two elder branches of farmer Early's family, that we can spare but
little more for the others; nor, indeed, is there much required; for
Tom was, like other boys, active, playful, and careless; fond of
guns, and dogs, and horses; priding himself upon managing a horse
better, and shooting a partridge with truer aim than any boy in
the neighbourhood; and as to the little girls, they were like most
children of their age, sometimes troublesome, but more generally good
and engaging, and always interesting to their parents and sister,
who repeated their sayings, and watched their sports with pride
and pleasure, and persuaded themselves that they were the smartest
and prettiest children that were ever seen. Had the little Kitty,
however, been at all less delighted with their new inmate, Croppy,
than she really was, she might, perhaps, have been a little jealous
of the attention which he gained from the whole family, but more
especially from Sally, who, as she said, had never before had any
living thing that she could call her own; and as it soon learned to
know her voice, and would come bounding at her call from the furthest
point of the common before the door, or would trot by her side to the
dairy, anxiously looking for his usual allowance, she almost wondered
at herself for the fondness which she felt for it. "It is very silly
of me, I know, to be so fond of this little creature," she would
sometimes say, as she mused over her little pet; "for though he likes
me better than any body else at present, I know very well that any
other person who took the same care of him would just do as well for
him, and I should be forgotten directly; but yet he seems as if he
loved me, and it is so delightful to be loved, that the attachment of
a little dumb animal makes me feel happy." As Sally was thus musing,
her hands were occupied with tying together a number of wild flowers
which the children had just brought from the woods, and forming them
into a wreath.
"What is that for?" asked Kitty, who had sat looking on so earnestly,
that she had been insensible to the many challenges which Croppy had
given her to a race over the common. "Who are you making that for,
Sally?"
"You shall see," answered her sister, and immediately she called
"Croppy! Croppy!" and in an instant, Croppy, though he had been
almost out of sight at the moment of her calling, was again at her
side. Sally hung the wreath round his neck, but was obliged to tie it
so tight that he could not reach it with his mouth, or the display
of Sally's taste would soon have been in vain. "Now keep quiet,
Croppy, and do not spoil your garland before George comes home from
the field, because I have dressed you up in honour of his birth-day.
Now be quiet, good Croppy," continued she, as the little creature,
less gratified by being so ornamented, than worried by the unusual
incumbrance, tried, by rolling himself on the grass, to disengage
himself from it.
"Oh! here comes George," cried Peggy. "I'll run and meet him, and
bring him to see Croppy before his birth-day dress is spoiled." But
at the same moment a voice was heard, calling in an angry tone,
"Sally! Sally! how can you think of setting there on the damp grass,
when you have been so sick all day! I know well enough how it will
be--you will get cold, and will be laid up instead of helping me
to-morrow with the washing." Poor Sally rose in an instant with a
feeling of self-condemnation at her own carelessness, but her heart
and eyes, at the same time, filling at the manner in which her mother
had upbraided her. As she returned to the house, she met George
hastening to admire Croppy's finery; but he had heard his mother's
rebuke, and seeing the large tears standing in his sister's eyes,
Croppy was immediately forgotten, and turning round with Sally, he
devoted himself the rest of the evening to cheering and amusing her.
"It only wants a few days now, Sally," said he, seeking, in the
subject the most interesting to himself, the most probable means
of amusing his sister, "it only wants a few days now to the time
of my going to school. Father has promised me a month's schooling
before the harvest begins, and another when it is over; and if I am
diligent, I can learn a great deal in that time. Oh, how I long to
begin! I dream about being at school every night; and I always think
that I am learning something that compels me to study very hard, and
I am always so glad, because I think then I am learning the way to
be a wise and good man. Franklin had very little more schooling than
I shall have had by that time, and as to money, he was as poor as I
am, every bit; for when he first came to Philadelphia, he had only
a single dollar in his pocket, and yet you see he got to be a very
great man."
"Yes," said Sally, "but he had to study and work very hard for a
great many years first."
"To be sure he had," returned the brother with animation; "but then
so can I work, and so can I study; I am not afraid of either. Did not
I walk ten miles yesterday, when I went that errand for the squire,
because he said he would give me a quarter of a dollar? and here it
is," he added, taking the money out of his pocket, and looking at
it with great complacency, "and I mean to get up by day break in
the morning, and go to buy a book with it that I saw the other day,
and that I want to read; I can get it, I think, for a quarter of
a dollar. And I'll tell you another thing, Sally; I expect by the
time I have finished my month of schooling, you will be a great deal
stronger than you are now, and then I can teach you every thing that
I have learnt, and we shall be so happy--shan't we, Sally?" Sally
smiled assent, but it was a languid smile, for the ardour of her
youthful mind was checked by the enfeebling influence of disease.
The next morning Sally felt very forcibly the ill effects of her
imprudence in sitting on the damp grass the night before; and though
she still recollected the severe manner in which her mother had
reproved her, she could not but be conscious that the reproof was
deserved. This made her very unwilling to complain, though she rose
with a severe pain in her side, a burning fever in her veins, and a
cough which was always troublesome, but was now more than usually
distressing. Determined, however, not to complain, and anxious,
if possible, to conceal her indisposition, she prepared to assist
her mother in every way in her power; and though she felt it would
be impossible for her to stand at the washing tub, she washed and
dressed her little sisters, prepared the breakfast, and did a variety
of offices equally useful, and was in hopes it would escape the
observation of every one, that what she did was performed under the
pressure of more pain and debility than usual. She was assisted in
this concealment by the absence of George, who had not, at breakfast
time, returned from the town to which he had gone for the purchase of
the book of which he had spoken the evening before; for had he been
present, his watchful eye, she well knew, would soon have discovered
the oppression under which she laboured. Breakfast, however, was
entirely over before he returned, and when he did come, he only
stayed to eat a piece of dry bread and take a drink of water, a kind
of fare which would at any time have been sufficient to satisfy
him, but which he had now become extremely fond of, since he found
that Franklin ascribed so much of his alacrity in business, and his
facility in study, to his adherence to that simple diet; and then
hastened to assist his father in the field. Sally sometimes almost
persuaded herself that her little pet Croppy saw and understood that
all was not right with his young mistress; for instead of frisking
about the common as usual with the little girls, he kept almost
constantly trotting by her side, every now and then rubbing his
little head tenderly against her, and appearing quite happy when she
stooped down to pat his head and speak to him in a tone of kindness.
Yet even this slight indulgence seemed almost more than she had
either time or spirits to bestow, and the continual repetition of
Sally do this, and Sally do that, kept her incessantly occupied till
late in the afternoon, when the chief of the business being over, and
she too much exhausted to support herself any longer on her feet,
had just sunk upon a seat, and was patting the head which Croppy had
come and laid on her lap, when her father and brothers returned from
the field. "Sally," said the farmer, in a tone of reproach, "you sit
patting that lamb as if there was nothing else to be done. Come,
girl," he continued, taking up a milking bucket as he spoke, "get
your bucket, and let us go and milk the cows." George, who, at the
moment his father spoke, had taken up his newly purchased treasure,
and had got half across the room on the way to his private retreat,
cast a glance at his sister, and perceiving in an instant that she
was ill, he threw down his book, and saying, "Sit still, Sally, for
I am going to milk this evening," he took the bucket and hastened
after his father. Sally's heart glowed with affection and gratitude.
She had always loved her brother, but never had he been half so dear
to her as at this moment. "Croppy, you must love George for being so
kind to your mistress," said she, addressing herself to the lamb for
want of a more sympathizing auditor, "you must love George for my
sake;" and she watched for his return, impatient to let him know that
she understood and felt his kindness.
At length, the business of milking over, George again appeared, but
no longer with the glow of animation on his countenance with which
he had returned from his day's labour, nor yet with the spirit and
alacrity with which he had left the house on his office of kindness.
"Is he sorry now, that he went?" thought Sally, as she examined his
countenance. "Has he begun to think what a great deal he might have
read in the time that he has been milking?" "Why don't you go to your
book now, George?" asked she, as she saw that, after disposing of
the milk bucket, her brother placed himself at the end of the large
table, on which he put up his arm, and rested his head upon it with
a look of great distress. "Why don't you go and read now?" again she
inquired; "there is nothing to hinder you now."
"Because I don't want to," answered George, in a tone very different
from his usual cheerful, good tempered voice.
"George, come here beside me," said Sally, tenderly, for she began to
feel alarmed at the expression of her brother's countenance.
"Oh! I can't," returned the boy; "do let me alone, I don't want to
speak."
Sally's eyes filled with tears. "He is vexed at me," thought she,
"for he thinks I am always in the way of his improving himself."
George got up and moved towards the stairs. "You are leaving your
book behind you, George," said Sally, glad to think that he was going
at last to his favourite employment.
"I don't want it," he replied; "I am going to bed."
"George, do tell me what is the matter before you go; are you sick?"
"No, I am not sick, but I don't want to talk; so do let me alone."
So saying, he went to bed, and Sally soon after retired also, but
not to sleep. Uneasiness at the sudden and unaccountable change in
her brother's manner, added double violence to the disease which
was throbbing in her veins; and after a restless and sleepless
night, she attempted to rise in the morning, but finding herself
entirely unable to do so, she was obliged to lay her head again upon
her pillow. "Aye, this is just what I thought would be the case,"
said her mother, who coming up to see why Sally had not made her
appearance, found her too ill to sit up; "I told you what you would
bring upon yourself by playing and idling your time away with that
little useless pet lamb of yours." Mrs. Early did not mean to be an
unkind mother, but she, like many other people, had an unfortunate
manner of showing her affection, and generally vented the uneasiness
which the sight of her daughter's indisposition occasioned, in a tone
of reproach, for which she had not always so much cause as on the
present occasion.
"I know I was wrong, mother, for sitting upon the grass," said Sally,
mildly, "but say no more about it, for it cannot be helped; and ask
George to come up and see me."
"George has been out at work these two hours," replied her mother,
"and here am I with all the ironing to do, and every thing else to
attend to, and to nurse you into the bargain."
"No, indeed, mother, I don't need any nursing," returned the poor
girl, who, though convinced her mother did not mean any unkindness by
this manner of speaking, was yet unable to repress the tears which
filled her eyes and forced themselves down her cheek as she spoke.
"Only tell Peggy to bring me up some water to drink, and I want
nothing else."
"Aye, it's fine talking. But do you think I can have you lying sick
in bed, without coming to look after you? And I'm sure I don't know
how I'm to find time to do it, and to do all the work besides. But I
will send Peggy up with a drink for you, and will come up myself as
often as I can," added the mother, as she closed the door after her.
When left to herself, Sally's mind dwelt continually on the thought
of George's melancholy the night before, which she was sure was
still unremoved, or he would never have thought of going to work
without first coming to inquire after her. Anxiety to know the cause
only increased the longer she dwelt upon the subject. In vain did
her little sisters try their utmost efforts to amuse her, for which
purpose, even little Croppy was brought up stairs, and introduced
into the bed room; she looked at it with pleasure, and gave the
little girls strict injunctions to be kind and attentive to it
whilst she was unable to be so herself; but again her mind recurred
to the recollection that something was amiss with her favourite
brother; and this idea, much more than the bodily pain that she
suffered, made every hour appear like two, till he came home to his
dinner. At length she heard her father's voice below, and knowing
that George was in all probability there also, she knocked down for
her little attendant Peggy, and desired her to ask George to come
up and see her. He came immediately, and the moment Sally saw him,
she perceived that the same expression of melancholy remained on his
countenance.
"George," said she, in a gentle, affectionate voice, as he came
toward her bed-side, "I wanted to see you, to know if you have
forgiven me."
"Forgiven, you, Sally! what had I to forgive?" asked he, in a tone of
surprise.
"For being the means of keeping you from going up stairs to read last
night."
"Oh! Sally, you surely do not think that I was angry at you for being
sick?"
"No, not angry at me for being sick, but angry at me for having made
myself sick by my own imprudence, and so keeping you from the only
enjoyment you have."
"And don't you think, Sally, that I would rather help you than read
any book whatever?"
"I know you have always been very kind in helping me, but still what
made you so sorrowful when you came in from milking, if it was not
that?"
"It was not that, at any rate," answered George.
"Then what was it? Do tell me, George, for I know there is something
amiss, and I cannot tell what it is."
"It is nothing that you can help, Sally, so keep yourself easy, and
get well again, for that will sooner bring back my spirits than any
thing else."
"George, do tell me what is the matter. I am very sick, and it only
makes me worse to think of your being so sorrowful, and I not know
the cause."
"Oh! I am not sorrowful," returned George, endeavouring to speak
cheerfully, "I am only disappointed, but I shall soon get over it;
for my father told me last night whilst we were milking, that he has
had so many losses this season, both in sheep, and cows, and horses,
that he will not be able to send me to school as he had promised to
do."
But though George began his speech with an assumed cheerfulness, he
was unable to keep it up; and as he pronounced the last words, the
tears, in spite of his utmost efforts, filled his eyes, and were
about to force themselves down his cheeks, when the voice of his
mother calling him from below, checked their course, and he hastened
down stairs to obey the summons.
"Tom, Sally wants you to go up stairs to her," said Peggy, in the
evening, when the family were all assembled to supper.
"Wants me!" said Tom, in surprise. "What does she want me for? She
surely does not expect that I can read to her, or talk to her about
books, as George does."
"I don't know, but she said I must tell you to come up and speak to
her."
Tom went up stairs, but when he came down again, though questioned by
all around about the business for which he had been sent, he refused
to gratify their curiosity; but after eating his supper in silence, a
very uncommon circumstance for him, for he generally had some exploit
to recount that he had achieved with his gun, his horse, or his dog,
he took his hat and went out, without making any remark about whither
he was going, or what he was going to do; nor on his return was he
any more communicative, though the curiosity of all was considerably
excited about the nature of the business he had been upon.
In the mean time, Sally's illness increased in so alarming a manner,
that even her mother ceased to talk about herself, and was anxious
only for the health of her child.
The poor girl, as if conscious that her sufferings were only a just
penance for the imprudence of which she had been guilty, uttered
no complaints, though she tossed about the whole night in all the
restlessness of a burning fever, and was, by the time that day-light
arrived, so ill, that George was despatched in haste for the
physician from the neighbouring town, whose arrival was waited for
with an impatience that only those can understand who have known what
it is to watch by the side of a beloved one, and count the minutes
till the sufferer is relieved, and strength is given to their sinking
hopes.
"What can George be about?" said the mother, looking out of the
window, and straining her anxious eyes in hopes of catching a glimpse
of him as he came across the common; "he never was so long on an
errand before. He surely might have managed to come back himself
before this time, whether the doctor could come with him or not."
"Keep yourself easy, mother," said Sally, gently, who was the only
one that was not impatient, "I am sure he will come back as soon as
he possibly can."
"Peggy, run along as far as the stable yonder, and try if you can see
any thing of him," added her mother, "and come back directly and tell
me if you do."
Away went Peggy, followed by the little Kitty, and having caught
a sight of her elder brother, was about to do as she had been
ordered, and hasten to the house to announce the intelligence, when
her curiosity was excited, and her steps arrested, by the sight of
another object, for whose presence she was unable to account. "Why,
who can that be that is coming along the road with Tom? I declare it
is Ben, the butcher's boy. What can he want here, I wonder?" At that
moment Tom was heard calling Croppy! Croppy! and in an instant Croppy
came bounding across the common to meet him. George, too, had arrived
at the same time from an opposite direction, and eagerly inquired
what he wanted with Croppy; but the next moment, like a stroke of
lightning, the truth flashed across his mind, and, throwing himself
down by the side of the lamb, he clasped his arms around its neck.
"I know what is the matter--I know it all," he exclaimed. "Sally is
going to sell Croppy, for the sake of paying for my schooling; but
its innocent life shall not be taken away for any such thing. I can
read and teach myself, and Croppy shall not be killed."
"Hush, George, give over making that noise, man. Don't you hear
mother calling you? Get up, I tell you, and don't make such a rout
about a lamb; it's not the first lamb that has been killed, I am
sure."
Peggy now caught the alarm, and bursting into tears, she ran to the
butcher's boy. "You must not take Croppy away. Oh! you shall not kill
our dear little Croppy," she exclaimed, pushing the boy back with her
little hands as she spoke, while Kitty, scarcely able to understand
the meaning of what was going forward, and anxious only to show
kindness to their little favourite, had got some water from a bucket
that stood near her, and was trying to coax the little creature to
drink. But Croppy, as if conscious of the fate that awaited him, was
insensible to all her solicitations. At this moment, the sound of
horses' feet was heard, and the next, the doctor rode up to them,
and struck with the expression of grief on George's countenance, and
with Peggy's distress, inquired what was the matter. The story was
soon told. "Oh, cheer up, my good boy," said he, addressing himself
to George, whose sensibility and anxiety for improvement struck him
with equal admiration, "keep yourself easy, for the lamb shall live,
and you shall go to school into the bargain." So saying, he gave the
butcher's boy a piece of money to reconcile him to going back without
the lamb; then turning to George, he assured him that he would take
the expense of his schooling upon himself, and that instead of a
month, he should stay a year, or more, if he found that he continued
to set as high a value as he at present did upon being furnished
with the means of improvement. "And now," added he, "I must go and
see after this kind sister of yours, whose health I shall be doubly
anxious to restore after this proof of her amiable and affectionate
disposition." But though he was on horseback, George was at the house
before him, and was making his way immediately to Sally's room, when
he was stopped by his mother, who met him, and, in an agony of
tears, told him that Sally was too ill to be spoken to. Disappointed
at not being able either to express his gratitude for the proof of
affection which she had given, or to make her a sharer of his own
happiness, he sunk down on a seat, and waited the return of the
doctor, whom his mother now conducted to the sick chamber. After
waiting a long time, he at length heard the sound of his footsteps on
the stairs, and his voice, as he spoke in a soft tone to his mother.
George fixed his eyes on the face of the physician as he entered the
room where he was, and endeavoured to read in it what he thought of
his patient, but felt afraid to inquire.
"May I go up now?" asked he, in a timid voice.
"Yes. Go up, she is anxious to have you with her, and I am sure I
need not tell you to pay her all the attention in your power."
George did not wait to make any reply, but was, in an instant, by
Sally's bed-side. But how great, how alarming, was the change that he
saw in her from the time that he had last left her!
"Sally! dear Sally, I am come to thank you," said he. Sally raised
her eyes and smiled on him affectionately. "How kind it was to give
up your little pet to pay for my schooling. But, though I am going to
school, you will still have Croppy to be kind to."
"Croppy will not be taken from me, but I shall soon be taken away
from him. George, I am going to leave you all very soon."
"Oh! Sally, don't talk that way," said George, in a tone of extreme
agitation. "What has the doctor been doing to frighten you so?"
"The doctor has not frightened me. He told me that he hoped he should
make me well again, but I know better; I know that I am dying; but I
am not frightened, for I know that I am going to a kind father. I am
sorry to part with you all, especially you, George, but it must be,
and we shall meet again soon."
"Oh, don't talk about dying, Sally," cried the afflicted boy, the
tears streaming down his cheeks as he spoke, "don't talk about
leaving us. I cannot bear to think of parting with you."
"George," said Sally, and an almost heavenly expression brightened
her countenance as she spoke, "you have read a great deal, but your
reading will be of little use if you have not learnt to know that
it is our duty to submit with patience to the will of our Heavenly
Father. I like to be with you, and am sorry to think of leaving
you, but I know we shall meet again, and then there will be no more
parting. But we will talk no more about it now. Mother is coming, and
I don't want to distress her."