I was awakened the next morning about seven o'clock by Mr. Davis, who
came into the stable below, calling out:
'What! hollo, lassy! Be you awake? Come, it's time to get up. Breakfast
is almost ready, and you must be in the gardens by eight o'clock.'
I had slept so soundly, and had such an uncommonly long night to what I
had for the last eight months been accustomed to, that I did not at
first recollect where I was, but, quickly remembering everything, I
answered Mr. Davis, and, dressing myself as expeditiously as possible I
went down. Going into an outhouse, where there was plenty of water, I
gave myself a good washing, and, having combed my hair with a comb that
Mrs. Williams had given me, I went into the house and found the family
just beginning their breakfast.
'I'll be flogged if the girl does not look five pounds better than she
did yesterday morning, when I first saw her at Mrs. Williams's!' said
Mr. Davis. 'You have slept well, girl, I'll answer for it.'
'Yes, sir,' I replied. 'I have slept better than I did all the time I
was at Mr. Smith's.'
'I knew she would sleep well upon the sweet hay,' said Mrs. Davis. 'But,
come, child, take your breakfast. It is almost time you should be gone.'
Breakfast being soon over, I accompanied the children to the garden,
where, having conducted me to Mr. Joseph, they went to their own work in
another part of the grounds.
Mr. Joseph was a grave man, between fifty and sixty years of age. He
superintended all the work of the garden. Some of the children he
instructed himself in what they were to do, and some he put under the
care of other people. He had read a good deal, and understood botany,
and knew the Latin names of all the trees and plants in the garden. That
Mr. Freeman had sent me to be under his own care, I was very glad, for
he seemed a very good-natured man. After a little conversation, in which
he asked me if I could read, if I knew anything about gardening, and a
few more of the like questions, he set me to pick the weeds and stones
out of a bed of pinks, and, having shown me how to do it, he left me to
myself. I worked diligently at my new employment (frequently
congratulating myself on the happy change I had made). The clock struck
twelve, when we all went home to dinner. One hour was allowed for that
repast. When I returned in the afternoon, Mr. Joseph came to see what I
had done. He commended my diligence, and, as the first bed was
tolerably well weeded, he told me to go on to the next, and I was again
left to myself.
In high spirits at being praised, which was quite a new thing to me, I
worked on all the afternoon till about four o'clock, when it became too
dark to distinguish plants from weeds; then, in company with the
children, I returned home to Davis's cottage. What a delightful contrast
did this cottage present to the miserable shop and parlour at Smith's!
There everything was spoiled by dirt and confusion: here all was clean.
The brick floor was nicely swept and sanded, a cheerful fire blazed in
the grate, and the tea, with plenty of coarse bread and salt butter, was
ready upon the table, and the countenances of the family expressed
health and contentment. After tea was over I again offered my services
to Mrs. Davis to assist her in her sewing. They were willingly accepted,
and this evening passed as the former one had done. At ten o'clock I
again retired to my bed in the loft.
The week passed rapidly away, and I had the pleasure of being very much
praised by Mr. Joseph, who said I should soon be a better gardener than
any of the children on the grounds. Saturday night came, and Mr. Davis
received for my work at the rate of sixpence a day, which, he said, was
rather more than he had expected. Mrs. Davis was also very well
contented, and said that what with the money I earned, and what with the
sewing I did for her of an evening, they should be very well paid for
me. I was much pleased that my new friends were so well satisfied with
me, and I looked upon myself as being now settled in a comfortable home.
I was also upon very good terms with the children. The girls were
pleased that I mended their clothes for them, which prevented their
being so much blamed by their mother; and Tommy was so grateful to me
for having mended some of his that he made me a little box for me to put
my money in when I had any. I offered the money that had been given to
me at Covent Garden to Mrs. Davis, but she told me to keep it till I
wanted a pair of shoes, and that then they would make up the deficiency
for me. I accordingly put it into my box and deposited it in a safe
corner of my loft.
Thus passed away the winter months. I was under the care of Mr. Joseph
more than the other children that were employed about the grounds; for,
as I could read, he taught me the Latin as well as the English names of
the different plants and flowers, so that I could bring him any that he
wanted from either the green or the hothouse. When I had been there two
months, my wages were raised to four shillings a week; besides that, Mr.
Joseph often gave me a penny for myself.
The tranquil, and I may say happy, life I now led soon made a great
alteration in my personal appearance. I grew plump, and by the time the
month of March came, I had such a colour in my cheeks that Mr. Joseph
said his lily was turned into a rose.
As the days increased in length, our hours of labour were also
increased, for we were now on the ground by six in the morning, and did
not leave work till seven in the evening. This lengthening of the days
was a great advantage to me. I awoke with the dawn, and generally had a
full hour to myself before any other part of the family was up. Then I
used to contemplate the portrait of my dear father, which I used to talk
to as if it could understand me, to mend my clothes, and to read in old
school-books of the children's that were lying about, and never looked
into by their owners. All the books I had ever read were the Bible,
Testament, Prayer Book, and the spelling-book. The old books belonging
to the children were an abridgment of the history of England, a small
geography, and a little book of poetry. I took such pleasure in reading
these books that I could soon repeat the whole pages of them without a
single mistake, and the poetry I soon learned from the beginning to the
ending of the book.
The flower season was now advanced, and ladies and gentlemen came to
walk in the garden, and to buy flowers. I was always anxious to see
them, that I might have an opportunity of observing if any of the
gentlemen resembled my father's portrait. Mr. Joseph, who knew my story,
was so good-natured as to send me to them with flowers, and, as I was
always particular to keep myself neat and clean, the ladies were rather
pleased with my attendance than otherwise. One day, when I carried a
large quantity of flowers to a party, one of the gentlemen said:
'This little damsel is the finest plant in the whole garden, for she
carries violets in her eyes and roses upon her cheeks.'
The ladies laughed at what they called his compliment, while I was so
much abashed that, giving the flowers into the hands of one of the
ladies, I retreated to a distant part of the garden. After this I made
my observations at a greater distance, but, alas! among the hundreds who
visited the garden, I could not discover one who resembled the portrait.
Thus employed, my days flew rapidly past, and I was so happy that,
unless it had been to discover my father, I did not wish for any change
in my situation; but clouds of sorrow again gathered around me, and I
was soon very unhappy. My unhappiness arose from two causes: the first
was that most of the children envied me on account of the partiality
shown me by Mr. Joseph, and would jeer at me because I was called Lady
Anne. Mr. Davis's children were not among the number of these, for, on
account of my mending their clothes, they were upon very good terms with
me. The second cause of my unhappiness was of a more serious nature, and
arose from what I could not have expected, and from what I could not and
would not alter, as I shall soon explain.
As the summer advanced, such of the children as were turned of twelve
years of age, and were able to carry a basket upon their heads, were
sent to town with flowers and fruit, which would have been crushed and
bruised if sent to town in the cart. Mr. Davis's eldest daughter and
myself were amongst the number of these.
At first I was much pleased at the thought of this walk, as it was an
agreeable change from our usual mode of living; the flowers were light
to carry, and the walk was not so long as to be a fatigue. I also looked
forward to the pleasure I should have in seeing Mrs. Williams, and
thanking her for having procured me such a happy situation.
On the appointed morning we left the garden and proceeded to town under
the guidance of two or three women and one man, who was one of the
principal gardeners. They also carried their baskets, which were larger
and heavier laden than ours.
The walk to town was pleasant. We arrived at the market, and in about
two hours had sold off all our stock. Mrs. Williams bought the contents
of my basket, and congratulated me on the great improvement in my health
and appearance.
Richard having paid some fees which were customary for the privilege of
standing in the market, we took up our baskets and began to walk
homeward. We had not gone far when Richard entered a public-house, the
women and children followed, I, of course, did the same. We went into a
room where there was no one but ourselves; there we all had to give up
our money to Richard, which he counted over. He took out two shillings
to be spent in the house, one shilling for himself, ninepence for each
of the women, and sixpence apiece for the children; then, putting the
remainder of the money together, said that was for the master. I was so
astonished at this proceeding that I asked him what he meant by it. He
laughed at me, and said it was a general rule among themselves to make a
little deduction on market-days to pay them for the trouble of coming to
town.
'I thought,' said I, 'that Mr. Freeman paid us for our work on Saturday
night. Does he know that you take this money?'
'Know it, blockhead! no. And it will be the worse for you if you tell
him. Come, take your sixpence, and think yourself well off that we let
you share with us.'
'I do not want the sixpence,' said I, 'unless it is to give it to Mr.
Freeman, for it is his money, and I will not keep it.'
'Lady Anne,' said Susan Davis, 'do not be a simpleton. Take the money,
and do not pretend to more honesty than the rest of us.'
'I cannot take the money,' said I. 'Mr. Sanders told me never to take
other people's property, but always to do as I would be done by.'
'You shall not have the money,' said Richard, at the same time giving me
a violent slap across the shoulders. 'Mr. Sanders was a canting old
Methodist, and you are like him. But take care, if you say a word of
what has passed I will be the death of you.'
The women and children were also in a violent rage, and began beating me
and pulling my hair, so that I was afraid they would really kill me, and
I cried out, begging them not to beat me, and that I would not tell.
'Let her alone,' said Susan Davis; 'she will not tell, I'll answer for
her. I'll talk to her when we are at home; and, I dare say, next
market-day, she will do as we do.'
'Aye, let her alone,' said Richard, 'or Joseph will find out that we
have been thumping her. She has a pretty swelled face to show. But mind,
girl, if you say a word of what has passed I'll tie you neck and heels,
and throw you into a pond.'
I was obliged to renew my promise of secrecy, and soon after we left the
house.
When we came to town in the morning the distance had appeared as nothing
to me, my heart was then so light; but now I felt so wretched that the
distance seemed more than double, the empty basket felt so heavy on my
head, and I felt myself like a guilty culprit who had robbed her master.
When we arrived at the grounds Richard went to give an account of the
morning's sale, and what money he thought proper, to his master. The
women and children went to their work in different parts of the garden,
and I also concealed myself from Mr. Joseph's sight, lest he should see
that I had been in tears.
In the afternoon he called for me, and I tremblingly obeyed his summons.
'Why, Lady Anne, how is this?' said he. 'Why do you not like to come to
me as usual? How did you like your walk this morning? But what is the
matter? You have been crying.'
'I am so tired,' I replied, 'and the basket was heavy.'
'That is not all,' said he, regarding me very earnestly; 'somebody has
been beating you, for you have the marks of the blows upon your face and
shoulders. Who was it?'
'Pray, sir, do not ask me,' said I; 'for if I tell you I shall be beat
more.'
'Well, well,' said he, 'I will not ask you. I have long seen that the
girls envied you. They think that I favour you, and, if I do, it is
their own fault. There is not one among them that, if I sent to the
greenhouse for a plant, but will either come back without it, or bring
me a wrong one, though they have all been sent to school, and might have
learned to read if they would. There are Davis's two daughters: Mr.
Freeman paid for their schooling for two years, yet neither of them can
read the names of the plants. But you are envied because I employ you in
doing what they cannot do. Well, never mind, Rose, you shall not go to
town any more with them, but stay here with me, and attend to the ladies
and gentlemen.'
I was glad to hear Mr. Joseph say this, for I was in hopes I should be
free from any further trouble, and be as happy as I had been; but sorrow
had again burst upon me like a storm, and I was not yet to be rescued
from its fury.
When we went home at night, Susan took an opportunity when her father
was out of the house to tell her mother the adventures of the morning,
with some alterations of her own; and I was astonished to hear her
mother defend the conduct of Richard and the others, and blame me for
not joining the robbery; and, when I would not say that the next time we
went to town (for I did not dare to tell them that I was not to go any
more) I would take my share in the plunder, she was completely in a
rage, and kept repeating that there was no harm in taking the money. At
last I ventured to say:
'Would you think it right of me, ma'am, if I was to rob _you_?'
'To rob _me_, child! No. But that is quite a different thing. To rob
_me_! No. You would be the most ungrateful creature that ever lived if
you did. I took you in, and sheltered you when you had not a hole to put
your head in, nor a morsel of victuals to eat.'
'You did, ma'am,' I replied; 'and I would do anything I could to serve
you. I would not rob nor injure you upon any account. And I cannot rob
Mr. Freeman, for he gave me employment when I had none, and he pays me
six shillings a week. How ungrateful I should be if I could rob him. I
cannot do it; indeed, I cannot.'
'Take your supper and go to bed,' said Mrs. Davis. 'I cannot argue with
you, but I know that you are a very foolish child.'
I did as I was ordered, and retired to my loft, and happy should I have
been if this disagreeable business ended there, but a few evenings
after, just before we left the gardens, I went to put a knife into a
basket that belonged to Susan, and, to my surprise and grief, found that
it concealed five fine peaches in it. I trembled so when I saw them that
I could scarcely cover them over again, and soon after, as we were
walking home, with great civility and humility I ventured to remonstrate
with her on the great impropriety, and indeed danger, of her robbing the
garden.
'What business have you to look into my basket?' said she. 'If you do
not choose to take a little fruit yourself you have no right to meddle
with them that do; however, I shall tell mother, and I hope she'll turn
you into the wide world again as you were when you came to us.'
When we arrived at home Mr. Davis was in the house, and Susan did not
choose to say anything till he went out; she then opened the basket,
showed the peaches to her mother, and made a heavy complaint of my
impertinence in telling her she ought not to take them, that it was
stealing, and would, if discovered, most likely be the cause of her
being discharged from the garden.
Mrs. Davis was in such a passion that she struck me several times, and
said I should be the cause of her children being turned out of work.
'Don't say me, mother,' said Tommy, 'for I shall not steal. The
Catechism says I am to keep my hands from picking and stealing, and
father says if I steal I shall come to be hanged, so that you may depend
upon it I shall not steal, and I wish sisters would not.'
'You are a little blockhead,' replied his mother; 'and as for Lady Anne,
if she does not mind what she is about I shall turn her out of doors,
and she may go a-begging.'
The peaches were then put out of sight. Soon after this Mr. Davis came
in; we had our supper, and at ten o'clock went to bed.
In the course of the following day the peaches were missed at the
garden, for Mr. Freeman had counted the fruit on some of the principal
trees, and this day he found that three peaches had been taken from one
tree and two from another. We were all questioned about it, and all our
baskets were examined, but as all denied the theft and no fruit could be
found, no one could be charged with it. Mr. Freeman was very angry on
this occasion, as he well might, and ordered Mr. Joseph to keep a strict
watch over all the workpeople, as he was determined to make an example
of whoever should be detected robbing him, let it be who it might. I was
anxious to know what the children did with the fruit, as I never saw
them eating it, and I soon found that when their father was out of the
house (for they did not dare to let him know of their ill practices) the
fruit was exposed in the window for sale. Their father having a small
garden, in which were a few fruit trees, served as an excuse for all the
fruit they had to sell, and thus they contrived to deceive their father
and rob their master.
The strict watch kept by Mr. Joseph, and some of the honest people in
the garden, prevented any fruit being taken for some time, but the plum
season coming on, and the plums on a tree not being so easily counted,
nor so soon missed, as peaches, the children again ventured to take a
few, and their father having two fine trees of the kind in his garden,
if once the plums could be got home there was no likelihood of their
being detected.
I did not watch the children, nor wish to know anything of what they did
in the garden, yet somehow it seemed as if I was always to find them out
in their thefts, for I one day suddenly came upon them just as they were
cramming about a dozen fine Orlean plums into their pockets. I covered
my face with my hands, and said:
'Oh, why will you do so? We shall all be discharged.'
'_You_ shall be discharged,' said Susan, darting at me and slapping me
with all her strength. 'What business have you to watch us? This is the
first bit of fruit we have taken since those nasty peaches, and now, I
suppose, you will go and tell.'
'No, I shall not,' replied I; 'but I wish you would not take any more
fruit. You know what Mr. Freeman said.'
'Yes, and you shall know what my mother will say. I am not to be
followed about and watched, and lose my place, for a tell-tale
beggar-girl.'
I again assured her that I should not tell, and went away to a distant
part of the garden, my mind being very unhappy, for I thought that if
these thefts were discovered we should all be discharged, and again I
thought that perhaps I was doing very wrong in concealing them, but then
how could I bring people who were so kind to me into disgrace, and even
into want of bread? I did not know what to do, but, after much
considering in my own mind, I determined that when Saturday night came
to ask Mr. Joseph to give me only five shillings, and not to ask me any
questions, for I thought that the odd shilling would partly pay for the
fruit Mr. Davis's children took. Having made this determination I felt
rather happier, though I dreaded the resentment of Mrs. Davis and the
children. When night came we went home together, the children not
speaking to me once the whole way. When we arrived at the house Mr.
Davis was out, and Susan asked her mother to give Tommy his supper, as
she had something to say to her. The mother, who saw something
particular was the matter, hurried the child to bed, while I sat on a
chair near the door sick at my very heart. No sooner had her brother
left the room than Susan told of the discovery of the plums, with many
additions of her own. Mrs. Davis was in such a passion that she could
scarcely speak for two or three minutes; she seized me by the arm, and
shook me violently.
'I will put a stop to this,' said she as soon as she had recovered her
breath. 'You shall not stay here to be the ruin of my children, you
ungrateful creature. Don't we feed you and clothe you? Don't you have
all the children's old clothes, and don't you mend them up and make them
look so smart that you look as well dressed as they do, though their
clothes are new and yours are old? Oh, you ungrateful creature. You
would ruin us all for our kindness to you.'
She then ran over the affair of the peaches, and of my refusing to take
the money at the market, reproaching me at every sentence, till she
increased her anger to such degree that she seemed to lose her reason,
and, again seizing me by the arm, she said she would give me cause to
repent of my ingratitude to the latest moment of my life, when at the
instant I expected to be dashed to the ground, to her great dismay, and
to my great relief, an inner door opened, and her husband entered the
room.
'Stop, mistress,' said he, 'do not dare to hurt that child. I came in by
the wash-house, and have heard all Suke's story, and have heard who
stole the peaches. Little did I think, when there was such a piece of
work about them, that my own children were the thieves, and little did I
think, when Suke was so pleased at going to market, that it was because
she was to go shares with a parcel of thieves in robbing her master.'
'Now, John,' said his wife, 'how can you talk so? What harm is there in
the children taking a few pence apiece? They have more trouble when they
go to town, and they ought to be paid for it. You know that all the
workpeople make a market-penny.'
'I know no such thing,' replied her husband. 'They are allowed money for
refreshment when they go to town, and if they take more than the master
allows I say that they cheat him, but I'll put a stop to Suke's tricks,
for she shall not go to town any more. I shall speak to Mr. Joseph about
that.'
'Why, surely you are not going to tell him that they divided a few pence
among them.'
'No, wife, I am not, but I shall ask him not to let her leave the
garden, for that I don't think she is steady enough to be sent to town
yet. And now, you two girls, hear what I say to you. Every one of those
plums must be returned. You must take all of them back again, and lay
them under the trees that you took them from, and next time that I know
you to steal a single thing, aye, if its only a single plum, I'll
horsewhip you while I can stand over you.'
The father was now silent, the two girls sat weeping, and the mother,
who had been very much agitated, first by anger and then by fear, threw
herself into a chair, and burst into a violent passion of tears. Mr.
Davis walked two or three times across the floor, and then stopping,
said:
'Now what's the use of crying and taking on in this manner? Is it not as
easy to be honest as to be thieves? Oh, wife, wife, you do not consider
what a bad course our girls have begun in. They have begun with trifles,
but they will go on till they take something great, and then they will
either be transported or hung, and that will break our hearts, and bring
our grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.'
'Oh, John, do not talk so,' said Mrs. Davis; 'I cannot bear to hear you
talk about the grave. The girls shall not steal any more. If they bring
home any more fruit I will not put it into the window, nor sell it, so
now let us have done with it, and let us be friends again.'
'Aye, let us be friends, with all my heart,' said Mr. Davis, taking his
wife's hand, 'and I hope nothing of this sort will ever happen again.
Now, children, leave off crying, and be good girls, and remember that
honesty is the best policy, for if you follow bad practices you will
also be poor and despised.'
Soon after this we had our supper, which we took nearly in silence, for
we were all of us in grief, though from different causes, and from some
angry glances cast at me by Mrs. Davis I saw I had yet more to dread
from her resentment. When I was going to bed Mr. Davis said:
'Good-night, Lady Anne, do not cry; I am not angry with you. You are a
good girl. I wish my own children were as honest.'
Mrs. Davis and the girls also wished me good-night, but in such a cold,
constrained manner that I trembled for what might be the consequences of
their anger. When I reached my loft I gazed with tears upon my father's
picture, and earnestly did I wish and pray that I might at some time be
restored to his protection. I then retired to my bed among the hay, and
there, for the first time since I had been in the family, I wept myself
to sleep.
Early in the morning I went to the garden. Mrs. Davis's children did not
choose to walk with me, so I went alone. When I returned home to
breakfast (it being market-day Mr. Davis was gone to town) his wife and
daughters did not speak to me once during the meal, excepting to tell me
that the plums were laid under the trees. I finished my breakfast as
soon as I could and returned to my work, grieved that I had lost the
goodwill of people who were really kind to me, but whose practices were
such as I could not follow. The hour of dinner came, and with a heavy
heart I went to the cottage, dreading the angry looks, and perhaps
reproaches, of Mrs. Davis. When I arrived there I found the brother and
sister-in-law of Mrs. Davis were paying her a visit. I had seen these
people once before, and soon after I came into the family; they were
pedlars, and traversed the county from one end of it to the other. The
man carried a large pack filled with linens, muslins, stuffs, and many
other articles for clothing; his wife carried two boxes, with trinkets,
lace, millinery, and a great variety of light goods. When I entered the
room they turned their eyes upon me as if I had been the subject of
their conversation, which I quickly found had been the case, for Mrs.
Davis said to them:
'That is the girl I have been telling you of. She would be of great use
to you, for she could carry one of the boxes, and in my house she is of
no use in the world, but quite a burden to us, and she makes quarrels
between my husband and me, for you know that Davis is so particular, and
has such odd notions about honesty, that he seems to think it next thing
to murder to take a bit of fruit or a sixpence belonging to Mr. Freeman.
You never heard such a piece of work as we had last night because the
girls had taken a few plums.'
She then in her own way told her brother of the keeping back part of the
market-money and of the peaches. I was surprised that she was not
ashamed of telling such things, but she was not, and her brother only
laughed at them, and said that honesty was very well in its place, but
that it was ridiculous to carry it so far.'
'But, however,' said he, 'I shall have no objection to Lady Anne (I
think you call her) being very honest with us. I shall not be afraid of
her robbing me.'
'No, indeed,' replied his sister; 'you will have no cause. You might
trust her with your pack and boxes all open; she would not rob you of a
farthing's worth; she is only _too_ honest, that is her fault.'
'And it is a fault that perhaps I can cure her of,' returned her
brother. 'But she has only been used to gardening. She will be of very
little use to us, for we do not want a girl merely to carry a band-box.'
'She can work very well at her needle,' quickly answered his sister. 'It
is unknown the sewing she has done for me since she has been here. I
have never had the children so tidy in my life as since she has been
with us. I shall miss her help very much, that I know I shall.'
'Do not let me go,' said I, for I was really frightened at the thought
of being sent away with Mr. Sharpley and his wife. 'Pray let me stay. I
will work so hard; I will do everything I can to please you.'
'Will you promise to take a little fruit, as the others do, and not say
anything when you see my children take some, and to take a market-penny
when you can get it?' answered Mrs. Davis. 'Promise me that, and you
shall stay.'
'I cannot promise it,' said I, bursting into tears, 'for I must not
steal.'
'Very well, then, you shall go,' returned she. 'It is entirely your own
fault. I had no wish to part with you, but I cannot keep you to turn my
children out of bread.'
'Lady Anne is a _nonsuch_ of honesty,' said Mr. Sharpley; 'but I warrant
she will tell a different tale by this time twelvemonths. What say you,
wife? Shall we take her or not?'
'As she can work at her needle,' replied Mrs. Sharpley, 'suppose we give
her a trial for a few months. If she does not do for us, we can bring
her back again; and as for her honesty, that will not hurt us.'
'Well, then, I suppose it is a bargain,' said Mr. Sharpley, 'so, my
girl, if you have any better clothes make haste and put them on; and,
sister, let us have a bit of dinner, as I want to be going.'
'And I want you gone,' replied his sister, 'for if my good man comes
home before you are off, it's ten to one but he knocks all the business
on the head, and I shall have the girl on my hands again. Lady Anne,
make haste; and you, Suke, look after her a little.'
This command to Susan to watch me prevented my following a plan I had
just formed, which was to run back to the garden and tell Mr. Joseph
that they were going to send me away against my will; but I suppose they
were afraid I should do so, for Susan did not leave me a single moment
till I was washed and dressed. I then entered the room where they all
were, and presented myself before them, with the tears running down my
face.
'She is a genteel-looking child,' said Mrs. Sharpley; 'but what are you
crying for, simpleton? We shall not hurt you, and you need not steal
unless you like, so pray set your heart at ease.'
I did try to check my tears, for I considered that I could never be
happy at the cottage any more, though it grieved me to the heart to part
with people who had been so kind to me, especially Mr. Joseph, Mr.
Davis, and little Tommy, who was gone to town with his father; and these
I was obliged to leave, without so much as saying _good-bye_ to them. I
was not able to eat a morsel of dinner, and Mr. and Mrs. Sharpley having
finished theirs, we rose up to depart. I sobbed so that I could not
speak. Mrs. Davis and the girls seemed a little affected. They shook
hands with me, wished me well, and said they hoped I should grow wiser
in time; then, with a band-box before me, that was fastened by a strap
that went over my shoulders, I left the cottage, following my new master
and mistress.