Chapter 1
"Why, Phebe, are you come so soon, Where are your berries, child? You cannot, sure, have sold them all, You had a basket pil'd."
"No, mother, as I climb'd the fence, The nearest way to town, My apron caught upon a stake, And so I tumbled down."
"I scratched my arm, and tore my hair, But still did not complain; And had my blackberries been safe, Should not have cared a grain.
"But when I saw them on the ground All scattered by my side, I pick'd my empty basket up, And down I sat and cried.
"Just then a pretty little Miss Chanced to be walking by; She stopp'd, and looking pitiful, She begg'd me not to cry.
"'Poor little girl, you fell,' said she, 'And must be sadly hurt'-- 'O, no,' I cried, 'but see my fruit, All mixed with sand and dirt!'
"'Well, do not grieve for that,' she said: 'Go home, and get some more:' Ah, no, for I have stripp'd the vines, These were the last they bore.
"My father, Miss, is very poor, And works in yonder stall;
He has so many little ones, He cannot clothe us all.
"I always long'd to go to church, But never could I go; For when I ask'd him for a gown, He always answer'd, 'No.'
"'There's not a father in the world That loves his children more; I'd get you one with all my heart, But, Phebe, I am poor.'
"But when the blackberries were ripe He said to me one day, 'Phebe, if you will take the time That's given you for play,
"And gather blackberries enough,-- And carry them to town,-- To buy your bonnet and your shoes, I'll try to get a gown.'
"O Miss, I fairly jumped for joy, My spirits were so light: And so, when I had leave to play, I pick'd with all my might.
"I sold enough to get my shoes, About a week ago; And these, if they had not been spilt, Would buy a bonnet too.
"But now they are gone, they all are gone, And I can get no more, And Sundays I must stay at home Just as I did before.
"And, mother, then. I cried again, As hard as I could cry; And, looking up, I saw a tear Was standing in her eye.
"She caught her bonnet from her head-- 'Here, here,' she cried, 'take this!'
O, no, indeed--I fear your 'ma Would be offended, Miss.
"'My 'ma! no, never! she delights All sorrow to beguile; And 'tis the sweetest joy she feels, To make the wretched smile.
"'She taught me when I had enough, To share it with the poor: And never let a needy child Go empty from the door.
"'So take it, for you need not fear Offending her, you see; I have another, too, at home, And one's enough for me.'
"So then I took it,--here it is-- For pray what could I do? And, mother, I shall love that Miss As long as I love you."
THE BLACKBERRY GIRL.