The Bad Family & Other Stories Part 2

The Choice of Friends

The moon was shining on a clear cold night, and it was near ten o'clock, and all the children of the village of Newton, except one, were in bed and asleep. That one, whose name was Frank Lawless, was above three miles from home, weeping with pain and fear, alone, forlorn, cold, and wretched, with no shelter but a leafless hedge and no seat but a hard stone; while his father and mother were running wildly about the fields and lanes, not knowing what had become of their naughty boy.

Frank Lawless had been playing truant that day, and was met by his father with a number of bad boys, to whom he ought not at any time to have spoken. They were the children of brickmakers, and most likely they had never been taught what was right; so that if they said wicked words, told lies, and took things which did not belong to them, one could scarcely wonder at it; but that Frank Lawless, who had the means of knowing the value of good conduct and good manners, should choose such boys for his friends and playfellows, was indeed most strange. Yet thus it was; their shouting, laughing, and vulgar mirth pleased Frank. They had also a great share of cunning, and found the way to manage him, so as to get from him what they wanted to have. When they told Frank that he was very handsome and very clever, and that it was a shame so fine a boy should be forced to go to school if he did not like it, he was silly enough to be pleased, and gave them in return his playthings and his money; nay, he would even take sugar, cakes, fruit, and sweetmeats from his mother's store-room to bestow on these ill-chosen friends; and their false pretence of love for him made him quite careless of gaining the real love of his father and mother.

On meeting his son in the midst of the brickmakers' children, Mr.

Lawless[2] was very angry, and, taking him home by force, he gave him a severe reproof, and then locked him up in his chamber. Frank, who had lately grown very sullen and froward, was far from being sorry for his fault, and said to himself that his father was both cross and cruel, and wished to prevent his being happy. With these wicked thoughts in his head, he began to contrive how to make his escape; and the window not being very high above the ground, and having a vine growing up to it, whose branches would serve as a sort of ladder, he got out, reached the ground, and pa.s.sing unseen through the garden-gate, ran with all his speed till he came up to the boys, who were still at the cruel sport of robbing birds'-nests in the lane where he had left them.

But he did not seem half as welcome to them now as in the morning, when he had brought a pocket full of apples, and as he said he was come to live with them, and should never go home again, their manner was quite changed. One took away his hat and another his shoes. They cut sticks to make a bonfire, and, having got a great pile, they made Frank carry it.

The weight was too much for him, and when he let it fall, they gave him hard words and still harder blows. He now began to find that the service of the wicked is by no means so easy as to obey the commands of the good.

While Frank Lawless was toiling under his heavy load of sticks, the boys were laying a plan to rob an orchard. It was the autumn season of the year, and all the fruit of the orchard was gone, except the pears of one tree, which, as it stood very near the dwelling-house of the owner of the orchard, these boys had been afraid to climb. Now having Frank Lawless in their power, they thought of making him, in the dusk of the evening, commit the theft and run all the hazard, while they stayed in safety by the hedge, ready to receive the stolen fruit. Frank, dreading what might happen to him in the daring attempt, begged and prayed them not to force him there; but he had made himself a slave to hard task-masters, and they cuffed and kicked him, till, to escape from their hands, he climbed the tree.

Scarcely had Frank pulled half-a-dozen pears, when his false friends heard the farmer who owned the orchard come singing up the lane: and, to save themselves from being thought to have any concern with it, they began to pelt Frank with stones, and cry aloud--'_See, see, there is a boy robbing Farmer Wright's pear-tree._' Frank got down as quickly as he could, but not soon enough to escape the angry farmer, who gave him a most severe horse-whipping, while those who had brought him into this sad sc.r.a.pe stood laughing, hooting, and clapping their hands. It was useless to try to excuse himself; he had been seen in the tree, the pears were found in his pocket, and the farmer, after whipping him without mercy, pushed him out of the orchard and bade him be gone.

Smarting now with pain, and almost blinded by his tears, he ran to get away from the false and cruel boys who were making sport of what they had caused him to suffer, when one, still more wicked than the rest, threw a great stone after him, which, hitting his ankle-bone, gave him such extreme torture that he sank on the ground not able to proceed a step farther. The boys made off in alarm at what they had done, and Frank, in terror and pain, sat sobbing on a stone till he was found by his father, who had been searching for him in the greatest distress.

His father took him home, warmed and fed him and healed his bruises, though after such extreme bad conduct, he could not esteem and caress him like a good child. It was happy for Frank Lawless that he took the warning of that day. He had gained nothing but shame, pain, and sorrow by his choice of wicked friends, and from that time he chose with more wisdom. Good conduct brought him back to his father's favour, and now at ten o'clock at night, when the moon and stars were shining in the sky, and the air was cold and frosty, Frank Lawless was always snug in bed, like the rest of the good children of the little village of Newton.[3]

[2] One drawback to bringing Frank's father into the story is that he, in spite of his character, has to be called Lawless too.

[3] There is one error in this story which perhaps it is worth while to point out. Birds'-nesting and orchard-robbing are not in season together.

Cousin James and Cousin Thomas

James Brown was born at a farmhouse. He had not seen a town or a city when he was ten years old.

James Brown rose from his bed at six in the morning during summer. The men and maids of a farmhouse rise much sooner than that hour, and go to their daily work. Some yoke the oxen to the plough, some bring the horses in from the field, some mend the hedges, some manure the land, some sow seed in the ground, and some plant young trees. Those who have the care of the sheep, and who are called shepherds, take their flocks from the fold and lead them to their pasture on the hills, or in the green meadows by the running brook. The maids meanwhile haste to milk the cows, then churn the b.u.t.ter, put the cheese into the cheese-press, clean their dairy, and feed the pigs, geese, turkeys, ducks, and chickens. James Brown did not work in the fields, so when he rose from his bed, his first care was to wash his face and hands, to comb and brush his hair; and when these things were done, and he had said his morning prayers, he went with his father about the farm or weeded the garden. Garden work was very proper for a boy of his age and size.

James Brown had a cousin, named Thomas, and Thomas Brown once came to pay James a visit. The two boys were very glad to see each other, and Thomas told James of the famous city of London, where he lived. He spoke of the s.p.a.cious paved streets, crowded all day by throngs of people, and lighted at night by rows, on each side of the way, of gla.s.s lamps. He told him of the fine toy-shops, where all kinds of playthings for children are sold: such as bats, b.a.l.l.s, kites, marbles, tops, drums, trumpets, whips, wheelbarrows, shuttles, dolls, and baby-houses. And of other great shops where linens, muslins, silks, laces, and ribbons fill the windows, and make quite a gay picture to attract the pa.s.sers-by. He described also the n.o.ble buildings and the great river Thames, with its fine arched bridges, built of stone. He spoke or the immense number of boats, barges, and vessels that sail and row upon the Thames, and of the great ships that lie at anchor there, which bring stores of goods from all parts of the world. He told him of the King's palace and the Queen's palace, of the park and the ca.n.a.l, with the stately swans that are seen swimming on it.

Nor did he forget to describe Saint Paul's Church, with its fine choir, its lofty dome and cupola, and its curious whispering gallery, where a whisper breathed to the wall on one side is carried round by the echo, and the words are heard distinctly on the opposite side of the gallery.

He spoke also of Westminster Abbey, that fine old Gothic building which contains a great number of monuments, erected there to keep alive the remembrance of the actions of great and wise men.

He told James likewise of the Tower of London, which is always guarded by soldiers, and in one part of which he had seen lions, tigers, a wolf, a spotted panther, a white Greenland bear, and other wild beasts, with many sorts of monkeys.[4]

Thomas Brown talked very fast on these subjects, and as James, who had never seen anything of the kind, was quite silent, and seemed as much surprised as pleased with all that he heard, Thomas began to think his cousin was but a dull, stupid sort of boy. But the next morning, when they went out into the fields, he found that James had as much knowledge as himself, though not of the same kind. Thomas knew not wheat from barley, nor oats from rye; nor did he know the oak tree from the elm, nor the ash from the willow. He had heard that bread was made from corn, but he had never seen it threshed in a barn from the stalks, nor had he ever seen a mill grinding it into flour. He knew nothing of the manner of making and baking bread, of brewing malt and hops into beer, or of the churning of b.u.t.ter. Nor did he even know that the skins of cows, calves, bulls, horses, sheep, and goats were made into leather.

James Brown perfectly knew these, and many other things of the same nature, and he willingly taught his cousin to understand some of the arts that belong to the practice of husbandry.

These friendly and observing boys, after this time, met always once a year, and they were eager in their separate stations to acquire knowledge, that they might impart it to each other at the end of the twelvemonth. So that Thomas, while living in a crowded city, gained a knowledge of farming and all that relates to a country life; and James, though dwelling a hundred miles from London, knew all the curious things that it contained.

[4] These, it is sad to say, have now gone. Beyond a venerable raven, the Tower has no live stock. To-day Thomas would describe the Zoo instead.

The Disasters of Impatience

On the day that Mr. Daleham removed from his town residence to his new house in the country there was much bustle and business in the family.

The servants were all employed in unpacking and arranging chairs, tables, sofas, and sideboards in their proper places. Some men were putting up beds, while others were hanging window-curtains and nailing down carpets.

The only idle persons in the house were Arnold and Isabel, and they could find nothing to do but to skip from room to room, ask questions, admire their new dwelling-house, and talk of the pleasure they should receive in a visit their father was engaged to make that day to Mr. Morton, his intimate friend, who lived about one mile and a half distant.

So desirous were Arnold and Isabel of seeing Morton Park, or rather perhaps of eating some of the fine grapes and melons which they had heard grew in Mr. Morton's hot-house, that the morning seemed to be the length of the whole day. When people are without employment, time hangs heavily on their hands, and minutes will appear to be as long as hours.

Half a dozen times in the course of the morning these children ran to the door of the library, to ask their father when he would be ready to go, and though he was engaged sorting papers and arranging his books, they did not forbear their troublesome inquiries till he was quite angry with them.

At length, however, the joyful tidings came to Arnold and Isabel that they were to dress directly, as their father would be ready to set out in half an hour. As the day was very fine, and the coachman's a.s.sistance was useful to the other servants busied in disposing the furniture in the various apartments, Mr. Daleham chose to walk to Morton Park; but after he had dressed, and the half-hour had elapsed, he still had orders to give that detained him.

Arnold and Isabel meanwhile were standing at the hall door, almost wild with their impatience to be gone; and at last Arnold proposed to his sister that they should go on first, as their papa could soon overtake them; and Isabel eagerly ran to ask the housekeeper whether they must take the right or the left-hand road. The housekeeper was busy with a basket of china, some of which had been broken in the carriage; and as her thoughts were fixed on the fragments of the china, she scarcely attended to the nature of Isabel's question, and said hastily that the right-hand road led to Morton Park; and so it did, but that was the coach road, and Mr. Daleham meant to go a much nearer and cleaner way, upon a raised path across some pleasant meadows.

No sooner had Isabel received the housekeeper's reply than away they went, and in their eagerness to reach Morton Park, they did not at first observe that the lane was very dirty; but at last some large splashes of mud on Isabel's clean frock attracted Arnold's notice, and he then perceived that his own white stockings and nankeen trousers were in the same dirty state. What was now to be done? They both felt that it was highly improper to go to a gentleman's house in such a condition; but then Arnold said that his father must know that the road was dirty after so much rain as they had had lately, and as he meant to walk, he supposed their getting a few splashes was of no consequence. Isabel agreed with this mode of reasoning, and on they went, expecting every moment to hear their father's steps behind them.

The lane now became wider and more open to the beams of the sun, which had dried the pathway; but though they were somewhat out of the mud, the heat of the sun was so intense they knew not how to bear it, and they walked as fast as they could in order to get to some shady place. While they were panting with heat, they suddenly came to a stream that ran directly across the road, and it had no bridge over it, because foot pa.s.sengers rarely came that way.

They were now in the greatest distress. To stand still in the full burning sun was dreadful, and to go back was equally fatiguing. There was no place to sit down in that part of the road, but on the opposite side of the stream three large oak trees were growing, and formed a pleasant shade over a green bank. Isabel, greatly tired, and almost fainting with heat, wished she could get to the shady bank; so did Arnold, and he said he could take off his shoes and stockings, and carry his sister through the water on his back. This plan was settled; and they agreed that, when they were over the stream, they would wait on the bank for their papa, and endeavour to rub off upon the gra.s.s the clots of mud that stuck to their shoes. But either Arnold was not so strong as he had supposed he was, or Isabel, having her brother's shoes and stockings to carry in her hand, did not hold fast round his neck, for just as they were in the middle of the stream, his foot slipped, he staggered, fell, and down went brother and sister at once into the pool.

Both scrambled up in a moment, and neither had suffered more injury than being completely bathed in the water. With streaming hair and dripping garments they reached the bank; but when Isabel saw that the ribbons of her new straw bonnet were spoiled, she began to cry and accuse her brother of having thrown her down on purpose, which so provoked the young gentleman, that he said it was all owing to her clumsiness, and at the same time he shook the sleeves of his jacket, from which he was wringing the wet, in her face. Isabel's anger increasing at this, she rudely gave her brother a severe box on the ear.

A scuffle now ensued, which caused a second tumble, and this fall being on the rough gravel, Isabel's face was scratched by the sharp pebbles, and Arnold's elbow sadly cut by a large flint stone.

The smart of these wounds cooled their pa.s.sions; they thought no more of fighting, and were wiping away the blood, and looking with grief and dismay at their wet, dirty clothes, when a servant came up who had been sent in pursuit of them.

Mr. Daleham was not far behind. He had been told that Arnold and Isabel were gone before him, and was much alarmed at not finding them in the field-path. He had therefore returned the same way to search for them; he ordered the servant to conduct them home, and told them that their silly impatience had spoiled their pleasure, as it was not possible for them now to appear at Morton Park.

Mr. Daleham then hastened on, for fear Mr. Morton's dinner should wait for him; and Arnold and Isabel, forlorn, wet, draggled, and dirty, were led back to their own house. They pa.s.sed a dismal afternoon, lamenting their folly and imprudence; and next morning they heard that there were not only plenty of grapes, melons, peaches, and filberts on Mr. Morton's table, but that also a very merry party of children were a.s.sembled there, who danced on the lawn till the dusk of evening approached, and then played at blindman's buff in the great hall.

The Deaf and Dumb Boy

'Now, my dear boy and girl,' said their aunt to Charles and Helen Laurie, 'you are come to stay a whole fortnight with me, and we must take care not to mis-spend our time, for not all the art of man can restore one day that is lost. You, Charles, shall practise your drawing while Helen works, and then while I hear Helen spell and read, you may write. Each day of our lives should be made some good use of; and while we are young, and have health and strength, we ought to learn all those things which we may wish to know when we are grown old.'

Charles and Helen Laurie now ran in search of their books, which were soon found, as they were laid in the right place; and then they sat down to their tasks, glad to please their aunt, and quite certain that to learn to be wise and good was the best thing in the world.

At the hour of noon, when the clock had struck twelve, their aunt told them to leave their books, put on their hats, and go out to walk with her. They went through some fields, and down a pretty lane, and in the hedges on each side were tall oak, elm, and poplar trees, that made the lane look like a grove, and kept them from the rays of the sun. At length they came to a small, neat, white house that stood on a green lawn, and had bushes of lilac blossoms before the windows, with a large fish-pond at the end of it. The house had rails before it, and Charles and Helen went with their aunt through a gate that was made of the tools that men work with in the fields, such as a rake, a spade, a hoe, and a scythe.

In the house they saw a fine-looking boy of ten years of age, with light-brown hair, hazel eyes, and cheeks as red as a rose. He came up to Charles and Helen, and shook hands with them, and seemed joyous at seeing them, but did not say a word. They thought it strange that he did not speak to them; and at last Charles said to him, 'Your lawn would be a good place to play at trap-ball on, if it were not for the fish-pond that is so near it. Do you play at trap-ball, sir?'

The boy, whose name was Jackson, put his hand to his mouth, shook his head, got up from his chair, went for a slate, wrote on it, and gave it to Charles, who read these words: 'I cannot speak to you. I do not hear what you say to me. I am a poor deaf and dumb boy, but I shall be glad to please you, now you have been so kind as to come to see me. Pray write down on this slate what you wish me to do.'

Charles took the slate, and when Helen read the words that were written on it, her eyes were full of tears, to think that such a sweet boy should be deaf and dumb. But Charles hung his head, for Jackson wrote so fine a hand, that he did not like to show that he could not perform as well. Helen knew what Charles was thinking of, for she had heard him found fault with, and had seen him write when he did not take pains to learn to write a fine hand; so she went to the hall door and made a sign to Jackson, as much as to say they would like to go out.