Goodfellow, who was left in place of Philip Badboy, wore a fairy talisman
outside of his heart, which made everybody love him, so great a favorite
did he become almost immediately. Yes, he wore a charm; but it was
_inside_ his heart, and it was called LOVE. Do you know, darling little
reader, whom _I_ love with all my heart—that in that sublime chapter
in Corinthians which tells about Charity, it is _Love_ which is meant?
The word in the original is “Love;” but for good reasons, and so as not
to be misunderstood—because this word “love” has not always a divine
meaning—the translator chose the word “Charity.” And now, whenever you
read the beautiful chapter, which I hope you do very often, and, what is
more, _practise its heaven-sent lessons_, always think that “Charity”
means the purest “Love.”
How the little fellow did study! It seemed as if he could not say his
lessons wrong if he tried; and in play hours, he frolicked at such a
rate with his particular friend Kriss Luff, who clung to him from the
very first day, that he did not lose his bright rosy cheeks, as his good
mother had feared. He wrote her a long letter once a week, sending
many loving messages to his father and darling sister Essie, and not
forgetting Phil. And once, when a travelling photographic gallery came up
to the school, he had himself taken with his arm round his friend Kriss’s
neck; and he particularly requested that Kriss should be looking at his
watch at the moment, as it would seem such a grand thing, he said, for a
boy to have one.
Johnny learned to construe Latin in such a surprisingly short time, that
Dr. Gradus forgot one morning to be as pompous as usual, and tapping his
new scholar on the back, told him he was an honor to the school, and said
he was quite a “multum in parvo,” which, I am certain, meant a great
compliment, for Johnny colored deeply, while an expression of delight
illumined his features. It is a very majestic thing to praise people in
Latin; but for my part, I wish Dr. Gradus had talked English, don’t you?
If you can find out what “multum in parvo” means, just write it to me in
a dear little letter, directed to the care of Mr. Sheldon.
Of course Johnny told Kriss all about his sister Essie; how pretty and
good she was, and how she had to walk with crutches, because she had
hurt her knee when she was a little bit of a thing, and the leg that was
injured never grew any more, at which Kriss was dreadfully sorry, and
sent his love to her, and a funny little picture, in an envelope, of
a boy who was pulling out the nose of his sister’s india-rubber doll,
and making it at least half a yard long. And Essie, in return, sent him
a great gingerbread cake, which she helped to make herself, and Kriss
had what he called “a public dinner” off of it, and made a fine speech,
standing on top of the pump in the play-ground; after which he cut a
slice of cake for every boy, all elegantly arranged on cabbage leaves for
plates, upon receiving which they gave him three perfectly tremendous
cheers, and in five minutes more every single crumb had disappeared.
And Johnny kept rosy and fat, although he really seemed to live on
geography, the multiplication table, and the Latin grammar; but he could
play too; for Kriss declared that he could run faster, jump higher, swim
longer, and shout louder than any other fellow in the school, which was
very remarkable, for some of the boys could run like lamplighters, jump
like kangaroos, swim dog-fashion and crab-fashion, dive like stones,
float like feathers, stand on their heads under water and bow, to you
with their feet, and as to shouting, I only wish you could hear them
once—that’s all.
* * * * *
All the boys agreed that Johnny made the very best back of them all at
leap-frog,—so strong and square, with his hands firmly planted on his
knees, and looking between his legs with his round face upside down.
Then he was a capital hand at mending broken-down drums, toy-carts,
horses, and all manner of playthings. The little boys in the school would
bring them to him, and, first hugging him, would coax him to “make them
as good as new,” until he declared that the little closet in his room
was a perfect hospital, of which he was the doctor, and a jack-knife and
Spalding’s glue the medicines.
And such wonderful kites as he could make! They quite astonished the
whole neighborhood, birds and all. A famous one which he made was, as he
declared, a genuine portrait of a round-shouldered, bullet-headed member
of Congress he had seen, whose brains being made of feathers, were just
the very ones to go off in a high wind, at a tangent, and never touch any
sensible thing, or cut even a curve in the air, much less a difficult
question. So the member of Congress was painted on an immense sheet of
tissue paper, and furnished with an exceedingly long tail, made of scraps
of cotton-wadding tied on a string at intervals of four inches, and so
light that it balanced his brains to perfection. When he was finished,
he was dubbed “The Honorable Mr. Kite;” and many a fine day did the
honorable gentleman air his feather-brains over the broad fields, and
look down with his stupid fat face at the delighted boys, who all took
turns in giving him a “flier.”
[Illustration: The Hon. Mr. Kite.]
But perhaps the very best of Johnny’s social accomplishments came out
on rainy days, when he told stories without end, so excellent was his
memory of what he had read or heard; and the bright play of his features
added so much to the interest, that the boys declared, when they came to
read the very same stories in books, as sometimes happened, they did not
seem one quarter as good. I really feel tempted to tell you one of them,
though, like the boys, you will lose three-quarters of the interest
because you do not get it direct from him. Shall I.
Aunt Fanny had read thus far in her manuscript, when she paused, looked
up, and repeated, “Shall I?”
“Oh, yes! yes! if you please,” cried all the children.
“But it won’t seem more than a quarter as entertaining.”
“Oh, you funny Aunt Fanny! you know we shall like it just as well—better.
But tell us, did _you_ hear that jolly Johnny Goodfellow tell a story?”
“Of course I did,” she answered, “and this is the way he did it. First,
let’s all sit down on the carpet.”
You would have thought that each of the children had been presented with
a fine present, they received this proposition with such delight and
so many chuckles. Down they all got in a bunch, with Aunt Fanny in the
midst. Then she clasped her hands over her knees, made her mouth into
a button-hole, and looked up at a corner of the ceiling, pretending to
think. She looked so long, that Fred, full of Johnny Goodfellow and his
story, quite forgot he was speaking to Aunt Fanny, and shouted—
“Come, old fellow! we’re all waiting; why don’t you begin?”
Then suddenly remembering himself, he turned as red as scarlet, and
stammered out—
“Oh, I didn’t mean—— I beg your pardon.”
The button-hole mouth broke loose, and Aunt Fanny burst out laughing, as
she said—
“That was just what I wanted. Now, attention, squad! Aunt Fanny has
jumped over the moon, and Johnny Goodfellow is here in her place to tell
you the wonderful tale, a good deal altered, which he read in an English
magazine, called
“BROTHER BOB’S BEAR.”
Once upon a time, a Yankee farmer found he had such a lot of children,
that they cost him more than they were worth. So he concluded to emigrate
out West, where the old ones could shoot game and plant corn and keep out
of mischief, and the young ones could laugh and grow fat by rolling on
the prairies and eating hasty-pudding.
He found that he was well enough off, when he got to his new home, to
build a very aristocratic log-house. Very few, you know, have more than
one room, while his had three—all elegantly ceiled with hemlock-bark,
with the smooth side out—quite gorgeous, you may believe.
It was in May that he moved, and the whole summer was before the children
to frolic in, and have a grand good time; and the eldest brother, Bob,
began the game by shooting a bear who wanted to hug him. You know a
bear’s hug is a remarkably tight squeeze, and generally takes your breath
away for good. So Bob declined the honor, and popped a bullet in the
bear’s cranium, and carried home in his arms a perfect little darling of
a cub, for the poor bear was a mother.
Oh, what a welcome the little cub got! It was hugged and kissed all
round; and Bob, congratulating himself that it was too young to mourn
long for the loss of its mother, solemnly declared that he intended to be
a mother to it for the rest of its life. And he kept his word.
The cub, who was named Moses, slept with Bob, always laying his nose in
a sentimental manner over Bob’s shoulder. He grew very fast; you could
almost see him grow; and there really seemed no end to the bread and milk
and mush and butter he would eat.
The first winter he was kind of numb and stupid, and spent a great deal
of time in sleeping and sucking his paws. But when the warm weather came
on, he was the happiest little bear in the world, following Brother Bob
about like a dog, and only miserable when he lost sight of his master. He
always woke him in the morning; and as the bear liked to get up early,
you see he was quite a blessing to Bob in this respect, as getting up
early, according to the proverb, is one of the sure and certain ways of
becoming healthy, wealthy, and wise. I always feel the wisdom sprouting
out all over me when I get up very early in the morning; but I’m afraid
I should spend all the extra money I made by early rising in buying an
extra breakfast, for it also makes me so tremendously hungry.
Well, one day Brother Bob had to go a long journey to buy material for
building a frame house, of a man who had a saw-mill. Moses could not
accompany him; and this was a dreadful affliction. Bob had to steal away;
and when the bear found he had gone, he commenced a search for him. He
went to Bob’s bed, and, beginning at the head, poked his nose under the
sheets and blankets, and gravely travelled down till he came out at the
foot; then he turned and slowly marched up again. He kept this up by
the hour, never stopping till he was shut out of the room. He then took
possession of all Bob’s clothes he could find, and got as far as he could
push into the legs of the trousers and arms of the coats, still hoping
that his beloved master would be found in some of the dark corners; and
Bob’s mother, half distracted at seeing the clothes tearing with such
rough usage, got them away with great difficulty, and locked them up in a
wardrobe.
Then Moses, with tears in his eyes, and grunting with grief, managed to
climb to the top of the wardrobe, and seized a large Bible which rested
there, and, curling himself up into a round ball, dropped on the floor,
hugging the Bible fast. Bob’s mother tried to get this away, but the bear
showed fight for the first time, and kicked out his hind legs, and gave
sly dabs at the broomstick with which she was beating him; but he held
the book tight, and Bob’s mother had to give up, and come off second
best; and what’s more, the bear knew it, and made use of his triumph
afterward.
When Bob came back, the bear fairly danced for joy, dropping the Bible,
and showing his contempt for Bob’s mother by taking the butter from the
tea-table and eating it before her eyes. His master gave him a good
drubbing for stealing, and he submitted to it with perfect indifference,
for his dear master might do as he pleased; but when he was not present,
butter and honey, and sugar and molasses, were all taken with the utmost
coolness; and the poor old lady could not help herself, for he had now
grown so large and strong that she was afraid of him.
“Oh, Bob,” she said, one day, “your bear is the plague of my life.”
“Now, mother,” he answered, “you have only got to be resolute, and show
that you are not afraid of him.”
“But I _am_ afraid of him, and he will do me some dreadful harm yet.”
“Give him a taste of hot poker, mother, and he’ll never bother you again.”
“Oh, Bob!” she exclaimed, “I would not do that for the world!”
And so the bear had his own way, and became a very tyrannical member of
the family, till something happened which did more than even a mother’s
remonstrances.
For Brother Bob fell in love. Just at this time the Yankee farmer got
a neighbor—a very near one for the West, only five miles off—and this
neighbor had a pretty daughter, seventeen years old; so what does Bob,
who, I forgot to tell you, was nineteen years old—what does he do but
fall so head over ears in love, that he declared she was the prettiest
and best girl in the whole universe, which _I_ think was saying a great
deal.
But Susan (that was her name) treated Brother Bob shamefully. She played
tricks upon him; she made fun of him before his face, and kept him
perfectly miserable; and declared, moreover, that she did not care half
an ear of corn for him. Here was a pretty state of things! for even the
bear could not comfort the poor fellow.
But one day Susan and a younger sister came to take tea with Bob’s
mother. They had never seen Moses, and did not know of his existence.
Bob shut the bear up in his room, in compliment to the guests, and the
afternoon passed off very pleasantly; that is, to all but Moses, who was
highly disgusted at being locked in.
When the time came for Susan and her sister to leave, Bob prepared to see
them home through the path in the woods. He ran into his room for his
hat, never thinking of Moses, and left the door open, and came quickly
out of the house, as Susan, with her teazing ways, had already started.
Down rushed the bear after him, out of the door, up to Bob, seized him
in his arms, and hugged him, in his joy, in a way frightful to behold;
and Susan, turning, saw Bob in this terrible embrace. She screamed; oh,
how she screamed! and instead of running away, _she rushed right up to
the bear_, and tried to pull him off, crying and sobbing, “Oh, Bob! dear,
dear Bob! you will be killed!” and then fell fainting to the ground.
Ha! ha! Miss Susan, you were found out! But Bob behaved very well; for he
caught her in his arms, and said—
“Dear Susan, he is a tame bear; do not be afraid.”
The poor girl looked like a broken white lily, trembling at the bear, and
ashamed that she had showed Brother Bob how much she cared for him; and
when she had recovered her wits, she cried out piteously—
“Oh, I will never come here again!”
“Yes, you will!” said Bob, “now that I know you like me. I’ll banish the
bear, or put him in prison, or do any thing you wish.”
It was wonderful how many faults Bob discovered that the poor bear had
after this; and one day when he snatched a pudding from the plate in the
very hands of Bob’s mother, as she was taking it to the table, he made up
his mind that Moses must be chained.
So the bear was fastened to a surveyor’s chain, made tight to a stake in
the ground. He immediately began walking in a circle round the stake,
at the extreme length of the chain, always turning a somerset at one
particular point, and only stopping to eat, or look reproachfully at Bob
when he came that way. Why he wanted to exercise in this very peculiar
fashion, tumbling head over heels at one spot every time he went around,
is a good deal more than I know; but I believe all bears who are chained
act in this comical way, though it can’t be much fun to them.
This was all very well in the daytime, but sure as night came, Moses
broke his chain, and did his best to get back into his master’s bedroom.
Poor fellow! he so wanted to lie at the foot of Bob’s bed, hugging an old
vest. And at last they had to build a prison for him of logs, with a roof
of boards kept on by heavy stones.
The very first night the poor bear was put in this den, he raised the
boards off the roof in his desperate struggle to get out and see his
beloved master. He got his head out, and then, oh! ah! alas! hung by his
neck, and was choked to death—a martyr to his great love for Brother Bob.
You may be sure, Bob’s mother was rather glad, but, old as he was, Bob
could not help shedding a few tears for his clumsy, ugly pet. He got a
new and pretty pet before long; and so it came to pass that the farmer
and all his family soon gave up bewailing the tragical end of
BROTHER BOB’S BEAR.
* * * * *
“There!” said Aunt Fanny; “what do you think of Johnny’s story?”
“Grand!” cried the children. “We know more about bears now than we ever
did before.”
“I wish I could have a bear,” said Peter.
“Come here and I will give you a bear’s hug,” cried Fred.
He jumped upon Peter and squeezed him till both were perfectly red in
the face, and breathed in puffs. Then Fred kindly offered to give Aunt
Fanny a hug; but she, jumping up and laughing, said she had no breath to
spare. And after a good deal of skirmishing around, and making believe to
punch each other with their elbows, dancing and singing—
“There was an old woman,
Who had but one spoon,
And all she wanted
Was elbow room,
Elbow room, elbow room,—
All she wanted
Was ELBOW ROOM”—
they consented to sit down quietly to hear once more about their friend
Philip.
* * * * *
At the farm, all this time, Phil had been improving. Not steadily, for
no one becomes good all at once. He would have his fits of laziness and
sulkiness; but the ministering love and sweet example of little Essie
soon made him ashamed of himself, and try to conquer the enemy, praying
to his Father in Heaven for help. You know very well, darling children,
that our worst enemies are our evil passions and bad habits, and when
we gain a victory over them, all the angels in heaven rejoice, and then
God’s Holy Spirit descends into our hearts, sending a glow and thrill of
happiness all through us.
As Phil grew good-tempered and industrious he began bitterly to regret
the advantages he had neglected and lost while at school, and when
Johnny’s letters were read aloud, his heart would beat violently, and he
would say to himself—“Shall I ever be so smart? What a miserable foolish
fellow I have proved myself!”
One Saturday evening he went softly up to Mr. Goodfellow, and
asked—“Won’t you please tell me something about my dear father and
mother?” and then burst into tears.
“Why, Phil!” cried the farmer, “what’s the matter? Your parents are well,
and know that you are trying to be a better boy. Don’t cry. The time will
soon pass; and a little farm learning will not hurt you. If you go on as
you have done this two or three weeks past, you’ll come out all right, my
boy.”
The next morning, after his work, Phil washed and dressed himself
carefully, and went to church. His history, by this time, was pretty well
known, and the good minister, who had become quite interested in him, had
not only been to see him, but had always spoken to him kindly when he
waited in the churchyard after the service, while the farmer and his wife
talked awhile to their neighbors.
On this day, Phil went up to the good clergyman, and, blushing deeply,
stammered out, “I should like to speak to you, sir.”
“Well, my dear boy,” he answered kindly, “don’t be afraid; tell me what
I can do for you.”
“Oh, sir, if—if—you would only ask Mr. Goodfellow to let me go to evening
school. I want to learn—I do indeed.”
“Well, that is quite right; but you were at an excellent school. Why did
you not study there?”
Phil blushed more deeply than before, but he said, truthfully and
manfully, “I neglected my opportunities, sir: I would not learn; and all
the boys hated me—because I tormented them; and I did not want to do any
thing harder than to walk about with my hands in my pockets—or else to be
eating.”
“But, my child, did this kind of life make you _happy_?”
“No, sir. I grew tired of every thing, and gaped till I sometimes thought
the top of my head would crack off; and I used to wish I could sleep
all day as well as all night; but now, oh! how I wish I could go back
and study diligently—although the farmer and his wife are very kind,
and I could hardly bear to leave dear little Essie. And I want to see
my parents, and beg them to forgive me”—and here Phil’s lip quivered
painfully.
“Well, my son, I will speak to the farmer, and if he consents, you
shall come to _me_ for an hour every week-day evening and continue your
studies.”
Phil could hardly believe his ears.
“You, sir! come to you!” he exclaimed, his whole face radiant with joy.
“Oh, thank you, thank you; how can I ever thank you enough!”
He flew to the good farmer, the minister coming slower, and told him the
precious good news, ending with, “Now I shan’t grow up a dunce!”—and I am
afraid I must add that he took one or two great joyful jumps in the air,
at which the minister looked a little grave, as it was Sunday, but did
not say one word of reproof, because he knew that “boys would be boys,”
and sometimes jumped when they ought to stand as still as a mouse.
It was all settled, and the next evening, just as the stars were peeping
out, Phil shouldered his books, which, you will remember, were sent away
from the school with him, and almost ran all the way to the parsonage.
It is perfectly astonishing how easy a lesson becomes, if you resolutely
drive all other thoughts out of your mind, collect your five wits, and
set to work at your book. Phil found it so, to his great delight. The
good minister smoothed away some of the difficulties which required a
little explanation, and excited his ambition to conquer others; and not
being near so pompous as the great Dr. Gradus, though knowing quite as
much, he and Phil got on capitally together. He did not learn Greek,
Latin, and all manner of hard things, like a flash of lightning, mind
you. If I should be so absurd as to tell you this, you would know I
was writing about an impossible boy. But his mind gradually cleared up,
because he no longer ate like a glutton, and he slept like a top, and
took plenty of healthy exercise, and this has every thing to do with
intellect and brain. You know, if you have a terrible headache, or eat a
great many buckwheat cakes for breakfast, you can’t do your sums. So, if
you want to grow up a wise man or woman, try to be a healthy child, full
of good-nature, good-temper, activity, and courage. They will greatly
increase your ability to learn.
About a mile from Mr. Goodfellow’s farm was a beautiful country place,
which had lately been offered for sale, and one day, when Phil had been
almost three months in his new home, the farmer, as he drew in his chair
at the tea-table, said—
“Wife, Woodlawn is bought, and the owner is coming to take possession
next week.”
He gave his wife a peculiarly comical look as he said this, and a smile
broke over her face, but she did not ask any questions.
Phil did not care who was coming; he was so engaged with his books, and
so happy working out in the fields all day, that if he could only have
heard from his parents, he would have had nothing left to wish for.
Just at this time, also, there was a public examination at Dr. Gradus’s
school, where anybody in the company was invited to put the most puzzling
questions to the scholars. You may be sure, Johnny was always ready
with an answer, except once, when he and the whole school, and all the
company, burst out laughing, because a queer old wag of a gentleman,
seeing that Johnny was so quick and bright, came out suddenly with this—
“Look here, my fine fellow. Suppose a canal-boat heads east-nor’-west for
the horse’s tail, and has the wind abeam, with a flaw coming up in the
south, and cats’-paws showing themselves, would the captain be justified
in taking a reef in the stove-pipe, without first asking the cook?”
I said everybody burst out laughing; but I made a mistake; for Dr. Gradus
rose up majestically, and made a speech stuffed full of Latin, in which
he observed that “problems like that the gentleman had just given were
not to be found in any of _his_ books;” at which everybody nearly laughed
again—he was so solemn and pompous about a joke. I forgot to mention that
Dr. Gradus was an old bachelor, and that accounts for it.
Of course, Johnny’s father and mother were present at the examination,
with little Essie; and oh! what three proud and happy people they were,
when, at the end of it, Dr. Gradus got up to present the prizes, and
among the very first names called was Master Johannes Goodfellow. At
first they did not quite understand that it was _their_ Johnny, because
Dr. Gradus turned his Christian name into Latin, which, you know, made
it grander; and as Johannes’s face,—as he walked up, bowed, and took the
splendid book presented to him,—was perfectly radiant with happiness, I
don’t know but what the Latin had something to do with it. But when he
saw his dear father holding out his hand to him, his mother’s eyes full
of joyful tears, and Essie’s rosy lips trembling with excitement and
pride in her darling brother, he very nearly burst into tears himself;
but controlling his feelings with a strong effort, he grasped his
father’s hand for a moment, and then went back to his seat.