemed to Seen
very properly ; al I can’t say
how much she understood. But, at
any rate, she went on lapping away
at her saucer of milk, without
attempting to give a saucy answer.
And Johnny was quite sure in his
own mind that this little talking to
had done her as much good, as he
rememberea similar ones to have
done himself; so that afterwards,
whenever May used to say, ‘ Take
care, Johnny, she'll scratch you,’ he
would answer, ‘Oh, no, May, she
won't. Me have told her dat she
mustn t.’
And puss certainly very soon
seemed to understand Johnny, and
A new Friend found. 221
to mind what he said better than
might have been expected. Nor did
she ever hurt him again.
I dare say she found him quite as
agreeable a companion as he found
her; for, as soon as ever she had got
into a good humour after that first
Schatchy me ave Mera. picce Ol the
cake that he was eating—some of his
own grandmother’s making, you
know. And after that she often got
a part of his meals.
So they were soon very good
friends, though this cat never be-
came a favourite with other people ;
because she was generally considered
to be bad-tempered. And, indeed,
I don’t think that she had the very
222 «1 new Friend found.
best disposition in the world; for,
when Johnny’s father wanted to
stroke and pet her, she would always
run away if she could, and if held fast,
she used to spit and try to scratch.
And then Johnny’s father would say
to him, ‘I can’t think what you see
to like in that animal, my little lad.’
‘She’s such a dear pussy; she ’oves
me, Johnny would answer ; and that
was about the truth.
She did love Johnny, and under-
stand him, too; and when people
both love and understand each other,
why that makes them friends; and it
is only right that they should stand
up for one another.
And I think that God has given
They are soon very good friends.
tl new Friend found. 220
to many animals a love and tender-
ness for little children which is very
wonderful. This is one of the ways
in which our Heavenly Father takes
care of boys and girls who are too
young to take care of themselves,
and who, perhaps, have not much
taking care of in other ways.
Certainly, Johnny himself had
often, when a little baby, pulled
good Wolf about in a way that he
would have thought very rude in a
grown-up person, But Iam sure that
Wolf knew that he was only a baby,
and meant nothing but love.
If he had not known that, poor
Johnny would have come in for
many a sharp bite, not only from
224 A new Friend found,
Wolf, but also from some of Wolf’s
friends and relations.
But, as it was, Wolf was very sel-
dom away from his side, and when
any of his kindred came near them,
and showed the least disposition to
be impudent, the good dog would
say plainly enough in his way—
‘Touch my little master, if you
dare.’
It is only just and fair, however,
to tell you that this noble Wolf had
rather a fit of jealousy about that
cat.
The little kitten he had not
minded at all, looking on it only as
a baby, perhaps; and though at first
he treated it with some contempt,
A new Friend found. 225
yet afterwards, when he understood
that it was a great pet of Johnny’s,
he took it under his protection, and
when it died, he seemed quite melan-
choly.
But this great, big cat was alto-
gether different; and the first time
Wolf saw her he flew at her like a
regular fury, and tried to drive her
away. However, the cat would not
go. She only put up her back and
spit at him, making as ugly a face as
she could, to show him how she
hated him.
Johnny was in great distress, for
he did not know what to do between
his two friends, and could not ap-
prove of the conduct of either.
15
226 A new Friend found.
He was looking as grave as a
judge when May came into the yard,
and crying out—
‘Wolf, Wolf, be quiet. She’s a
very nice pussy. Don’t dwive her
away.’ |
But Wolf only gave a short an-
swering bark, as much as to say, You
don’t know anything about it. She’s
a good-for-nothing, detestable crea-
ture, like cats in general; and she
ought to be driven off these pre-
mises.
The next order, however, he
minded more.
‘Come here, Wolf; come to me
diwectly, cried Johnny, almost in
despair.
A new Friend found. 20
7
And, though as loath as could be,
the angry dog went to his side. He
had never refused to come when
Johnny called—never, in all his
life; and he could not do so now,
even though, when he got to him,
he only stood and barked at his
enemy.
But as soon as Johnny could get
hold of him, he would not let go
again, but, with his arms round _ his
neck, he kept begging and beseech-
ing him to be quiet, until he subsided
into a low, occasional growl; and as
he did not fly, the cat left off spit-
ting.
After this first battle there were
many little skirmishes, but no other
I5—2
228 A new Friend found.
so serious; and though puss kept up
the grudge the longest, and would
snap and snarl, yet Wolf soon came
to understand that he must put up
with the intruder and just let ‘ this
strange pet†alone.
229
Chik EER Xe,
JOHNNY TRIES TO BE USEFUL,
O Master Johnny got to feel
himself a sort of king over
his pets, and began to think
his powers very pleasant. Only, un-
fortunately, he did not see that it was
because he was little and weak that
they minded him, but thought, on
the contrary, that it was because he
was growing so clever and strong!
May soon found that he could be
very contented now without her by
230 8©6 ‘“Fohuny tries to be Useful.
the hour together ; and sometimes, as
she sat on the garden steps learn-
ing to mend his socks, she used to
give a little sigh, and almost wish
that the time would come back again
when he was only a baby child and
could not do without her.
‘Yet,’ she would think to herself,
‘I wanted Johnny to grow big and
clever, so I mustn’t grumble. He
can’t be big and little at the same
time.’
And for some things it was nice
to have him getting big.
For instance, he could walk now
quite 2 long way without being
tired, and without helping himself
by nearly dragging her arm off.
Fohuny tries to be Useful. 220
And then neither father nor mother
minded the children’s going now, as
they liked, to see the old people at
Elm Cottage, though, of course,
they had to ask leave before they
went.
Johnny thought it was delight-
ful fun to go there, because of
the interesting stories that grand-
daddy told, and the splendid toys
that he would make for him out of
wood and cardboard.
A dear old couple they were,
who had worked very hard in their
time, and seen a good deal, too; so
that they had plenty to talk about.
As I said, Johnny was always
wanting to go and see them; and he
232 © Fohnny tries to be Useful.
was becoming so very independent,
that he could not at all make out
why he might not go to them quite
by himself, when his mother could
not spare May to go with him.
Indeed, there was something
growing up in our little friend’s
heart— inside him, you know, I
mean—which I will leave you to
find a name for, after I have told
you about some strange things that
it made him do, and a rather awk-
ward plight into which it led him.
Now, Johnny’s father, you must
know, was a man who rather loved
a joke and a laugh; and his young
son often amused him very much by
the queer things that he did and said.
Fohuny tries to be Useful. 233
Well, it happened one evening
that the mother was not at all well.
She had a very bad headache, and
was glad to let May make the tea,
while she rested in her arm-chair.
For May could make the tea very
nicely, and as for the bread and but-
ter, the father said that he would cut
that, and that they must all be very
quiet, and not disturb poor mother.
So Master Johnny, who was
rather in high spirits that day, and
had been prepared for an extra good
game, began to look quite demure,
and made a great effort to be steady
and quiet.
But it was very hard. Indeed,
his young legs had the fidgets in
234 ge tries to be fies
shea sO badly, that. it was aliiiose
impossible for him to make them be
still. |
And very soon a pair of kind eyes
were looking at him, and making
out how the case stood.
Those eyes belonged to his father,
if you wish to know. His two ears
had heard such a merry, ringing
laugh directly he stepped over the
door-sill, that he seemed to guess at
once how things stood. So his ears
set his eyes looking, and his eyes
made his brain think. Johnny won-
dered why his father was looking at
him in that way; and he began to
get rather red, and feel a little bit
uncomfortable.
LOO tries to be aes 235
«Why, bulla! teres no eau!
and hardly a bit of coal; we shall
have the fire out directly,’ cried his
father just at this moment. ‘ Come
here, Johnny, my man; and [ll
tell you what you shall do. We
can all make ourselves useful if we
try.
Johnny slipped off his chair in a
>
moment, delighted to have an excuse
for moving those poor fidgety legs of
his. |
‘Here, you run out there, my
man, continued the good father,
opening a back door. ‘I forgot to
chop those big logs up this morning,
but out there in the yard I have just
put down a lot of little chips. You
236 Te tries to be ie
go quietly and bring ever so many in,
a few at a time.’
So Johnny set to work, and soon
finished that task ; looking so beam-
ing and happy over it, that he soon
got sent on some more errands, the
mother watching him as she lay back
in her chair with such pride, and the
father so pleased because he went so
quickly, and managed to lift such
great big loads, that he called him
his brave little lad, and said—of
course, in fun—that he supposed he
would soon be able to go to New York
and. back all by himself, and without —
any directions.
Now Johnny did not know one
bit where New York was; but he did
Fohnuny tries to be Useful. — 237
know that it was a very long way off,
because his father had told him so.
It was bed-time soon after this ;
and May took him up to undress
him after he had kissed his father
and mother; but when he got up-
stairs there seemed nothing for her
to do. It was all, ‘I can, I can;
you needn’t help me, May.’ But, of
course, he was not half washed, as
you may be sure, only as mother was
so poorly, May thought she would
say nothing about it.
‘I wish I had that book about
gardening,’ said Johnny’s father next
morning at breakfast ; ‘but it’s over
at the old people’s, and I don’t know
when I shall find time to fetch it.’
238 romney, tries to be Useful.
“No, fathen: said May, « it’s at
Mrs. Wilson’s now, I know; grand-
father lent it her only yesterday.’
‘Then you and Johnny just run
over and borrow it for me, and say
Til return it next week,’ answered
the father.
And May said, ‘ Yes,’ while
Johnny clapped his hands; for he
always liked a little run of any kind ;
and besides, I rather think that he
thought that thus he should get an
opportunity of carrying out a little
scheme of his.
However, we shall see.
When they got to the door, May
was going to turn the handle as soon
as she had knocked, and heard some
one say, ‘Come in,’
YA,
ie
y
yj
/
i
jj
CSS
6
yy 7 Les
tj;
Zo (33 Yj) eZ
ae E LZ
SSSSSsSSsy
SSS =
SSS SS SSS SS SSS
= SZ om =a £ Ws Pee .
PA SSS) TIT ihe
/
A Ni Ch
said Johnny:
I can,â€
“T can,
Fohuny tries to be Useful. 239
But ‘I can, I can,’ said Johnny ;
and she let him try, and didn’t say,
‘I know you can’t, though she
thought so.
The handle was rather high for
the enterprising young gentleman.
He had to stand on tiptoe, and pull
very hard. But with all his efforts
it did not move; and Wolf stood
by, wondering why he did not put
down the flower-pot he had brought
with him, and use both hands.
‘Handles shouldn’t be so hich,’
cried the little man impatiently.
‘They are made for taller people
than you, said May. ‘Shall I help
you?
‘No, no; I can, I can: only it is
240 Fohuny tries to be Useful.
so *tiff, returned Johnny, giving
another tug without moving it a bit.
He had his shoes on, too, which,
of course, made him decidedly taller
than he would have been without
them.
241
CHAPTER XVII.
JOHNNY'S SCHEME.
IOHNNY is not so clever as he
thinks. Even Wolf seemed
to come to that conclusion
at last, and went away towards home
quite tired of waiting, which, when
Mrs. Wilson’s cat perceived, she
came up mewing and whining, as if
to say—
‘Do be reasonable, and let your
sister help you.’
‘Come in; come in,’ some one
16
242 Fohnuy's Scheme.
kept saying. ‘ Why don’t you open
the door ?’
And at last Johnny was obliged
to come down a bit, and say—
‘I wish you'd sZow me, May, only
don’t ao it, you know.’
So May showed him ; and it soon
opened then, as silly little Johnny
thought, all because of his turning
and pulling. As for May’s help, that
went for nothing.
Then May made haste to do te
errand, and they both set off home-
wards.
Johnny, however, did not go far,
He thought to himself, ‘ Now I’ll see
what a big boy I am.’:
May was talking to her doll, and
a
ee
SZ EEE
SSSI ZZ EI
oA OO
ZAG
MELLEL LE
US ig LILLE
Johnny is not so cleyer as he thinks,
Fohuny's Scheme. 243
to Mrs. Wilson’s cat, who chose to
walk by her side; and she never
saw when Johnny slipped inside a
neighbour’s gate, and said to a boy,
whom he knew, ‘ Johnny wants to
hide... IUct mie in,-
This boy was bigger than Johnny,
and ready for any mischief, so he hid
him in a minute; and when May
came back in a fright, asking, ‘ Have
you seen our Johnny, Tom? Oh!
have you seen him? he said, boldly,
SING; nOGedh.
And Johnny heard him, but did
not cry out. He would not have
told a lie himself, but he let another
boy do it for him.
So poor May ran on, and turned
16—2
244 _ Fohnny's Scheme.
had taken that turning. And as
soon as she was gone, her little
brother popped out, and set off on
the road to the Elms.
He knew it quite well now, and
was only afraid that some one should
overtake him and turn him back.
The first part of the road was
straight and wide, and he kept look-
ing back to see if he were followed ;
and once or twice, when he saw a
girl or a woman, like May or his
mother, he squeezed right down un-
der the hedge until they had gone
past. His. heart beat at those times
very hard and loud; and he almost
wondered what was the matter with
Fohuny's Scheme. 245
him, because, as he kept saying to
himself, of course his father would
not mind now that he was such a
great big boy.
He met a dog after a little while,
a nice, quiet animal, with whom he
might safely have made friends; but
he thought of the rough one that he
had met once on a time, and was
very glad to see it go quietly past
him.
Next came some strange boys and
girls, laughing and chatting. They
looked hard at him, and _ several
asked, ‘Does your father know
you're out? in a way that made him
feel very much offended.
He shrank away from their touch,
246 Fohnny's Scheme.
and marched on with the air of a
great man, feeling very angry be-
cause he could hear them laughing
at him for a good while.
Next he saw a big man coming
towards him, and soon he made him
out to be Richard Walker, the car-
penter, whom most people called
Dick; and he felt rather afraid that
he would ask him some questions.
And so he did; for Dick was
quite surprised to see the little fellow
alone so far from home.
‘Hulloa, my lad! he cried. ‘Is
that your Why, where’s your sis-
ter? Has she gone and left you all
by yourself ?’
‘May’s dorn home,’ said Johnny,
Fohuny's Scheme. 247
for, with all his bravery, he could
not yet speak plainly.
‘What, and left you alone? I
never |’ said the man.
‘Yes, said Johnny, colouring ;
for he had a sort of feeling that this
‘yes’ would make Dick think her
very unkind.
But the carpenter was a sharp
man, and soon suspected that all was
not right ; so he asked :-—
‘ And where are you off to?â€
‘Tm going to granddad’s,’ said
Johnny, stoutly.
‘And who sent you ?†pursued the
man.
‘I sent myself,’ answered Johnny.
‘You sent yourself! And never
248 Fohunys Scheme.
told nobody, I suspect,’ cried Dick,
taking hold of the child, and lifting
him on to his shoulders. ‘Come,
my lad, this won’t do. I shall just
carry you back to your mother.’
, But Johnny did not approve of
this at all. He struggled hard to get
down; but it was of no use, Dick
held him tight.
It was not long before they heard
cries of ‘Johnny, Johnny! in the
distance ; and soon Wolf was seen
tearing along the road as if he were
frantic, followed by May and a num-
ber of other people.
¢Vhere | eaibtcg is. 1 saids. chica
Dick. ‘ You've been giving them all
the slip, and frightening them finely.’
Fohuny's Scheme. 249
Well, I needn’t tell you how de-
lighted poor May was, and Wolf,
and all of them, when they saw
what the good carpenter carried.
Johnny was the only person who
was not pleased; and I am sorry to
say that he would not hear that he
had been a naughty boy at all, but
stood out that he knew father would
not mind.
He found out his mistake, though,
that evening; and it was a long time
before he took another walk by him-
self.
250
GHAPI ER Vi.
MORE ABOUT MAY.
fia aq fND now, perhaps, you will be
Vid |
kK Saé glad to hear that May got
presents, too, sometimes, as
well as Johnny. You know she de-
served them; don’t you? Well, her
father thought so, too ; and one day
when he went to market, he brought
back a delightful skipping-rope,
which pleased her very much.
She very quickly learnt to skip
quite beautifully ; for May, I must
ANS
May does it so easily.
More about May. 251
tell you, was a good deal lighter
than Johnny: and she could jump
ever so high !
Her little brother perfectly shouted
with pleasure when he saw her going
up and down inside that skipping-
rope, which moved so fast that it
looked almost like a wheel.
May did it so easily, that Johnny
thought it quite simple, and in-
stantly began to cry out, ‘ Let me
try, May. Oh, do let me.’
May soon put the rope into his
hands ; and Master Johnny began to
jump and to flourish it about; but
he hit himself in the face, and
twisted it round his neck, and was
soon discouraged, and even rather
252 Move about May.
cross, because he could not do just
as May did.
So when his sister saw that, she
coiled the rope all together and took
it home; and then they sat down
together to watch the lambs; for
May was always sorry to see her
little charge growing pettish and
cross. She knew a way of keeping
down her own naughty tempers,
which the little boy had not yet
found out; and that day she was
full of some thoughts that she
wanted to put into Johnny’s head, if
she could only find out how to do it.
Now, it happened that in that
field there were several big sheep
and some little lambs; so they sat
More about May. Ze
together watching them: for Johnny
liked the little lambs, and often
wished he had one of his own.
So they watched a good while ;
but never once did those lambs fight
or get cross all the morning. And
when the great big sheep called out,
‘Ba, ba,’ these little lambs always
aliswered.:
them directly.
‘Me fink dem very good lambs,’
said Johnny after a little while.
‘Yes, said May; ‘I don’t think
they ever get cross like somebody I
know.’
‘Me wish me didn’t,’ said Johnny
with a great sob. ‘Always me fink
me be a good boy; and den me isn’t.’
254 More about May.
‘That’s because you’ve got a
naughty heart inside you, Johnny,’
said May. ‘Ive got a naughty
fcateeiliside mic, tao" ald ssogcias
everybody.’
€"Que snotosc oss. ke ceamic. -orcaial
Johnny.
‘Oh, yes, I am,†said May ; ‘only
when lice! “very bad? “l_—prayate
Jesus; and He helps me to be good.
Jesus is the Son of God, you know ;
and He came down here to our
world once, and was a little baby,
and then a little boy, and afterwards
aman. And he came on purpose
to help us, Johnny boy.’
‘Me never saw Him,’ replied
Johnny.
More about May. 255
“No; because He went back to
heaven a long time ago, up in a
cloud, you know, and right out of
sight. Some good men saw Him go
up; and some day He'll come down
again the same way. But He can
see us all the while; and He knows
how to help us and make us good.
Why don’t you ask Him, Johnny,
when you feel cross â€
‘Me don’t know how, May,’ re-
turned the little boy. ‘ Sides, per-
haps He wouldn’t hear.’
‘Oh, yes, He would,’ May said
quickly. ‘ Jesus is God, you know ;
and God hears every word we say.
When you feel cross, if you were to
say, “Oh! Lord Jesus, take away
256 More about May.
the naughty feelings,†He would
hear, even if you only whispered.’
‘Would He? said Johnny, look-
ing into May’s eyes in a wondering
kind of way.
‘Yes,’ said May, ‘that He would;
and He always loved little children,
and let them come to Him. God’s
Book says that He was like a lamb—
so good and gentle, and never cross
when He was a little boy. Wouldn’t
you like to belong to Him, and be
His own child, Johnny ?
- Vee wickonould, sade the ttle
fellow.
‘And so should I,’ replied his sister.
And then kissing him, she mur-
mured, ‘Oh! Johnny, Johnny, I do
More about May. 257.
so want that you and me may both
belong to Jesus.’
Then a big tear fell on the little
boy’s cheek. It had dropped from
May’s eye ; and when Johnny felt it
there, he brushed it off, and lifted up
his face very quickly, and looked into
his sister’s eyes.
Perhaps you may suppose that he
said, ‘Why are you crying, May ?’
But he did not. He only wiped the
wet tears away with the corner of
his pinafore, and gave her cheeks
two or three very gentle pats with
his little fat hands; and then he
heaved a little sigh, and said,
‘Me fink we better go home to
dinner, May.’
I7
4
258
CHAPIER i
WHAT MAY TAUGHT JOHNNY.
Ra MELERE were plenty of nice
3 places to walk in where
May and Johnny lived ;
meadows, and fields, and woods, and
one sweet shady spot near a pond, in
which very often there were some
pretty ducks swimming about.
It was quite a little pond, though,
and not deep; or the children would
never have been allowed to go near
it, for fear they should be drowned.
What May taught Fohuny. 259
May and Johnny had many a nice
game of play there under the trees ;
and after that skipping-rope came, it
went out with them most days; and
when May had had a good skip to
show him how to do it, she always
let Johnny try himself; for she did
not like him to give up anything,
you know, and often repeated her
mother’s words to him—‘ Nothing
like patience ; nothing in the world
likeevthat:
So Johnny tried and tried; and
when he was inclined to be cross,
because he could not do it, he tried
to conquer that feeling, and to be a
good-tempered little boy, as he knew
he ought to be.
17—2
260 What May taught Fohuny.
But the skipping was very hard
for him, for all that. His legs were
so fat, you see; and he was so fat
altogether, that he really could not
jump lightly like his sister ; and then
the rope would twist and hit his
face. It seemed as if he never
would be able to do it at all.
Only May thought he did it a
little better every day; and she did
not like him to leave off trying.
And after he was tired of skip-
ping, very often the reading-book
came out of May’s pocket ; and
Johnny spelt d-o do, and s-o so, and
g-o go, loud enough for the ducks
to hear, even if they were right on
the other side of the pond, though
——— e — > AES
ie Oy clks
Nothing like patience,
What May taught Fohuny. 261
they did not seem much interested
in the lesson.
When that was done, why they
played at something else ; perhaps at
hide and seek, or at making daisy-
chains, and then at pretending to be
horses. And very happy they were,
those two little children, I can tell
you, though their father still was
poor, and could not often get good
work ; and so they had to take care
of their shoes, and wear them only
for best, and do without many things
that other children have.
Perhaps, if they had heard their
father and mother grumble, and say
very often how hard it was that others
should be better off than they were,
262 What A) aatehE POM
it might: ae pede om dice
tented, too. But their father and
mother were thankful people, you
see, and always taught their children
that God knows what is best for us.
So they were well off together,
that little brother and sister, and had
many and many a pleasure that some
richer children know nothing about.
And after that little talk that I
told you about in the last chapter,
they often had others like it. Then
Johnny liked to be read to, as you
will remember, so May sometimes
took her book and read to him when
he was tired of running about and
was willing to sit quite still and
listen.
What May taught Fohuny. 263
Shall I tell you what she read one
day?
It was this —
Once upon a time there were
some men sitting out in the fields—
on the hills, I think—watching a
number of sheep. It was night-
time. But these sheep never were
brought into a fold: they wandered
about, and lay down to sleep, just
where they liked on these pleasant
hills. Only they had to be watched,
because there were other animals
there as well, and some, such as bears
and lions, that were always ready to
eat up these poor sheep whenever
they could get them. |
So the men, who were called
264 What May taught Fohuny.
shepherds, lighted their fires and sat
together by them, some talking, and
some, I dare say, sleeping, but always
ready to fight for these sheep when
there was any danger.
Now there came one night when
they had a great surprise; for, all of
a sudden, a bright being stood before
them, and a bright light shone all
around them. And when they were
frightened, the bright angel spoke,
and bid them not to be afraid at all,
for he had come to tell them good
news.
These good news were that a little
baby was just born in a place not far
off, and that this baby was Jesus
Christ, the Son of God.
What May taught Ffohuny. 265
And while he was telling how this
baby might be found, and that He
was in a manger, out of which cows
and horses eat, suddenly a number of
other angels joined him, and they all
began singing a hymn together, in
which they praised God.
Then they went back to heaven,
and the shepherds began talking, and
saying that they would go and see
the baby child. So they went to
Bethlehem; and there they found
Him with His mother, Mary.
Afterwards, they went about tell-
ing what they had seen and heard,
and how this was the very Saviour
that God had said long ago that He
would send; how they had read
266 What May taught Fohuny.
about Him, and heard about Him,
and now had seen Him themselves.
Then many people talked to-
gether, and wondered what this child
would do when He grew up; and
every one who heard told somebody
else, and so a great many people got
to know in time.
But Jesus grew up very quietly,
doing everything that His mother,
Mary, told Him, and minding her
husband Joseph, too, It was a quiet
life ; and they lived in a quiet place,
and in time people left off wondering
about Him. Yet this was the great
Saviour about whom the angels sang.
Another day you shall hear of some
of the loving things He did.
207
Gri Pek Ox,
SUCH A CAPITAL PLAN !
UT Johnny had ways of
amusing himself, as I told
you before, without always
requiring May May’s help. He
loved above all things to watch some
of the birds that flew about near his
father’s cottage, and see how they
made their nests.
For there were some nests that he
could see quite well; some that were
made among the thatch of one part
268 Such a capital Plan!
of the roof that was close by his
own particular window; some that
were in a hedge that went round a
field, in which he often played; and
some in the low boughs of a tree
into which, with May’s help, he
could easily climb, and sit among
the branches.
It was nice first to count the eggs,
and watch how the old mother bird
sat upon them, and then to see the
little ones when they came out of
the egg, and could only chirp and
cry for the flies, and insects, and
worms which the daddy and mammy
birds often brought. But some of
his little favourites could fly a wee
bit now, and used to go hopping
Such a capital Plan! 269
about with their mother, picking
and pecking for themselves.
Johnny thought there were too
many for the mother to attend to
now ; and wanted very much to per-
suade one of the little ones to go
home with him, and live in a pretty
cage that he promised to get for
them. But they did not seem at all
inclined ; and always hopped away
when he put out his hand to take
them. However, a young friend of
his told him of a way that, he said,
would catch any bird, little or big.
It was, to make a nice paper bag,
in the shape of a sugar-loaf, you
know, and then to put a few spoon-
fuls of salt in that, and carry it out
270 Such a capital Plan /
to sprinkle on the birds’ tails when
he next saw them. 7
So when he had made his pre-
parations, the little man went forth
one day; and, at the first sight of a
bird, out came a pinch of salt. And
with this in his hand, he ran merrily
after them, calling out, ‘Come here ;
oh! come here. I’ve got somesing
so nice for ’ou ’ickle birdies.’
Johnny was quite sure that the
salt would answer; but somehow it
did not; and before it was all scat-
tered about, the little birds had
flown far away, without any of their
tails looking at all white.
Poor Johnny! He was so disap-
pointed——even a little inclined to be
Such a capital Plan! 275
angry, I fancy; for he thought it so
stupid and ungrateful of them all to
prefer being free to go wherever
they liked, from tree to tree in the
green woods, rather than accompany
him home to be shut up and made a
pet of, in the dearest, prettiest cage
that ever was seen.
Therefore, finding it of no use to
stay out, he ran home again to tell his
sister all about it. And so excited
and indignant was he, that I can tell
you she had some trouble in getting
him calm and happy again.
272
CAAPTER XXE
A PRETTY SIGHT.
SUT though Johnny did not
succeed in catching even
one of the little birds, and
though he was so vexed and cross
with them for not caring to have
those nice pinches of salt on their
tails that would have made them so
easy to catch, as he thought, yet he
very soon got over his anger with
them, and went out again, accom-
panied by his horse, to see if he
A Pretty Sight. 278
could find out where they had
gone.
He walked about very softly and
gently in that same woody spot
where he had tried to catch them ;
but for a good while there was not a
bird to be seen.
At last, however, he thought he
heard a little chirping somewhere up
over his head; and then a bird flew
over him; and when he looked up
to discover where it went, what do
you think he saw? Oh, such a
pretty sight! Up there, right in the
boughs of one of the low trees that
rose out of the bushes there was a
good big nest. Out of the top of
the nest stretched three little heads,
18
274 A Pretty Sight.
all with open beaks, while just out-
side this Mest, OM OMe Side, was-a
fourth little chirper, who seemed to
be rather bolder than his brothers
and sisters; and on the other side,
on another bough, watching them
all, was the mother bird, looking as
if she were very pleased to see that
the father had brought them some-
thing to eat. Then the father bird
hovered over them all, and put
something into their tiny beaks, after
which he talked a little in his way,
and off he went, and the mother,
too, to see what other good things
they could find.
Johnny stood on tip-toe to watch,
and he kept as quiet as a mouse, be-
The dear little birds are calling their papa and mamma,
A Pretty Sight. 275
cause he had found out that a very
small noise would frighten birds
away from him. But when the
father and mother birds had gone,
and the young ones had all cuddled
down together in the bottom of the
nest, he crept quietly away to his
sister, who was sitting on the grass
ata, little. distance, aiid said,‘ Ihe
dear little birds are calling their papa
and mamma; and then she went
back with him to get a peep.
Afterwards, they both sat down
on a mossy bank to talk about these
same dear little birds, and wonder
when they would be able to come
out of their nest and fly about, like
the parent ones. In a short time
18—z2
276 A Pretty Sight.
they got tired of talking over the
birds; and May grew very silent;
while Johnny rolled about on the
bank as if he did not know what to
do.
At last he said, ‘Read Johnny a
story like that nice one about the
_ shepherds, please, May.’
‘J haven’t got my book, Johnny,’
She -sard3-“so: | cat. -But-il you
like, I think I can tell you something
that is in it, And do you know,
looking at that nest has made me
think of it.’
‘ Has it, May?’ said the little boy,
as if he could not think how that
could be.
“Yes, Johnny, she went. ome aie
A Pretty Sight. 277
was like this: when the Lord Jesus,
our Saviour, who was born in Beth-
lehem, as I told you, grew up to be
a man, he didn’t stay at home with
his mother, but he went all over
the country, preaching to the people,
and making the sick people well, and
the lame people walk, and the deaf
people hear, and the blind people see.’
‘The bind people like Jimmy
Turner!’ said Johnny, opening his
eyes very wide. ‘How could Heâ€
‘Ah! I can’t tell you,’ May an-
swered. ‘He was God, you see;
and He made the people’s eyes ; so,
of course, He could cure them when
they didn’t see. And He was so
good that He loved everybody, and
278 A Pretty Sight.
didn’t like anybody not to be able to
Sea.
‘No,’ answered Johnny. cle
must be avefful! Me souldn’t like
i.
‘Well, the good Saviour left His
mother’s home when He was a man,
Johnny, and used to go about long,
long journeys till He got very tired,
on purpose to teach all sorts of
wicked people, and to make them
well when they were bad, and then,
when the night came, often He had
not got any place to sleep in.’
Me allan t., 1kcC > tudty? said
Johnny. ‘It wouldn’t be nice to
seep out of doors in the dark.
P’aps it might rain !’
A Pretty Sight. 279
‘Yes; but Jesus loved everybody,
and didn’t think about Himself,’ said
May. ‘It says in God’s Book that
the foxes have holes, and the birds of
the air have nests, but He hadn’t
any place to lay His head.’
‘Me would have given Him me’s
own bed, Johnny said, with very
tearful eye. ‘Me wish He had a
good p’ace to s’eep in.’
‘He might have made one,’ May
answered, ‘because He was God,
and God can do anything. But He
was only thinking of people that
weren't happy and well.’
‘Me fink Jesus was very kind,’
said little Johnny.
280
CHAPTER XX
THE WOUNDED BIRD.
#3 SUPPOSE that no little boy
o ae or girl will wonder that
Johnny’s small head was
very full of the ‘ dear dickies,’ as he
called them, after the discovery of
that nest in the tree. He did not
talk of much else al] the afternoon,
either to his mother, who was at
home washing, or to young Sammy
Jenkins, who came in to play with
him; though, when he was going to
The Wounded Bird. 281
bed, I believe some other thoughts
came back that May had put into
his mind in the morning; and
mammy and he had a nice chat to-
gether, as he sat by her side, before
he shut his eyes and went to sleep.
It rained all the next day, so he
could not go to see his new friends ;
and the day after, the ground was so
wet that their mother told May that
she must take him for a walk out on
the dry paths by the roadside, and
not let him go on the grass at all.
So poor Johnny’s temper and pa-
tience were really tried, as any little
boy will acknowledge; and if he
was not quite good-humoured all
day long we must not wonder. I
282 The Wounded Bird.
do think he did his best not to fret,
after May reminded him that it was
God who had sent the rain, and that,
if it was not pleasant to him, it was
very good for the grass and corn.
On the third day,—that was
Thursday,—when they woke in the
morning, it was quite fine, and the
sun was shining beautifully. Johnny
was in great spirits; and he made all
the haste he could to dress and go
down to breakfast.
Afterwards, he was quite handy in
helping his mother and May to put
all the things away; and when he
saw that all was done, he said :—
‘Now, May May, let us go.’
‘Oh! that’s what it is that you're
The Wounaed Bird. 282
after, said his mother, laughing ;
and May answered,—
‘Yes, mother; didn’t you know ?â€
Then she got their hats, and off
they set. It did not take long to
get to the place; but, oh! dear, dear,
when they got there, what do you
think they saw? Ah! no nest at
all! Only a little bit of straw stick-
ing in the tree; and the bushes were
all broken and trodden down. Some
one had seen the nest, too; that was
certain. May got very red, and she
looked quite indignant, but she did
not speak for a minute, and then
cite calc
‘Some boys have been here—some
naughty, cruel boys, ’m sure; and
284 The Wounded Bird.
they’ve taken the nest and the young
ones all away. What a shame! I
wonder where the parent birds have
gone? Poor things! How sorry
they must be !’
‘And so is me,’ said Johnny, sob-
bing, and speaking very angrily.
‘ They are bad, bad boys. Me hope
somebody will beat them.’
Then the poor little man threw
himself down on the ground, crying
and sobbing as if his heart would
break.
May did all she could to comfort
him, and make him think of. the
grief of the father and mother birds,
and forget his own; but he only be-
gan, then, to cry for them, too, and
The Wounded Bird. 285
to say, over and over again, some-
thing cross about those ‘ horrid
boys.’
At last, when he seemed to have
cried himself out, May proposed to
go home for his horse and the skip-
ping-rope; and, as he made no
objection, she took his hand, and
they set off together.
But they had not gone many steps
before May stopped, and said, ‘ Hark,
Johnny! Listen!’
For she heard a little feeble, chirp-
ing cry in the bushes; and in a
minute she began to search all
about.
Omen oie sites) obicre dts, tic
poor little thing !’ she exclaimed, but
286 The Wounded Bird.
in a low tone. And Johnny came
close to see what it was.
‘Oh, oh! he said, too. when he
saw.’ ‘ The dear, the dear !’
‘Don’t, Johnny,’ said May. ‘You'll
frighten it away. I think it is hurt.
Perhaps it fell out of the nest, and
its mother did not see it because she
was frightened. It was too young
to fly.’
As she spoke, May was trying to
take the little downy thing in her
hands; but it was right in amongst
the brambles; and though it could
not fly, it managed to hop and get
away from her at first. Soon, how-
ever, she caught it; and then she sat
down on the grass, and cooed over
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“ Perhaps if we are kind to him he will get well,†said May.
The Wounded Bird. 287
it, and stroked it very gently, to try
and make it happy. But it trembled
all over; and one tiny wing hung
down in a strange sort of way, and
seemed to hurt it. _
As for Johnny, he was all excite-
ment, and kept crying out,—
‘Js it ill, May? Isit hurt? Let
me have it.’
‘No, no; don’t touch it, Johnny.
I think it is very much hurt. Ill
take it home to mother in my pina-
fore, and perhaps, if we are kind to
him, he will get well,’ said May.
‘Yes; we'll take him to mother,
said Johnny, who seemed to feel that
that was a very good thought, and
perhaps believed that his mother
288 The Wounded Bird.
could cure the little wounded bird,
just as she did himself, with one of
those wonderful kisses.
And, sure enough, the little thing
did seem to revive very soon after
they got in, and the mother had
given him something nice to eat, and,
—at Johnny’s particular request,—
kissed him; so that our little laddie
was soon able to have him in his
own fat hands under careful May
May’s eyes.
289
CHAPTER XXIII.
FATHER’S PLAN.
SUT the thing was what to do
with the poor pet; for, you
see, it was not like a kitten
or a puppy, which could live in a
basket, and be nursed by the fire if
they were hurt. Master Dickey
could not quite fly, but he could
have almost, if he had not got hurt,
for he was nearly old enough. And
as soon as he got a little better, they
found that he could hop very well,
1
290 Father's Plan.
and might hop out at the door, if he
were not looked after.
In fact, he wanted a cage, and
there was no cage for him in the
house, nor any money to buy one.
Mother said: ‘We must wait till
father comes home, and see what
he'll say.’ But when he did come,
he was as puzzled, at first, as the
rest of them.
‘I’ve got it, he cried at last, as
he came back from the cupboard
where the mother kept her things
with that same sieve in his hand that
had once served May for a drum.
Here, we'll make the little fellow as
comfortable as we can—poor little
motherless thing that he is. So,
father's Plan, 291
Johnny, just go out into the yard,
and pick up any bits of straw and
hay that you see. And you, May,
go and ask mother for a nice little
piece of wool; and then we'll see if
we can’t make him a nice soft nest
of his own.’
And so he did,—that clever
daddy. You would almost have
thought that he had once been a
father bird himself: he did it so
capitally.
Then mother boiled an egg hard,
and chopped it up very fine; and
she put it in a saucer, with a little
sopped bread, and a few seeds that she
happened to have, that birdie might
please his own taste. And they put
19—2
292 Father's Plan.
the saucer of food down first, and a
tiny doll’s cup of water by it, in
case he might be thirsty, and then
sprinkled a little gravel on the table
to serve for salt, you know. After-
wards, Master Dickey was introduced
into his new nest, which he seemed
to like very well. Then over all
went the sieve, to keep him safe. And
so he was left to his slumbers.
Only, next morning, the children
let birdie out, and fed him with a
spoon ; and May told her little brother
that, if he got well, Dickey should be
his pet, though she found him,
So, you see, Johnny got a dear
little bird of his own after all. And
he said :—
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Johnny has got a dear little bird of his own after all.
Father's Plan. 2903
‘Me so glad the cruel boys didn’t
get all the ’ickle birds.’
‘Yes, said May. ‘ But I think it
is time you forgot about those boys,
Johnny. Perhaps, if you had been
a big boy, you would have done just
the same.’
‘Me wouldn’t, me sure! cried
Johnny, indignantly. ‘Me isn’t a
cruel boy; is me? and he got very
red as he spoke.
‘No; but perhaps they are taking
care of the others; you don’t know.’
‘Yes, said the little man; ‘but
the papa and mamma don’t like it,
me sure. Me dare say they is c’ying
for their babies.’
‘I know it wasn’t good to take
204 Father's Plan.
the nest, returned May, gravely.
‘But, you know, Johnny, you some-
times do naughty things, too.’
‘Me doesn’t take nests,’ replied
Johnny, positively. ‘Me know that
is very bad—badder than anything.’
And then, after seeming to think a
minute, he added, vehemently, ‘ Me
sure Jesus never took nests when He
was down here.’
‘No; He never did anything
cruel; that’s certain, said May.
‘When Jesus Christ was a boy, He
was always a good boy. The Bible
says He “did no sing. But do
you know, Johnny, though He was
always good to every one, every one
was not good to Him. Lots of
Father's Plan, 295
people said unkind things, and did
unkind things to Him, and often
they tried to kill Him. That was
because He told them when they
were not good. People don’t like
to be told that they do bad things ;
do they ?’
“No; me dare say those bad boys
wouldn’t,’ returned the determined
little fellow.
‘Nor you, either, Johnny,’ said
his sister. ‘Don’t you know that
we should always think about our
own bad ways, and try to forget
what other people do
296
CIAL PLR 2eckye
JOHNNY'S PET LOST AND FOUND AGAIN.
AD to say, however, somehow
or other Master Dickie gave
them the slip that day, and
got away; so poor Johnny sobbed
himself to sleep, and woke late next
morning.
You can fancy his joy, therefore,
when he opened his eyes to see May
standing by his bed-side, with the
lost pet safe in a new cage, and to
hear her say how she found the poor
little thing not far from the house,
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The little bird will be safer in its own house.
Fohuny’s Pet. 297
all cold, and hungry, and frightened.
He had not been able to get far, and
seemed quite glad to see her again, and
to be nursed and fed, and put into the
cage which grandfather had sent them.
Its little master was in a great
state of excitement—so glad to have
dickie back, and so afraid that he
would not be happy shut up in, what
seemed to him, a prison.
But May comforted him, and said,
‘The dear little bird will be safer
in his own house, Johnny.’
‘Yes, said Johnny; ‘but me
wouldn’t like to be in there. Do
good boys ever be put in prison,
May ?
‘Not now; at least, not in Eng-
298 Fohuny's Pet lost
land, said May, wondering what
could make him talk so.
‘They were once, and good men,
too; me heard granddaddy read
about it,’ answered the little man.
‘What! did you hear ? exclaimed
May. ‘I thought you were making
a house.’
_*Me-did hear; me olten hear
when me playing; and mammy said
they serve good Lord Jesus just the
same—least, they kill Him. What
did the bad men do it for, May May?â€
‘ Because He was good,’ answered
the little girl, wondering all the
while at her Johnny-boy. ‘He let
them, though, or else they couldn’t
have done it, because He was God,’
and found again. 299
she added. ‘He always meant to
die for us. We are so bad; we
couldn’t ever have gone up to live
with God if He hadn’t. All the
people in the world deserve to be
sent away from God, you know ; but
don’t you remember the hymn that I
say every morning, tells us that
“ Out of pity, Jesus said
He'd bear our punishment instead.â€â€™
‘Me sink Jesus was very good,
gooder than anybody,’ answered the
little laddie ; ‘ but me wouldn’t have
killed Him. Me couldn’t be so bad.’
‘Ah, you don’t know; if you do
little bad things now, when you are
big, you will do great bad things,’
said May, sagely.
300 Fohuny’s Pet.
‘Me going to leave off doing any
bad things, May May,’ answered our
little laddie in his own positive little
way. ‘Me going to be kind to
everybody: to ’ou, and to Tommy
Taylor, and to Wolf, and to dickie,
and everybody. And if me kind,
me must let dickie out sometimes,
‘cause me sure he won't like being
in prison.’
‘Oh! he won’t think it a prison
long,’ said May, cheerfully. ‘Soon
he'll be quite proud of his own
house, and very likely he won’t let
any one else go into it if he can help
it; so father says.’
THE END.
BILLING, PRINTER, GUILDFORD, SURREY,
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