Chapter 2
All on board thought a great deal of Saib. All that day did they think of him, and the next day, and the next, and the next. But there was no one who thought of poor Saib so much as Mrs. Bright did; she thought of him so much that she saw him in her dreams, and she would start up in her bed and call Saib! Saib! and this would seem so real that she could not think it had been a dream.
One night when she had had this same dream, and had seen Saib, as she thought, at the foot of her bed, she rose up with a start, but still he was there! This was most strange. "Saib! Saib!" she said, "you _are_ there, and it is no dream."
But Saib was gone! and there was no trace of him to be seen. Yet so sure did Mrs. Bright feel that she _had_ seen him, and that he was _not dead_, that she could have no peace of mind. She thought of him the whole of that day, and at night she made up her mind that she would not go to sleep, but would lie quite still, as though she were gone to sleep.
When she had been in bed two or three hours, she heard a slight noise in her room, yet she did not move. All was soon still, and then once more she heard a noise. The sound was like that of a piece of wood _on the slide_, but so soft it was that it could not have been heard by ears less quick than the ears of Mrs. Bright were just at that time. Once more she was still, and then she heard the soft step of a foot. The watch-light was dim, and yet such ray as there was, fell on the form of Saib! Yes! it was he, there he stood; Mrs. Bright saw, and she could not doubt that it _was_ he!
She lay quite still, nor could she have made the least sign of life had she had the wish to do so. Her eyes were not shut, so she could see all that was done. Saib at first stood quite still, as if to be sure that he was safe; and then he went with step soft and slow to a tub of dry ship cakes, that Mrs. Bright kept in her room. She saw him take four or five of these in his hand, and then he stole back to the place from whence he had come.
All this she saw, but she could not have made known to Saib that she saw it. Yet when he was gone out of her sight she gave one loud scream. Mr. Bright, who slept in the berth next to hers, was up and on the floor just in time to see Saib.
When Saib saw that he was seen, and that he was known, he fell on his knees, and, oh, how much was told in that one look of his!
"My poor boy!" said Mr. Bright, "what you must have gone through, to have made you make choice of such a life as this." As he spoke he saw the hole in the side of the room through which Saib had come.
He found that it was a place made to keep things in that were out of use, and it was so small that there was not room for Saib to lie down in. Mrs. Bright did not know that there was such a place, and when it was shut, the door was so like the rest of the side of the room, that no one could have told there was a door there.
Saib had known of it, for he had seen a man put cords and ropes there, at a time when the berths in that room were not in use. The place was not quite dark--there were small holes on the deck of that part of the ship, which let in light and air.
When Saib found that the looks of Mr. and Mrs. Bright were kind, hope took the place of fear, and, by signs and such words as he could speak, he made known his wish that they would let him stay where he had been, till the ship came to shore.
Mr. and Mrs. Bright felt so much grief for the state the poor boy was in, that they each had a strong wish to save him from all chance of more pain, and they knew that the best way to do this would be to buy him from Mr. Stone.
They made this wish known to Saib, and who could have seen the gleam of joy shed on the face of Saib, when he knew what Mr. and Mrs. Bright meant to do--who could have seen it, and not have felt joy too?
Mr. Stone, as has been said, was a hard man, and Mr. Bright had to fear that he might be in such a rage at what Saib had done, that he would not sell him.
Yet, though Mr. Stone _was_ a hard man, he was a man who had so great a wish to be a rich man, that he could not say _no_, when there was gain in his way; and though he was at first in a great rage, the sum Mr. Bright said he would give for Saib was so large a one, that Mr. Stone did not say no.
What was the joy of poor Saib when told he should be free!--what was the joy of poor Saib when he found how much thought and care Mr. and Mrs. Bright had for him!
They took Saib with them to their own home, and had him taught all things that could be of use to him in the new state in which he now was.
Saib is now more than twelve years old; he has learnt to read, to write, to speak the truth, to try to be calm when rude boys tease him, and to feel grief when he has done wrong. To love his kind friends he has not to learn--his heart bids him do that.
He feels all that Mrs. Bright has done for him--he hopes he may not grieve her or Mr. Bright, but that he may be to them as a good son.--Then they will not part with him; then they will be paid back for all that they have done.
The thought of such a great and good deed must make them glad in this world, and bring them joy in the next.
THE EARTH.
The world we live on is a large round ball, made of all kinds of rocks and of earths; and on a great part of it there are seas and lakes. The earth turns round each day, and goes round the sun once each year. In the day, that part of the world where we live points to the sun, and when the earth turns from the sun, it is night.
When the earth goes round the sun, the heat at one part of the year comes from the sun more straight to that part where we live, and makes the days hot and long, and the nights short, as in June; and when the light and heat do not come to us so straight, there are cold and frost and long nights.
In some parts of the world it is much more cold than where we live. There are parts, too, where the sun is more hot at all times of the year than we feel it. It is the heat of the sun that makes the winds. His heat on the sea makes the clouds.
The clouds rise in the air and fly to the land, where they fall in rain, and make plants and trees grow, and the brooks and springs flow.
The sea is salt, but the heat does not take up the salt in the fogs and clouds; so that the rain is quite pure, and makes springs for us to drink from.
A FALL FROM THE CLIFFS.
George Crisp was a good boy; he was kind to those he knew, and could not bear to have a thing that they had not.
He was glad when he could give things, and he gave a great deal to the poor that came to the house, so that his stock of cash was at a low ebb.
Though George might have set his mind on some toy, he felt glad to think that the pence which would have bought it had been of more use to some one else.
But though he was so good in this way, yet he had one fault which spoilt the whole. This fault was, that _he would not do as he was bid_; for he thought he knew as well as those who told him, and his Aunt, who taught him, did all she could to break him of the fault, but in vain.
George's house was on the sea coast, and George went to dig in the sands, to get shells, and to fish, and to sail boats in the pools which were left at low tide; and when it was high tide he went with his Aunt on the cliffs.
Now his Aunt had told him he must not go near the edge of the cliffs, for they were steep and high. His Aunt took hold of his hand when she went with him to the cliffs; for once he went so near the edge that he must have gone down, and would have been much hurt, had not his Aunt just caught him in time to save him.
One day, when they were on the cliffs, George's Aunt had left hold of his hand to get a wild rose from a bush. She had got it, and had gone back to take hold of George's hand, but no George was to be seen!
She then ran home, as she thought he might have gone back, but when she came near the town she saw two men with a dead boy in their arms. She ran in haste to look at him, and what was her grief to find that he was George!
The men took him home, and his Aunt, though in such a state that she knew not what she did, went home too.
When Mrs. Crisp saw him she sent at once for Mr. Pill.
Mr. Pill said that he was not quite dead, that he might, with great care, be brought to life, but that he would be ill for a long time. George was brought to the fire and wrapt up in warm things; air was blown down his mouth, and he was put in a warm bed. At last he came to life, but he was so ill that he knew no one, and could not speak.
The men told George's Aunt that they were in their boat, and had just gone out to fish, when they saw George fall down from the cliff. They got their boat to the place as soon as they could, and brought him home. George's Aunt now knew that he had gone to the edge of the cliff, when she had told him not to do so.
While George lay in bed, he thought what a bad boy he had been, and of what his Aunt had told him. And he thought, too, that if he should get well he would try to do what his Aunt told him to do.
George was a month ill. As soon as he was well he told his Aunt he would be a good boy, and try to do as she bid him--for he now knew that what she told him to do was right.
Since that time George has done what he has been told to do, in all things; for he has thought of the fall he had down the cliff.
He was such a good boy, that all were fond of him, and what is more, he has grown up a good man.
Then let this tale warn those boys and girls who read it. May they do as they are bid, and may they not, as George once did, think that they know more than those who are more old than they are.
THE MOON.
What is the bright moon, that shines so in the sky?
It is a world like ours, but not so large; and boys and girls may live there, and go to school and play, as they do on this earth. To boys or girls who live in the moon this earth of ours shines like a large moon, and must give a great deal more light to them than their moon does to us. They could see to read and write by the light of the earth quite well.
The moon gives light from the sun, and does not shine with its own light; and so the earth would give back the sun's light to the men in the moon.
There are land and sea, and hills and dales, in the moon; and the marks we see on it, like a face, are the lights and shades of the land, the hills, and the sea. There are hills too which are on fire, and they can be seen through a large spy-glass. Some men have thought they could make a spy-glass so large as would let them see the boys and girls in the moon, but they have not yet done it.
What a strange sight would it be if we could see them all at work!
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
Once on a time there was a man who had his home in the moon. He was a queer man, with a large round face that was kept so clear and bright that it shone, and on a clear night could be seen far, far off--on the earth.
This man in the moon did like to look on the earth, and though it was so far off, he oft thought he should like to come and live here.
The earth to him did look so large and bright that he thought it must be a fine world to live in, where he could have more room to walk up and down, and not be kept in so small a place as the moon.
It made him sad when he could not look on this world, but for three weeks in each month he was made to turn his face, or to shade it from the world, so that he could not catch a straight view of it at those times.
And then he could not be seen by those men and boys on the earth, to whom he was so great a friend. His large round face was so bright that they, too, did not like him to leave them; but they knew he would come back in less than a month.
When he first came he was seen near to the sun, where it had just set, and he gave a side look at the earth. The next night he would be more from the sun, and swell out his face a bit; it would then look like a hoop that had been cut in two. His face would grow more fat each night, till one eye could be seen, then two, and then his whole round face.
Now this man would fret, and try to get on to the earth. Day by day, hour by hour, he would try, and try, and try to come more near.
He did move quite fast, and thought he got some miles on his way, but for all that he was still as far off. He went in a round, like a horse in a ring, and there kept, and still keeps as far off as he was, and will keep there for years to come.
Now you could tell him that it is far from wise for a man with a fat round face like his, to grieve and want to come to a world that he does not know to be a more nice place than the one he lives in.
You could tell him that there is much grief and pain to be borne here--that few men who live here have such a round fat face as his, and that if he came he would have to work hard, and that care, and work, and pain might soon make him look thin, and lose his round bright face that shines so.
Yes, man in the moon, stay where you are. Do not long to have what you can not get, but rest there, and do what you have to do in peace and joy.
Be sure, man in the moon, you will find peace and joy if you do all the good you can in that world of yours, and that if you pine and grieve to come here, you will do no good at all, and make your life sad.
Boys and girls should do the same. They should not want to reach the man in the moon, but try to make the best of what they have. They may be sure that to be good and do as they are bid, will give them more joy than the most bright things they could find in the moon.
FRANK HART.
There is in this world one grief of a kind so sad that there are some who have not heard of it--there are still more who have not felt it.
This is the grief of a young child when he feels that he who ought to be his best friend--he who ought to love him more than all else love him--he who ought to soothe all his pains, and be glad at all his joys,--that _he_ has no thought, no care, no love for him; and what is far worse than this, who chills the pure first thoughts of a young child's mind, and turns such thoughts to pain.
Let all those who have not heard of grief so great as this, joy and be glad; but let them, while they dwell with thanks on their own lot, think and feel for the lot of poor Frank Hart.
Mr. Hart was a man who did not know the _rule of self_. He had not been taught this rule when he was young, and when he grew up to be a man, _self_ had full rule over _him_.
His young ones, for he had more than Frank, felt this fault hard to bear. So great was their fear of Mr. Hart, that when he was in the room they did not dare to speak, or to laugh, or to move. Had they a book in hand, they did not dare to turn the leaves, for fear that they might be heard; nor could they leave the room, for their shoes might creak, or the door might make a noise.
Thus would these poor things sit, till (sound of joy!) the well known, and at times the long sought for sound, the push of Mr. Hart's chair, told them he would soon be gone. Then the door would shut; and no shut of door could bring more ease and joy than the shut of that.
He was gone! and these young ones, freed from such chains as few so young have felt, would rise up from their chairs and jump, in proof that they _were_ free; and though they might not speak a word, each knew what was felt by all.
Frank was not so old by two years as the one next to him in age: he was but eight years old, and he did not dare to tell how great was his fear of Mr. Hart.
Frank thought that to feel as he felt must be wrong, and yet he could not help it. He thought this when he saw all boys else so glad to see the friend who was to them all that Mr. Hart ought to have been to Frank.
Frank, when he saw the rush of joy, when he heard the loud laugh of glee with which these boys were wont to greet this friend of theirs, has felt sad.
The bell that calls a child, though from its room of play to the room down stairs, that bell which is a sound so full of joy, brought no joy to poor Frank. It was a sound that he could not bear to hear, for to him it rang a knell of pain. And who can blame Frank for this? who _can_ when they know the scene to which such a bell would call him?
"Come in, Frank," said Mr. Hart one day to him, "come in: here is an egg for you."
Frank could not think that such a thing could be for him, yet he _saw_ the egg, and his face told how glad he was.
"Thank you," said Frank, as in great haste he took hold of the spoon.
He broke the shell with much care, and took it off bit by bit. He had just put his spoon so as to take up some of the nice white, when he found that quite as hard as he had found the shell. This was odd! but still he broke through _that_, when his spoon fell through it--it was but an egg-shell full of air!
What was poor Frank's look of woe! He gave one quick glance at Mr. Hart: such a glance it was! It said as plain as glance could say, "How can you do this to me?"
Yet the glance did not stop the loud laugh which burst forth; nor did that laugh cease till Frank had left the room, and _then_ it rung in his ears for a long time.
Such a child as Frank was feels a thing like this much more than he feels pain that he is made to feel when he has done wrong. Such a child as Frank was _knows_ when he has done wrong, and when he is made to feel pain for it, he thinks it is pain he ought to feel, to make him a good boy.
A child like Frank soon finds out if he is made to feel pain for his own good, or if he is made to feel it from some cross thought that may pass through the mind of some one who may not care for his good at all.
Thus Frank, who was a boy who thought a great deal, as young as he was, knew well when it was right he should be made to feel pain, and when it was done for no fault of his own.
Poor Frank! he has thought this last was the case when he has been told by Mr. Hart to snuff the light on his desk, and he has put it out.
Poor Frank! he has now and then made all dark; for when he has put out this desk light, there has been no light but the fire light to guide Mr. Hart's hand to Frank's ear. And, oh! that poor ear, how it did smart, and how loud the noise of the box did sound!
At these times Frank said not a word, nor did he shrink from the blow; but Frank _thought_, and his mind grew more and more full of thought.
But what most hurt Frank was, that things were done and said to him just to make him say what was queer, and then this queer thing would be told by Mr. Hart to his friends, and they would laugh at Frank.
Now Frank did not like this at all; and one night, when he had still on his mind some thing that he had said, which Mr. Hart had told, Mr. Hart all at once said to him, "Frank, wish a wish."
"I can't wish," said Frank.
"But you must wish, and you shall," said Mr. Hart.
Still Frank spoke not.
"What would you most wish to have?" said Mr. Hart.
"I don't know," said Frank.
"But you shall know--I'll make you know--you shall not go to bed till you _do_ know, so speak at once."
Still Frank said not a word.
"Speak, Frank," once more said Mr. Hart: "speak, Frank, and say what you would the most wish to have, if you could have what you wish."
"I don't know," once more said Frank.
"You don't know! but I say you _shall_ know--you must know--I'll _make_ you know, I tell you. Go! you shall be shut up in that dark room! Go! there you shall stay, if it be all night; go!"
Frank said not a word, but did not move.
"Do you hear me?" said Mr. Hart.
Still Frank did not move.
Mr. Hart at length took him by the hand, and led him to the dark room.
This room was next to the one where they were. Mr. Hart took Frank by force, put him in, and shut the door.
And now there was poor Frank all in the dark.
The first sounds that came forth were "Oh! oh! oh!" and then a burst of tears. Soon all was still, and then there were more sobs and tears.
"Wish a wish, I tell you," once more said Mr. Hart. "Wish a wish, or you shall stay where you are all night."
"Stay! stay! stay!" said Frank. "Don't go, don't go!"
And now such a noise did he make at the door with his feet and hands that his voice could not well be heard; but through it all the scream of "Don't go, don't go!" went on.
"Good night," said Mr. Hart, when the noise was for a short time still, "good night, we all go, and we leave you there."
"Stay! oh, stay!" said Frank, in tones of woe.
"Wish a wish," said Mr. Hart, "or we are all gone."
"Oh!" said Frank, "I do wish I were in bed."
There was a loud laugh.
"You have now _told_ your wish," said Mr. Hart, "and you may go to bed."
Frank did not stay to be told _twice_.
THE LOST ONES.
Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd had two boys and one girl; their names were Paul, Charles, and Grace. They were good on the whole, but they had one fault.
Mrs. Lloyd had told them that she should not like them to go to a fair which was to be held on the tenth of June. It was now near that time, and they had a strong wish to go.
The tenth of June came, and the fair this year was most grand.
When they came to the front door, they saw such crowds of men, girls, and boys, that their wish to go was more strong than it had been.
Soon Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd went out, and left Paul, Charles, and Grace in the room. When they had been gone some time, Paul said to Grace, "Shall we take a walk?"
Grace said, "Yes, I should like to go; what do you think if we were to take a peep at the fair?"
"Oh," said Charles, "I should like that the best of all things. I will go and put on my hat."
So they went to put on their things, and out they set. Soon they came near the fair. Guess how great their joy! But how much more great would it have been if they had not felt that they had done wrong!
They saw grand shows, and stalls full of nice things. They had each of them brought half a crown; but the half-crowns were soon spent, and they would have been glad of more.
The day was far gone when they thought of home, and they were in a great fright to find that they were so far from home, and in a new road which they had not been in till then.
They were sad, and they knew, too, that they had brought this on them selves; for if they had not gone to the fair, when Mrs. Lloyd had told them not to go, this would not have been.
These thoughts were in their minds, when a Strange One, whose trade it was to tell fates, came near them, and said that if they had lost their way, she would take them home.
They told her they had been at the fair, and that they could not find their way home.
"Oh," said she, "I knew that,--you could not cheat me." She then took Grace by the hand, Paul and Charles went on first. She led them on a great way: they did not dare to speak a word, for they were in a great fright. At last she came to a place where there was a large fire, with a pot on the top of it.
"Look here," said she to a man who was there, "I have brought these young folks, who do not know their way home."
"Oh!" said the man, "let 'em sleep here."
They slept that night on a mat.
The next day the Strange One put them on some rags, and took off their own nice clothes.
When they saw what clothes they had got on, they did not like them, but they did not dare to speak.
Soon this Strange One told them to go with her, and she led them on a great way. How they did scream and cry out! "This is not the way home; I want to go home: I will go home." This Strange One could bear it no more, and she told them that she would tie up their mouths, but they did not seem to mind.
At last she did tie their mouths; and she led them on, and on, and did not stop till she came to a wild heath.
There were a few tall trees, and here and there, there were wild roots and grass. She took some string, and bound them to trees, and left them.
No more has been known of the Strange One, nor of the man, from that day to this.