Now I am not complaining. August the tenth is _my_ birthday, and it is a
good time for birthdays--being sufficiently long before Christmas. I
pity the poor people who were born in early January. Also presents are
good at our house, and there are enough of us to change round among
ourselves if any mistakes do occur. But what I really want to tell you
about is what happened to Little Sarah Brown, who lives just outside our
gate.
Sarah's people are very poor and her father makes them poorer by going
and drinking--as he says, "To drown Dull Care." My father says if he let
Dull Care alone and drowned himself it would be better for every one all
round. And that's a good deal for father to say, mind you, because he
believes dreadfully in letting people alone.
Well, Little Sarah Brown's mother was ill most of the time. She had a
cough and couldn't do washing, so Little Sarah came to our house to run
messages and go to the post with big letters when father said so. It was
pretty nice for Sarah too, because every second Saturday she got
half-a-sovereign from father. He grabbled deep in his pocket until he
found a piece of about the size, looked if it was gold, and handed it
over to Little Sarah.
Just fancy carrying about real-for-true gold like that! Some people are
dreadfully careless. Well, one time Little Sarah went up to the library
to get her Saturday's money. Father was mooning about among his books,
and shoved something at her, telling her gruffly to be off. He hadn't
time to be thanked then, but would see about it on Monday!
And do you know--it was a whole big sovereign he had given her! Now of
course _he_ never knew. He wouldn't have found out in twenty centuries,
and Little Sarah knew it. She did not notice till she was nearly home,
and then she stopped under a lamp-post that was early lighted to look at
what was in her hand.
Yes, it was a sovereign. Nothing less!
And, do you know, a bad, _bad_ boy named Pete Bolton came behind Little
Sarah and gave her hand a good knock up.
She would have lost it in about two ticks, because Pete Bolton was a
perfectly horrid boy, and would have stolen it like nothing at all. Only
Little Sarah was upon him with a bound like a tiger, and bit his hand
(yes, it _was_ nasty, being very dirty). Only she bit Pete's hand from a
sense of duty, and made him let go. She had her face rubbed in the mud,
her hair tugged, and all, but she never let go the sovereign--half of
which wasn't hers.
There was a girl for you, and yet boys will say that only they are
brave! Well, don't you think it was pretty hard for Sarah--harder, I
think, after fighting for it than before? You see, she thought of all
the nice things she could get for her mother with the extra ten
shillings, besides new boots for herself that didn't let in the water,
and--oh! a lot of things like that.
Worst of all, she knew that if she did take it back to father he would
only shove it in his pocket without noticing. But she said over and
over: "Honesty is the best! Honesty is the best!" You see, she could
not remember the word "policy," which does not improve the sentiment
anyway--to my mind, at least.
So back she went. Father was still mooning about among his books, and
just as she expected he took the golden sovereign and shoved it back
into his pocket right among pennies and pocket-knives and so on. But he
quite forgot to give Sarah her own real half-sovereign. I believe he
thought she had picked the coin up off the floor. For he just said,
"Thank you," and went on with his work.
And Little Sarah stood there fit to cry.
By and by he noticed the girl and asked what she was waiting for--not
unkindly, you know. But, as usual, he was busy and wanted to be left
alone.
"Please, sir," said Little Sarah Brown, "my half-sovereign!"
"But I paid you your wages, did I not?"
"Oh, yes, sir; but--"
"Oh, you would like an advance on next week--very well, then." And he
pulled out of his pocket the very identical piece of gold that had been
Little Sarah's temptation--like mine about the Blue Vase and Mir-row,
you remember.
"There!" he said; "now go away! I'm busy!"
"But, _please_, sir----!"
"WHAT?"
Then Little Sarah burst into tears, and father stared. But after a while
he got at the truth--how he had given a whole sovereign in place of a
half----
"Very likely--very likely!" said he.
And how Sarah had brought it back--all of her own accord.
"Very unlikely!" he muttered.