Part 4

It is perfectly astonishing how easy a lesson becomes, if you resolutely drive all other thoughts out of your mind, collect your five wits, and set to work at your book. Phil found it so, to his great delight. The good minister smoothed away some of the difficulties which required a little explanation, and excited his ambition to conquer others; and not being near so pompous as the great Dr. Gradus, though knowing quite as much, he and Phil got on capitally together. He did not learn Greek, Latin, and all manner of hard things, like a flash of lightning, mind you. If I should be so absurd as to tell you this, you would know I was writing about an impossible boy. But his mind gradually cleared up, because he no longer ate like a glutton, and he slept like a top, and took plenty of healthy exercise, and this has every thing to do with intellect and brain. You know, if you have a terrible headache, or eat a great many buckwheat cakes for breakfast, you can’t do your sums. So, if you want to grow up a wise man or woman, try to be a healthy child, full of good-nature, good-temper, activity, and courage. They will greatly increase your ability to learn.

About a mile from Mr. Goodfellow’s farm was a beautiful country place, which had lately been offered for sale, and one day, when Phil had been almost three months in his new home, the farmer, as he drew in his chair at the tea-table, said—

“Wife, Woodlawn is bought, and the owner is coming to take possession next week.”

He gave his wife a peculiarly comical look as he said this, and a smile broke over her face, but she did not ask any questions.

Phil did not care who was coming; he was so engaged with his books, and so happy working out in the fields all day, that if he could only have heard from his parents, he would have had nothing left to wish for.

Just at this time, also, there was a public examination at Dr. Gradus’s school, where anybody in the company was invited to put the most puzzling questions to the scholars. You may be sure, Johnny was always ready with an answer, except once, when he and the whole school, and all the company, burst out laughing, because a queer old wag of a gentleman, seeing that Johnny was so quick and bright, came out suddenly with this—

“Look here, my fine fellow. Suppose a canal-boat heads east-nor’-west for the horse’s tail, and has the wind abeam, with a flaw coming up in the south, and cats’-paws showing themselves, would the captain be justified in taking a reef in the stove-pipe, without first asking the cook?”

I said everybody burst out laughing; but I made a mistake; for Dr. Gradus rose up majestically, and made a speech stuffed full of Latin, in which he observed that “problems like that the gentleman had just given were not to be found in any of _his_ books;” at which everybody nearly laughed again—he was so solemn and pompous about a joke. I forgot to mention that Dr. Gradus was an old bachelor, and that accounts for it.

Of course, Johnny’s father and mother were present at the examination, with little Essie; and oh! what three proud and happy people they were, when, at the end of it, Dr. Gradus got up to present the prizes, and among the very first names called was Master Johannes Goodfellow. At first they did not quite understand that it was _their_ Johnny, because Dr. Gradus turned his Christian name into Latin, which, you know, made it grander; and as Johannes’s face,—as he walked up, bowed, and took the splendid book presented to him,—was perfectly radiant with happiness, I don’t know but what the Latin had something to do with it. But when he saw his dear father holding out his hand to him, his mother’s eyes full of joyful tears, and Essie’s rosy lips trembling with excitement and pride in her darling brother, he very nearly burst into tears himself; but controlling his feelings with a strong effort, he grasped his father’s hand for a moment, and then went back to his seat.

Kriss, Johnny’s particular friend, obtained a prize too; and after they were all distributed, the company were invited to partake of refreshments in the parlors, which consisted of very sour lemonade, and such thin slices of cake, that they were all weak in the back, and fell over double when they were taken up. Of course, nobody ought to be hungry after such a “feast of reason” on Latin grammars, geology, mathematics, chemistry, and I don’t know what besides—the very names of which made Dr. Gradus smack his lips with delight. He, no doubt, would have preferred to have dined off of Greek lexicons, with chemical sauce, instead of plum-cake, with _comical_ sauce (that is, plenty of fun and laughing), which you and I would much rather have, wouldn’t we?

Then Johnny introduced Kriss to his sister with great pride and delight; and Essie’s sweet smile and soft pleasant voice won his heart, and he immediately told Johnny, in a whisper, that his sister was _such_ a dear little girl, and a great deal prettier than he expected, and her lameness ought to make everybody as kind and tender as possible; and moreover, that when he grew up to be a man, he meant to marry Essie, and watch over her, and make her as happy as the day was long.

“Oh, delightful!” cried Johnny; “just fancy! then you’ll be my brother. I always wished I had a brother. I don’t like the thought of finding that cross Phil at home; it will half spoil my holidays. But we must write to each other, Kriss; and you shall have Essie when you grow up; and then we shall live together all our lives.”

So they parted; for after the examination there was to be a month’s holidays; and Johnny had as much as he could do to shake hands and bid good-by to the crowd of noisy, merry boys, every one of whom loved him. All the teachers also shook hands, and hoped he would come back; and Dr. Gradus, pushing up his spectacles, and clearing his throat with a tremendous “hem,” said that Master Goodfellow quite fulfilled the promise of his name; at which heavy joke everybody nearly died of laughter, and all because it was the great Dr. Gradus who said it.

It was beautiful autumn weather. The leaves were just beginning to turn; the dark green woods were flushing into gorgeous tropical beauty; and four happy people were riding home, their hearts full of gratitude and peace, beyond all price.

But when they drove into the crooked lane, didn’t the little brown dog bark himself more sideways than ever before, in his frantic joy at hearing Johnny’s voice, for it was now quite dark; and didn’t Hannah, and the farm man, and Phil, rush out and cry, “Hurra! here they are!”—and Phil’s voice sounded so hearty and pleasant, that Johnny shook hands with him immediately, and said, “How are you, old fellow?” as if they had been friends a year, which made Phil very happy, for he had been quaking at heart lest Johnny should not speak to him at all, knowing what a bad boy he had been.

As they were sitting at the tea-table, Phil said—

“There is a note for you, sir, on the table in the living-room.”

“Oh, is there? Hannah, will you bring it here? It looks like something important,” he continued, as he took it in his hand. “Hm—hm—hm. Well, wife, what do you think it is? An invitation for all of us to spend to-morrow evening at Woodlawn.”

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Goodfellow, with a bright but peculiar smile on her face. “Phil is invited, of course?”

“Certainly; and I am glad and proud to say that I know he will do himself credit now, wherever he goes. Our good minister is to be there too.”

“Oh, I am glad of that!” said Phil; “he is my best earthly friend—” He stopped, and his eyes filled with tears.

“What is the name of the family who have bought Woodlawn?” asked Johnny.

“Such a curious chap as it is!” answered the farmer, laughing. “Never mind the name till to-morrow.”

That night there was another cot-bed put in the garret, and Phil and Johnny had a long affectionate talk together. Phil frankly told all about himself, and what Essie and the good minister, with God’s blessing, had helped him to do; and Johnny cheered and encouraged him, and told him that he had no doubt but that Phil’s parents had heard of his good conduct, and might be expected at the farm almost any day.

But the poor little fellow suffered terribly himself while he was saying all these kind things, for, as you know, Phil’s gain would be his loss. If Mr. Wiseman was convinced of his son’s reformation, Johnny must go back to farm work, and resign his precious hopes of growing up a learned man. His kind father had not yet paid all the money for his farm; he could not afford to hire another boy in his dear son’s place; and now a few months in winter at the district school was all that Johnny must expect.

But he got up the next day bright and happy. It was something—yes, indeed, it was a great deal—to have such a home as his; and after he had washed, dressed, and said his humble, thankful prayers, he was quite ready to race eagerly out with Phil and the little brown dog, and see which could get to the end of the crooked lane and back again first.

It was lucky that the little brown dog’s tail was fast at one end, and the hair on it not a wig, for he certainly would have shook it off, and every single hair out, if incessant and furious wagging would have done it; and the boys and the dog seemed to have each taken a dose of laughing-gas, they flew hither and thither in such a ridiculous way, just because they were so happy.

Then Johnny helped Phil with the horses and the rest of the farm work, and the little brown dog helped too by getting between their legs and nearly upsetting them half a dozen times, and by riding on one of the horse’s backs to water, barking the whole time to make him hurry, which, of course, was very funny, and made the boys laugh heartily.

And when they went in to breakfast, there was Essie, with a welcome shining in her sweet blue eyes, and her Bible all ready to read a chapter, before her father asked a blessing on the labors and pleasures of the day.

The day was soon spent in cheerful work, and in the evening they all prepared for their visit to Woodlawn. Phil made himself as neat as possible in his farmer’s-boy Sunday suit. He thought first of asking Mr. Goodfellow to let him wear the fine broadcloth clothes in which he came to the farm, but he said to himself a moment afterwards—

“No; I am only a farm-boy now; I will make no pretence to be any better, until my father gives me leave.”

He did not need the fine clothes to improve his appearance, for his excellent habits had made such a change, that he would hardly have been known for the same boy. His eyes were bright, his manner animated, and he had learned to be unselfish, industrious, polite, and kind to all—though not without many hard struggles and constant prayer.

As the party drove into the great gate of Woodlawn, and up the long beautiful avenue, they heard the sound of music, and a hundred colored lanterns met their eyes suspended from the trees. They had the effect of enchantment; and Essie said she was sure she saw little fairies dancing in the shaded alleys on either side, and peeping and smiling at her from the bushes. The boys laughed, but they too felt the strange magic of the scene; and when they arrived at the brilliantly lighted entrance, they were prepared, they thought, for all manner of wonderful events.

After taking off bonnets, shawls, and hats, they were ushered into a small room, the walls of which were covered with beautiful paintings, at which both the boys gazed with delight. Two immense closed doors, opposite the windows, led into another room, from which sounds of laughing and talking proceeded.

Presently the good minister came into the small room, and it was delightful to witness the mixture of respect and grateful affection with which Phil hastened to meet him, and place a comfortable arm-chair for his use.

“Our host and hostess will be here very soon,” he said. “Meanwhile, Philip, if you like, I will ask you and my friend Johnny some questions about your studies.”

The boys were delighted, and immediately placed themselves before him, their arms around each other’s necks.

Question after question was poured out, and readily answered by the boys in turn—Johnny sometimes having to prompt Phil, and Phil quite as often helping his friend; while the farmer, his wife, and Essie listened with delighted attention: _and two others listened_—for a door behind the boys had been softly opened, and a gentleman and lady stood with the rest, their faces beaming and radiant with love and eagerness.

The good minister saw them, and turning to Phil, he said—

“My dear boy, you have done so well, not only in your studies, but in what is of far more importance, in conquering your bad habits, that all that there is left to wish for is, that your parents might take you back to their home and hearts.”

The lady gave a sudden start towards him at this, but the gentleman laid his hand gently on her arm.

“Oh, sir,” answered Phil, his lip quivering, “will they ever love me again? Can they ever forgive me?”

“Oh, yes! yes! my own darling boy!” screamed the lady.

Philip turned quickly around, became deadly pale, staggered towards her, and fell nearly fainting into the outstretched arms of his mother; while his father, seizing his hand, cried—

“God bless you, my son! God bless you! You have done nobly. You have made us very, very happy.”

Then the rest went softly out of the room, and Phil had a few moments of blissful joy. He curled his arm around his mother’s neck, and kissed her over and over again. He hugged his father with eager affection; and then darted back to his mother—laughing, crying, now smoothing her hair, now crumpling her beautiful lace collar—perfectly beside himself with ecstasy.

All at once a band of musicians struck up a martial air, the great sliding-doors moved back, and Phil’s father and mother, taking his hands, went forward and introduced him to the company, for they were the owners of Woodlawn. All knew his story—for you can’t keep such a thing secret in a country place—and they looked at him with such intense interest, that he was becoming confused, when who should dart forward to welcome him but Kriss Luff and half a dozen of his old schoolmates, all wanting to shake hands at once, and this making him laugh, he was soon at his ease.

Oh, what a delightful evening it was! They played games and sang, they laughed and frolicked—the good minister joining in every thing, like a real Christian as he was. They partook in moderation of all manner of nice things which were loading down a table in the dining-room, and each one went home with the recollection of a delightful evening well spent.

Of course, Phil stayed at Woodlawn, and that was one little drop of unhappiness to the kind people with whom he had lived so long, and who had learned to love him very much. They could not bear to part with him. But Johnny was made so happy, that I do not think he knows to this day whether he walked home on his head or like other people; for Mr. Wiseman, patting his sturdy shoulders, said to him—

“Well, my son, are you tired of school yet?”

“Oh dear, no, sir. I love my books. I even love Dr. Gradus.”

“Well, that last _is_ convincing; so if your good father, to whom I owe more than I shall ever be able to repay, will permit me to find him a farm-boy, you shall go to school and through college with Phil, and, if you like, choose a profession afterwards, still under my care.”

“Hurra! hurra!” cried Kriss and all the boys; “Johnny Goodfellow is coming back to school. Philip _Badboy_ has flown to the moon, and Philip WISEMAN is to come in his place. It’s the jolliest thing that ever happened. Three cheers for Mr. Wiseman.”

They gave three cheers and a “tiger,” a big one too, little Essie helping.

“Now,” said Kriss, who had voted himself master of ceremonies, “three cheers for Farmer Goodfellow.”

They were given, Phil hurraing with such a will, that he got perfectly crimson in the face.

“Now, three cheers for little Essie,” said Kriss.

If Phil _could_ have made more noise, he would have done so this time; as it was, in his eager desire to honor Essie, he hurraed himself sideways, like the little brown dog, and nearly cracked his throat.

“_Now_, boys, three cheers for Phil, our _new_ friend.”

Didn’t they give it, though! YES, THEY DID, and such a royal Bengal tiger to end with, that the very windows rattled again.

To the children who do not live in New York, I ought to say that we have a splendid regiment of soldiers, called the “Light Guard,” who, whenever they cheer, always say, “Hurra! hurra! hurra! ti-g-a-r!” I don’t know why they do it, but this is what is meant by “three cheers and a tiger.”

Phil bade the farmer, his wife, and little Essie good-night with tears in his eyes, promising to come and see them every day. Mr. Wiseman had invited Kriss and the other boys to stay a week at Woodlawn, which was a most delightful fact to know and experience. A merry, merry week they all had, and you may be sure Johnny was included in every day’s pleasure, and Essie was with them very often.

And now, my darlings reading this, do you think it likely that Mr. Wiseman will ever have to send Philip away again? I do not, and I hope you are of the same opinion; but if you would like me to keep one eye on his future movements, and write to you about them, just let me know, won’t you?

* * * * *

“That’s all,” said Aunt Fanny. “What do you think of it, my merry men and ladies? Will Philip Badboy Wiseman do for a beginning?”

“It’s perfectly splendid!” cried the children.

“And you don’t mean to eat greedily of flower-pot pudding after this, or snap each other’s legs with knots in your pocket-handkerchiefs?”

“Oh no, dear Aunt Fanny. This pop-gun has made us better already. We mean to be ever so kind, industrious, and unselfish after this.”

“I wish I had a kite like Johnny’s,” said Peter.

“Who knows, if you try to be a loving, obedient child, but what the Honorable Mr. Kite may call upon you next spring, all ready for an airing. I’ll have a talk with my friend Johnny about it.”

“Oh goody! will you?” cried Peter, jumping straight up and down in the air. “My! how good I’ll be! I’m going to begin right away;” and he sat down, solemn and stiff, twirling his thumbs one over the other, and saying, “Look at me! Only see how good I am!” while the rest laughed merrily at the joke.

Then Aunt Fanny had a kind kiss from all, and bade them good-night.

The next time Aunt Fanny came she had a funny and rather mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She did not say a word, while she unfolded her manuscript but quietly read out the Pop-gun printed above, and then said her story was called by the comical title of

THE DOG’S DINNER-PARTY.

The children looked at each other, wondering what was coming, then fastened their eager eyes on the reader, who began as follows:

Once upon a time there lived a funny, bustling, little old gentleman, who thought that dogs, horses, cats, and monkeys, ought to live just as he did; that is, first and foremost, to behave with perfect politeness, learn to read and write, sit at the table and eat their meals with knives and forks, and sleep in French bedsteads, all tucked up warm. He even insisted on their wearing clothes and patent leather boots, and they ran clattering about the house on their hind legs, with trousers and coats on, and their tails dangling out behind, like a pocket handkerchief out of a pocket.

The little bustling old gentleman was a bachelor. He had tried about twenty-nine times to get married, but the ladies, one and all, insisted that the dogs, cats, and monkeys must be turned out of the house, if they consented to come in, which was very disagreeable and unreasonable, and made the old gentleman so mad, he said to himself he would see them to Jericho first; so making each one in turn a very low bow, for he was the very pink of politeness, he took himself off, and that was the last of getting married.

So his family consisted of four fine dogs, six beautiful cats, eight comical monkeys, one fat cook, and one fat coachman, two thin housemaids, and nobody knows how many grooms and footmen—and they all lived together, a great deal happier than Barnum’s happy family, and what do you suppose was the reason? Why, they were taught by the bustling little old gentleman to be _perfectly polite_. I forgot to tell you that his name was Lord Chesterfield.

One day Beppo—one of the family—a handsome brown and white spaniel, went out for a walk. As soon as he got out of sight of the house, he dived into a bramble bush, and scratched off all his clothes, for they plagued him to death, and he trotted joyously along, whistling—

“With reading, and writing, and riches, For once in my life, I have done! I’ve got rid of that old pair of breeches; So, hurrah! my brave boys, for some fun!”

Presently he came to a fine river, and was just thinking he would take a swim, when he heard a piercing scream, and something went splash into the water.

Beppo rushed to the brink just in time to see a little golden-haired child disappear under the rippling waves.

In he dashed, like a flying-fish, swam like lightning to the spot, and caught the little child’s dress in his mouth; then turning, swam back, and laid it, drenched and gasping, on the green bank, just as the nurse, her face white with terror, and her limbs trembling, was struggling to reach the shore.

The poor woman caught the beautiful child in her arms and kissed her, and thanked Heaven for her rescue. Then she patted and hugged Beppo, who stood wagging his tail and shaking the water out of his long silky hair. “Ah, madam,” he said, with a very polite how, and his fore-paw on his heart, “I am truly grateful that I was made a spaniel: if I had been a stupid poodle-dog I should have been afraid of the water, and the poor little darling would have been drowned.”

“Why!” exclaimed the nurse in astonishment, “is it possible you can talk?”

“Yes, ma’am, my master, the Lord Chesterfield, will have it, though I’d much rather bark; and he makes us eat at the table out of plates, and cut our food with knives and forks, when I think a marrow-bone to gnaw, out in the court-yard, is as nice again; but he says gnawing bones is perfectly dreadful, and we must learn to eat politely.”

“Well, that is very funny! I shall tell about it as soon as I get home.”

So the nurse hastened away, with the pretty child, and was soon telling the frightened mother how little Lucy had run away from her, and tumbled into the river, and how the beautiful spaniel, who could talk like a Christian, had saved her life.

The grateful mother went out the next morning and bought a splendid gold collar, and had this inscription engraved upon it: “_For the noble and brave dog Beppo, who saved little Lucy’s life._”

When the parcel came, the little bustling old gentleman opened it, and reading the words on the gold collar, called Beppo to him.

“Why, only look at this splendid collar, my good fellow,” he cried; “why did you not tell me of your adventure?”

“I only did my duty,” Beppo modestly answered.

“Ah! I am quite proud of you. I shall give you a dinner-party, and you shall carry round the invitations yourself.”

“May I invite little golden-haired Lucy?” asked Beppo. “I should like to _so_ much.”

“Certainly,” said Lord Chesterfield; “suppose you write the note yourself; it will be a very delicate attention.”

Down sat Beppo, joyously, and soon he had penned this fine invitation:

“Master Beppo wishes you to dine with me to-morrow at five o’ clock.

“MISS LUCY HILL.”

This was not exactly the right way to word it, but you see his education was not yet completed.