Polly Brown went one day to carry her grandmam a little broth, for the
poor can do good to others as well as the rich. Her mother desired
her to go carefully, not to stay by the way, and to come strait back:
she said she would. As she was going, she met Sukey Playful and Dolly
Careless: where are you going? said they. To take my grandmam some
broth. Come, said they, set it down a little while, and have a run
with us. O no, said she, I cannot now, my mammy desired I would make
haste; beside, the broth will be cold. When a little girl knows what
is right, she ought to listen to no persuasions to do wrong. They told
her, her mammy would never know anything about it: that they were going
to buy a half-penny worth of apples, and would give her one if she
would go with them. Come, said they, you may set down the jug in this
snug place, and we shall soon be back again. At last she consented;
but she had no comfort as she went, nor when she had got her apple;
for she thought, if the jug should be thrown down, what should she
do. They made haste, but when they came back to the place, a dog had
thrown down the jug, and spilt all the broth. Polly began to cry most
terribly, and scolded Sukey and Dolly for persuading her to go, when
she might have recollected that it was her own fault for not minding
her duty. They were a good deal frightened: however, they said, never
mind it, as the jug is not broke, you can go home and tell your mammy
you took the broth, and, perhaps, she will never know any thing about
it. Polly dried her eyes, took up the jug, and went home; but she was
very uneasy, and felt that she did not like her play-fellows half so
well as she had done before, for they had now taught her to do wrong.
When she got home, well, said her mother, how does your grandmam do,
my dear, and how did she like the broth; for I dare say she was hungry
enough, poor soul, and would eat them directly? Polly said, she was
much as usual, and liked them very well. All the day she was very
dull, and found she could not work with half so much pleasure as she
used to do. At night, when she went to bed, she was very uncomfortable
indeed; she had been taught always to tell the truth, as the only way
to be happy herself, or of any use to others. She now felt that she had
deceived her mother, and therefore did not deserve to be trusted by
her. Thus she continued very uneasy all the week: On Saturday night,
when her mother had done all her work, and washed the young children
and put them to bed, Polly, said she, I think I will just step and see
how your grandmother does: you, my dear, will take care of the house;
and mend a hole in your father’s stocking for to-morrow. You begin to
be a great help to me now, and I thank God that I have one child to
depend upon for a little comfort and assistance: be sure to take care
against the fire and candle, I shall soon be back again. She then went
out, but Polly’s heart was ready to break: she had always, before,
deserved her mother’s praise, and it was the next comfort she had to
the satisfaction of her own mind. But now she had deceived her; she was
miserable; she was going to be found out; and she could no more expect
to be trusted. The grandmother was very glad to see her daughter, and
began to enquire after all the children, and particularly Polly, who,
she said, was now a notable little maid, and would soon, she hoped, be
a great comfort to them all. But child, said she, I am afraid you have
raised no broth lately, for you used to be so good as to send me some,
and it is now many a long day since I have had any. Mother, said she,
you forget, we made broth on Monday, and Polly brought you some then.
Well, said she, I believe my memory fails me, but I thought it had been
longer. Here is my neighbour Green, who brings in her wheel sometimes,
she has sat with me a good deal this week, it may be that she can tell.
Monday, Monday, let me see, said Betty Green; no, neighbour, I am sure
Polly brought none on Monday, for that was the day we made some at our
house, and I brought you a little of mine. Well, said Polly’s mother,
I do not know how it could be, but I will enquire when I get home. I
must now wish you a good night, for my husband will want his supper.
You have a shift here over the line that wants mending I see: Polly is
now very ready with her needle, they have taught her so well in the
charity-school. I am sure she will be glad to mend her grandmother’s
shift; for the more useful she is, the more happy you know she will
be: so I will take it with me. Good night, God bless you, I must make
haste, for we poor people have no time to lose. Away she set off: when
she got home, well, Polly, said she, you have had no accident? Polly
was very dull, and said no, mother. Your grandmother enquired kindly
after you, and was very glad that you are such a comfort and help to
me; but how was it, my dear, about the broth you last went with? Your
grandmother has never had them. Polly trembled in every limb; at first
she thought of still saying that she took them, but she found that she
had been miserable enough already, and that it would only make her
more so. O, mother, said she, I have deceived you: I have made myself
very unhappy, and I am very wicked indeed. She then told her mother
what had happened. Her mother was very much shocked, and could hardly
speak. I know, said she, very well, that other people are often wishing
and asking us to do wrong; it is possible your naughty companions
might persuade you; but, to come home and deceive me, this is dreadful
indeed. I know of no other right use of words, but for us to tell one
another of things as they really are. You have, perhaps, heard quarrels
in the street, and seen a good deal of sorrow and trouble in houses; a
great part of this is owing to people’s deceiving one another in their
words, and not telling the strict clear truth. For my part, I would
rather have had a child who could not speak, than one who deceives me.
How can I trust you? How can I depend upon what you say? Nay, how do
I know that this account of the matter is truth? When shall I be able
to believe you again? O, my dear mother, said she, do forgive me this
once, and I hope I shall always speak the truth for the future. Yes,
said she, I can forgive you, but do you forgive yourself? that is the
matter. Can you be as happy as you was before? I will try: I will watch
my words, and tell you all. Well, said her mother, you seem very sorry;
I do not wish to make you more so, only you will find that I cannot,
at present, trust to what you say; neither can your grandmother, nor
neighbour Green; but this you must endure as the consequence of the
fault you have committed. It is a dreadful effect of doing wrong, that
it makes us unhappy; but the more unhappy it makes you, the more you
must strive against it in future. I hope you are sincerely sorry; if
so, we shall perceive it by your speaking the truth, for deceit is soon
found out, and then we shall trust you as usual; and, I hope, you will
always remember, that none can deceive another without injuring himself.
Better be dumb than dare to lie;
For words which are not truth,
Far as they reach, spread misery
On childhood, age, and youth.
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