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SOME LITTLE PEOPLE
by
GEORGE KRINGLE
Illustrated
[Illustration]
New York
Dodd, Mead & Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1881,
by
Dodd, Mead & Company.
SOME LITTLE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER I.
'Lisbeth Lillibun lived a hundred miles from London. If she had not
lived a hundred miles from London, it is likely you would never have
heard of her. She would have liked it better had somebody else lived
where she did instead of herself. 'Lisbeth was a very little girl when
she found out that she lived a hundred miles from London. So was Dickon,
her brother, very little when he found it out, but he did not care so
much about it; indeed I think he did not care at all.
'Lisbeth always remembered the day upon which she found it out. She
could not quite count a hundred herself at the time; she could count
ten, but had not learned to count a hundred. She had heard Gorham count
a hundred, and knew that it was a great many more than ten. She thought
that ten was a great many. She knew that ten miles must be a great way;
she had several times walked a mile. She had walked a mile the day she
discovered that it was a hundred miles to London. A hundred miles, she
knew, was a very great way.
'Lisbeth had concluded that she would like to live in London; that she
would live in London; that London was the only proper place for any body
to live. This was why she did not like to discover that London was a
hundred miles away. But how she came to know anything about London, or
to think it was the only proper place to live, I shall not pretend to
say.
She had gone a long way from home, that day, with Dickon; as I said, she
had gone a mile. It was a pleasant mile, straight across the fields, but
they should not have gone so far. Mother was at the mill; Gorham had
gone to school; Trotty was asleep. Dickon and 'Lisbeth wanted to do
something, or see something, so they wandered over the fields for a
mile. If they had not gone so far, 'Lisbeth would not have heard about
the distance to London; she would have been more happy had she not gone
so far; she would not have heard the men, with the packs on their backs,
reading the mile-stone. She should not have gone so far from home; we
generally come to some grief when we do something which is not quite
right. 'Lisbeth did.
Dickon wished to show her the flowers blooming by the way; he wished to
show her the bees buzzing in the flowers; he wished to show her the bird
warbling on the post, but she was looking at the two men with the packs
on their backs; she was looking at them plodding along the way. They
grew smaller and smaller to her eyes. They became but specks. They
disappeared.
She thought she would see them again in London. She would ask them how
they got there, and how they liked it. So Dickon watched the bees, a
long while, by himself, and looked at the pretty flower-hearts; and the
bird warbled on the post, but 'Lisbeth knew not a thing about it.
Everything looked more happy than 'Lisbeth; the grass that grew under
foot, and the contented little weeds that nodded and dozed in the sun,
and the flowers that hung just where they grew, with the most
comfortable little faces, and the bird that warbled on the post.
Indeed, as to the bird, it might have been thought that he did not
admire 'Lisbeth's serious face, that he was too happy himself to be
looking at any one who was not as happy as he was, for, though at first,
with head turned toward her, he ruffled his throat, and swayed from side
to side as he sung and sung, he suddenly grew mute, eyed 'Lisbeth with
one eye and then with the other, and like a bird who had made up his
mind, turned his back upon her, still standing on the post, and lifted
his head, and ruffled his throat, and filled the air with his sweet
notes, without so much as turning an eye toward 'Lisbeth as she stood.
Everything looked more comfortable than 'Lisbeth. Do you know why
'Lisbeth did not look comfortable? If you cannot think why it was
to-day, perhaps you may be able to do so to-morrow. If you cannot think
why it was this morning, perhaps you may be able to do so by this
evening. Indeed, I think you will know without waiting to think a
minute.
Dickon filled her hands with flowers--they were such sweet flowers, with
such pretty tender faces; every one had something on its lips to say as
it looked up. Did you ever guess what the flowers were trying to say
loud enough for you to hear? I think they all say something to us; some
of us cannot hear what they say, some of us cannot guess what they say.
The flowers looked brightly up at 'Lisbeth; they did not look
discontented, even though they were broken; they did not complain as she
carried them away; they did not even turn to look reproachfully at
Dickon who had broken them from their stems. They were very bright
flowers.
'Lisbeth wished many times to know if Dickon thought the men with the
packs had reached London. She asked him so many times, that at length he
laughed quite aloud, and yet she knew well enough that the men had to
walk a hundred miles; she and Dickon had walked but one. So she laughed
too, when Dickon laughed, and they both began chasing the butterflies
that waved their beautiful wings over the field, their wings beautiful
as the faces of the flowers; the wings which changed colors as they
fanned them in the sun; the pretty wings which changed color every
moment and which shone like flower petals sprinkled with gold.
When they were tired of chasing butterflies they remembered that Trotty
might be awake; that Gorham might have come home; that mother might have
come from the mill, and have been looking for them; so they began
chasing each other instead of chasing the butterflies, and it seemed to
be much the best thing to do, for as they chased each other they came
nearer to the door at home. Indeed they should have thought of this
before, for as they came bounding around the house, startling the
swallows under the eaves, Trotty was tumbling from the cradle, and
mother was hastening toward the door.