I don't say that I didn't do wrong, but what I do say is that I meant to
do right. But that don't make any difference. It never does. I try to do
my very best, and then something happens, and I am blamed for it. When I
think what a disappointing world this is, full of bamboo-canes and all
sorts of switches, I feel ready to leave it.
It was Sue's fault in the beginning; that is, if it hadn't been for her
it wouldn't have happened. One Sunday she and I were sitting in the
front parlor, and she was looking out of the window and watching for Mr.
Travers; only she said she wasn't, and that she was just looking to see
if it was going to rain, and solemnizing her thoughts. I had just asked
her how old she was, and couldn't Mr. Travers have been her father if he
had married mother, when she said, "Dear me how tiresome that boy is do
take a book and read for gracious sake." I said, "What book?" So she
gets up and gives me the _Observer_, and says, "There's a beautiful
story about a good boy and a pig do read it and keep still if you know
how and I hope it will do you some good."
Well, I read the story. It told all about a good boy whose name was
James, and his father was poor, and so he kept a pig that cost him
twenty-five cents, and when it grew up he sold it for thirty dollars,
and he brought the money to his father and said, "Here father! take this
O how happy I am to help you when you're old and not good for much," and
his father burst into tears, but I don't know what for. I wouldn't burst
into tears much if anybody gave me thirty dollars; and said, "Bless you
my noble boy you and your sweet pig have saved me from a watery grave,"
or something like that.
It was a real good story, and it made me feel like being likewise. So I
resolved that I would get a little new pig for twenty-five cents, and
keep it till it grew up, and then surprise father with twenty-nine
dollars, and keep one for myself as a reward for my good conduct. Only I
made up my mind not to let anybody know about it till after the pig
should be grown up, and then how the family would be delighted with my
"thoughtful and generous act!" for that's what the paper said James's
act was.
The next day I went to Farmer Smith, and got him to give me a little pig
for nothing, only I agreed to help him weed his garden all summer. It
was a beautiful pig, about as big as our baby, only it was a deal
prettier, and its tail was elegant. I wrapped it up in an old shawl, and
watched my chance and got it up into my room, which is on the third
story. Then I took my trunk and emptied it, and bored some holes in it
for air, and put the pig in it.
I had the best fun that ever was, all that day and the next day, taking
care of that dear little pig. I gave him one of my coats for a bed, and
fed him on milk, and took him out of the trunk every little while for
exercise. Nobody goes into my room very often, except the girl to make
the bed, and when she came I shut up the trunk, and she never suspected
anything. I got a whole coal-scuttleful of the very best mud, and put it
in the corner of the room for him to play in, and when I heard Bridget
coming, I meant to throw the bedquilt over it, so she wouldn't suspect
anything.
After I had him two days I heard mother say, "Seems to me I hear very
queer noises every now and then up-stairs." I knew what the matter was,
but I never said anything, and I felt so happy when I thought what a
good boy I was to raise a pig for my dear father.
Bridget went up to my room about eight o'clock one evening, just before
I was going to bed, to take up my clean clothes. We were all sitting in
the dining-room, when we heard her holler as if she was being murdered.
We all ran out to see what was the matter, and were half-way up the
stairs when the pig came down and upset the whole family, and piled them
up on the top of himself at the foot of the stairs, and before we got up
Bridget came down and fell over us, and said she had just opened the
young masther's thrunk and out jumps the ould Satan himself and she must
see the priest or she would be a dead woman.
You wouldn't believe that, though I told them that I was raising the pig
to sell it and give the money to father, they all said that they had
never heard of such an abandoned and peremptory boy, and father said,
"Come up-stairs with me and I'll see if I can't teach you that this
house isn't a pig-pen." I don't know what became of the pig, for he
broke the parlor window and ran away, and nobody ever heard of him
again.
I'd like to see that boy James. I don't care how big he is. I'd show him
that he can't go on setting good examples to innocent boys without
suffering as he deserves to suffer.