Читать книгу The History of Sandford and Merton - Thomas Fleming Day - Страница 11

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"Cyrus was a little boy of good dispositions and humane temper. He was very fond of drawing, and often went into the fields for the purpose of taking sketches of trees, houses, &c., which he would show to his parents. On one occasion he had retired into a shed at the back of his father's house, and was so much absorbed in planning something with his compasses, as not to be for a long time aware of his father's presence. He had several masters, who endeavoured to teach him everything that was good; and he was educated with several little boys about his own age. One evening his father asked him what he had done or learned that day. 'Sir,' said Cyrus, 'I was punished to-day for deciding unjustly.' 'How so?' said his father. Cyrus.—There were two boys, one of whom was a great and the other a little boy. Now, it happened that the little boy had a coat that was much too big for him, but the great boy had one that scarcely reached below his middle, and was too tight for him in every part; upon which the great boy proposed to the little boy to change coats with him, 'because then,' said he, 'we shall be both exactly fitted; for your coat is as much too big for you as mine is too little for me.' The little boy would not consent to the proposal, on which the great boy took his coat away by force, and gave his own to the little boy in exchange. While they were disputing upon this subject I chanced to pass by, and they agreed to make me judge of the affair. But I decided that the little boy should keep the little coat, and the great boy the great one—for which judgment my master punished me.

"'Why so?' said Cyrus' father; 'was not the little coat most proper for the little boy, and the large coat for the great boy?' 'Yes, sir,' answered Cyrus; 'but my master told me I was not made judge to examine which coat best fitted either of the boys, but to decide whether it was just that the great boy should take away the coat of the little one against his consent; and therefore I decided unjustly, and deserved to be punished.'"

Just as the story was finished, they were surprised to see a little ragged boy come running up to them, with a bundle of clothes under his arm. His eyes were black, as if he had been severely beaten, his nose was swelled, his shirt was bloody, and his waistcoat did but just hang upon his back, so much was it torn. He came running up to Tommy, and threw down the bundle before him, saying, "Here master, take your clothes again; and I wish they had been at the bottom of the ditch I pulled you out of, instead of upon my back; but I never will put such frippery on again as long as I have breath in my body."

"What is the matter?" said Mr. Barlow, who perceived that some unfortunate accident had happened in consequence of Tommy's present.

"Sir," answered the little boy, "my little master here was going to beat me, because I would not fetch his ball. Now, as to the matter of that, I would have brought his ball with all my heart, if he had but asked me civilly. But though I am poor, I am not bound to be his slave, as they say black William is; and so I would not; upon which little master here was jumping over the hedge to lick me; but, instead of that, he soused into the ditch, and there he lay rolling about till I helped him out; and so he gave me these clothes here, all out of good-will; and I put them on, like a fool as I was, for they are all made of silk, and look so fine, that all the little boys followed me, and hallooed as I went; and Jack Dowset threw a handful of dirt at me, and dirtied me all over. 'Oh!' says I, 'Jacky, are you at that work?'—and with that I hit him a good thump, and sent him roaring away. But Billy Gibson and Ned Kelly came up, and said I looked like a Frenchman; and so we began fighting, and I beat them till they both gave out; but I don't choose to be hallooed after wherever I go, and to look like a Frenchman; and so I have brought master his clothes again."

Mr. Barlow asked the little boy where his father lived; and he told him that his father lived about two miles off, across the common, and at the end of Runny Lane; on which Mr. Barlow told Harry that he would send the poor man some broth and victuals if he would carry it when it was ready. "That I will," said Harry, "if it were five times as far." So Mr. Barlow went into the house to give orders about it.

In the mean time Tommy, who had eyed the little boy for some time in silence, said, "So, my poor boy, you have been beaten and hurt till you are all over blood, only because I gave you my clothes. I am really very sorry for it." "Thank you, little master," said the boy, "but it can't be helped; you did not intend me any hurt, I know; and I am not such a chicken as to mind a beating; so I wish you a good afternoon with all my heart."

As soon as the little boy was gone, Tommy said, "I wish I had but some clothes that the poor boy could wear, for he seems very good-natured; I would give them to him." "That you may very easily have," said Harry, "for there is a shop in the village hard by where they sell all manner of clothes for the poor people; and, as you have money, you may easily buy some."

Harry and Tommy then agreed to go early the next morning to buy some clothes for the poor children. They accordingly set out before breakfast, and had proceeded nearly half-way, when they heard the noise of a pack of hounds that seemed to be running full cry at some distance. Tommy then asked Harry if he knew what they were about. "Yes," said Harry "I know well enough what they are about; it is Squire Chase and his dogs worrying a poor hare. But I wonder they are not ashamed to meddle with such a poor inoffensive creature, that cannot defend itself. If they have a mind to hunt, why don't they hunt lions and tigers, and such fierce mischievous creatures, as I have read they do in other countries?" "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "how is that? it must surely be very dangerous." "Why, you know," said Harry, "the men are accustomed in some places to go almost naked; and that makes them so prodigiously nimble, that they can run like a deer; and, when a lion or tiger comes into their neighbourhood, and devours their sheep or oxen, they go out, six and seven together, armed with javelins; and they run over all the woods, and examine every place, till they have found him; and they make a noise to provoke him to attack them; then he begins roaring and foaming, beating his sides with his tail, till, in a violent fury, he springs at the man that is nearest to him." "Oh! dear," said Tommy, "he must certainly be torn to pieces." "No such thing," answered Harry; "he jumps like a greyhound out of the way, while the next man throws his javelin at the lion, and perhaps wounds him in the side; this enrages him still more; he springs again like lightning upon the man that wounded him, but this man avoids him like the other, and at last the poor beast drops down dead with the number of wounds he has received." "Oh," said Tommy, "it must be a very strange sight; I should like to see it out of a window, where I was safe." "So should not I," answered Harry; "for it must be a great pity to see such a noble animal tortured and killed; but they are obliged to do it in their own defence. But these poor hares do nobody any harm, excepting the farmers, by eating a little of their corn sometimes."

As they were talking in this manner, Harry, casting his eyes on one side, said, "As I am alive, there is the poor hare skulking along! I hope they will not be able to find her; and, if they ask me, I will never tell them which way she is gone."

Presently up came the dogs, who had now lost all scent of their game, and a gentleman, mounted upon a fine horse, who asked Harry if he had seen the hare. Harry made no answer; but, upon the gentleman's repeating the question in a louder tone of voice, he answered that he had. "And which way is she gone?" said the gentleman. "Sir, I don't choose to tell you," answered Harry, after some hesitation. "Not choose!" said the gentleman, leaping off his horse, "but I'll make you choose in an instant;" and, coming up to Harry who never moved from the place where he had been standing, began to lash him in a most unmerciful manner with his whip, continually repeating, "Now, you little rascal, do you choose to tell me now?" To which Harry made no other answer than this: "If I would not tell you before, I won't now, though you should kill me."

But this fortitude of Harry, and the tears of Tommy, who cried in the bitterest manner to see the distress of his friend, made no impression on this barbarian, who continued his brutality till another gentleman rode up full speed, and said, "For any sake, Squire, what are you about? You will kill the child, if you do not take care." "And the little dog deserves it," said the other; "he has seen the hare, and will not tell me which way she is gone." "Take care," replied the gentleman, in a low voice, "you don't involve yourself in a disagreeable affair; I know the other to be the son of a gentleman of great fortune in the neighbourhood;" and then turning to Harry, he said, "Why, my dear, would you not tell the gentleman which way the hare had gone, if you saw her?" "Because," answered Harry, as soon as he had recovered breath enough to speak, "I don't choose to betray the unfortunate." "This boy," said the gentleman, "is a prodigy; and it is a happy thing for you, Squire, that his age is not equal to his spirit. But you are always passionate——" At this moment the hounds recovered the scent, and bursting into a full cry, the Squire mounted his horse and galloped away, attended by all his companions.

When they were gone, Tommy came up to Harry in the most affectionate manner, and asked him how he did. "A little sore," said Harry; "but that does not signify." Tommy.—I wish I had had a pistol or a sword! Harry.—Why, what would you have done with it? T.—I would have killed that good-for-nothing man who treated you so cruelly. H.—That would have been wrong, Tommy; for I am sure he did not want to kill me. Indeed, if I had been a man, he should not have used me so; but it is all over now, and we ought to forgive our enemies, as Mr. Barlow tells us Christ did; and then perhaps they may come to love us, and be sorry for what they have done. T.—But how could you bear to be so severely whipped, without crying out? H.—Why, crying out would have done me no good at all, would it? and this is nothing to what many little boys have suffered without ever flinching, or bemoaning themselves. T.—Well, I should have thought a great deal. H.—Oh! it's nothing to what the young Spartans used to suffer. T.—Who were they? H.—Why, you must know they were a very brave set of people, that lived a great while ago; and, as they were but few in number, and were surrounded by a great many enemies, they used to endeavour to make their little boys very brave and hardy; and these little boys used to be always running about, half-naked, in the open air, and wrestling and jumping and exercising themselves; and then had very coarse food, and hard beds to lie upon, and were never pampered and indulged; and all this made them so strong and hardy, and brave, that the like was never seen. T.—What, and had they no coaches to ride in, nor sweetmeats, nor wine, nor anybody to wait upon them? H.—Oh! dear, no; their fathers thought that would spoil them, and so they all fared alike, and ate together in great rooms; and there they were taught to behave orderly and decently; and when dinner was over, they all went to play together; and, if they committed any faults, they were severely whipped; but they never minded it, and scorned to cry out, or make a wry face.

As they were conversing in this manner, they approached the village, where Tommy laid out all his money, amounting to fifteen shillings and sixpence, in buying some clothes for the little ragged boy and his brothers, which were made up in a bundle and given to him; but he desired Harry to carry them for him. "That I will," said Harry; "but why don't you choose to carry them yourself?" Tommy.—Why, it is not fit for a gentleman to carry things himself. Harry.—Why, what hurt does it do him, if he is but strong enough? T.—I do not know; but I believe it is that he may not look like the common people. H.—Then he should not have hands, or feet, or ears, or mouth, because the common people have the same. T.—No, no; he must have all these, because they are useful. H.—And is it not useful to be able to do things for ourselves? T.—Yes; but gentlemen have others to do what they want for them. H.—Then I should think it must be a bad thing to be a gentleman. T.—Why so? H.—Because, if all were gentlemen, nobody would do anything, and then we should be all starved. T.—Starved! H.—Yes; why, you could not live, could you, without bread? T.—No; I know that very well. H.—And bread is made of a plant that grows in the earth, and it is called wheat. T.—Why, then, I would gather it and eat it. H.—Then you must do something for yourself; but that would not do, for wheat is a small hard grain, like the oats which you have sometimes given to Mr. Barlow's horse; and you would not like to eat them. T.—No, certainly; but how comes bread then? H.—Why, they send the corn to the mill. T.—What is a mill? H.—What! did you never see a mill? T.—No, never; but I should like to see one, that I may know how they make bread. H.—There is one at a little distance; and if you ask Mr. Barlow, he will go with you, for he knows the miller very well. T.—That I will, for I should like to see them make bread.

As they were conversing in this manner, they heard a great outcry, and turning their heads, saw a horse that was galloping violently along, and dragging his rider along with him, who had fallen off, and, in falling, hitched his foot in the stirrup. Luckily for the person, it happened to be wet ground, and the side of a hill, which prevented the horse from going very fast, and the rider from being much hurt. But Harry, who was always prepared to do an act of humanity, even with the danger of his life, and, besides that, was a boy of extraordinary courage and agility, ran up towards a gap which he saw the horse approaching, and just as he made a little pause before vaulting over, caught him by the bridle, and effectually stopped him from proceeding. In an instant another gentleman came up, with two or three servants, who alighted from their horses, disengaged the fallen person, and set him upon his legs. He stared wildly around him for some time; as he was not materially hurt, he soon recovered his senses, and the first use he made of them was to swear at his horse, and to ask who had stopped the confounded jade. "Who?" said his friend, "why, the very little boy you used so scandalously this morning; had it not been for his dexterity and courage, that numskull of yours would have had more flaws in it than it ever had before."

The Squire considered Harry with a countenance in which shame and humiliation seemed yet to struggle with his natural insolence; but at length, putting his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a guinea, which he offered to Harry, telling him at the same time he was very sorry for what had happened; but Harry, with a look of more contempt than he had ever been seen to assume before, rejected the present, and taking up the bundle which he had dropped at the time he had seized the Squire's horse, walked away, accompanied by his companion.

As it was not far out of their way, they agreed to call at the poor man's cottage, whom they found much better, as Mr. Barlow had been there the preceding night, and given him such medicines as he judged proper for his disease. Tommy then asked for the little boy, and, on his coming in, told him that he had now brought him some clothes which he might wear without fear of being called a Frenchman, as well as some more for his little brothers. The pleasure with which they were received was so great, and the acknowledgments and blessings of the good woman and the poor man, who had just began to sit up, were so many, that little Tommy could not help shedding tears of compassion, in which he was joined by Harry. As they were returning, Tommy said that he had never spent any money with so much pleasure as that with which he had purchased clothes for this poor family; and that for the future he would take care of all the money that was given him for that purpose, instead of laying it out in eatables and playthings.

Some days after this, as Mr. Barlow and the two boys were walking out together, they happened to pass near a windmill; and, on Harry's telling Tommy what it was, Tommy desired leave to go into it and look at it. Mr. Barlow consented to this, and, being acquainted with the miller, they all went in and examined every part of it with great curiosity; and there little Tommy saw with astonishment that the sails of the mill, being constantly turned round by the wind, moved a great flat stone, which, by rubbing upon another stone, bruised all the corn that was put between them till it became a fine powder. "Oh dear!" said Tommy, "is this the way they make bread?" Mr. Barlow told him this was the method by which the corn was prepared for making bread; but that many other things were necessary before it arrived at that state. "You see that what runs from these millstones is only a fine powder, very different from bread, which is a solid and tolerably hard substance."

As they were going home Harry said to Tommy, "So you see now, if nobody chose to work, or do anything for himself, we should have no bread to eat; but you could not even have the corn to make it of without a great deal of pains and labour." Tommy.—Why not? does not corn grow in the ground of itself? Harry.—Corn grows in the ground, but then first it is necessary to plough the ground, to break it to pieces. T.—What is ploughing? H.—Did you never see three or four horses drawing something along the fields in a straight line, while one man drove, and another walked behind holding the thing by two handles? T.—Yes, I have; and is that ploughing? H.—It is; and there is a sharp iron underneath, which runs into the ground and turns it up all the way it goes. T.—Well, and what then? H.—When the ground is thus prepared, they sow the seed all over it, and then they rake it over to cover the seed, and then the seed begins to grow, and shoots up very high; and at last the corn ripens, and they reap it, and carry it home. T.—I protest it must be very curious, and I should like to sow some seed myself, and see it grow; do you think I could? H.—Yes, certainly, and if you will dig the ground to-morrow I will go home to my father, in order to procure some seed for you.

The next morning Tommy was up almost as soon as it was light, and went to work in a corner of the garden, where he dug with great perseverance till breakfast; when he came in, he could not help telling Mr. Barlow what he had done, and asking him, whether he was not a very good boy for working so hard to raise corn? "That," said Mr. Barlow, "depends upon the use you intend to make of it when you have raised it; what is it you intend doing with it?" "Why, sir," said Tommy, "I intend to send it to the mill that we saw, and have it ground into flour; and then I will get you to show me how to make bread of it, and then I will eat it, that I may tell my father that I have eaten bread out of corn of my own sowing." "That will be very well done," said Mr. Barlow; "but where will be the great goodness that you sow corn for your own eating? That is no more than all the people round continually do; and if they did not do it they would be obliged to fast." "But then," said Tommy, "they are not gentlemen, as I am."

"What then," answered Mr. Barlow; "must not gentlemen eat as well as others, and therefore is it not for their interest to know how to procure food as well as other people?" "Yes, sir," answered Tommy, "but they can have other people to raise it for them, so that they are not obliged to work for themselves." "How does that happen?" said Mr. Barlow. Tommy.—Why, sir, they pay other people to work for them, or buy bread when it is made, as much as they want. Mr. B.—Then they pay for it with money? T.—Yes, sir. Mr. B.—Then they must have money before they can buy corn? T.—Certainly, sir. Mr. B.—But have all gentlemen money? Tommy hesitated some time at this question; at last he said, "I believe not always, sir." Mr. B.—Why, then, if they have not money they will find it difficult to procure corn, unless they raise it for themselves. "Indeed," said Tommy, "I believe they will; for perhaps they may not find anybody good-natured enough to give it them." "But," said Mr. Barlow, "as we are talking upon this subject, I will tell you a story that I read a little time past, if you choose to hear it." Tommy said he should be very glad if Mr. Barlow would take the trouble of telling it to him, and Mr. Barlow told him the following history of