Part 7

When Louis entered the room, where the family usually assembled, he found the old French gentleman had come to dine with them; though there was nothing on the table, but a dish of okra or gumbo soup, a salad, and an omelette; to which, however, were soon added, through the quick hands of Antoine, Louis's contribution of fish; and surely round any richer board, there was not then assembled a more striking picture of "the sublime and beautiful:" a Christian philosopher cheerfully resigned to the changes of fortune, and his lovely companion, with faithful affection, smiling while she shared his fate. There was so striking a resemblance between Madame Leroy and her nephew, that many persons supposed they were mother and son; and as he was the only child of a beloved sister, that escaped the general death, she loved him as if he had been her own. Mr. Leroy was also related to him in the same degree; his brother having married the mother of Louis,--had this not been the case, however, he would have been fond of him for his wife's sake. He loved every one that she loved, and herself more than all. Little Susette had forgotten her coach, or resigned to its loss, was making smiling faces over her soup as she drafted it from her plate to her mouth, by half spoonfuls at a time. Poor Louis almost forgot his hardships, under a cruel task-master, when he sat down to his temperate meal, with so good an appetite; while the pleasant jests of the gay old gentleman were relished by all the party, with that better philosophy of the French school, which teaches to make the most of the simplest pleasures, and which, I am afraid, few but her own scholars have learned. The next morning Louis arose early, to perform his allotted task, which would have been easy enough, even had he been less expert. His aunt, whom he did not inform that this labour was involuntary, and from whom he had constantly concealed all the other impositions of Mike Redman, gave him a dozen large pins to tip the arrows with, and Antoine cut him the most suitable wood. But light as the task was, his spirit now rebelled at this slavery, and whispered "Be free," so with a revolting soul he finished the arrows. But Michael, whose father had taken him to the country on Saturday, could not call for them before Monday, when they were to go to school. Louis had a satchel made, ready to carry his books neatly; but Mike, whose mother never thought of making him one, was obliged to carry his as well as he could without, and he now threw them down with his cap and gloves, to examine the arrows; little Susette, who was playing in the yard, with a tin cup, and with which she had been making music on the stones, now began to look at the books, and with the usual destructiveness of infancy to the works of literature, she tore some of the leaves out. When Mike had put all the arrows in the quiver, except one, he turned round, and seeing the condition of his books, he flew at the little creature in a rage, as if he would tear her in pieces; and so verify his title to the name of a wolf. The cowardice of Louis at that instant vanished; he sprang forward, and seized the young savage by the collar, while his faithful little dog caught hold of one of the straps of Mike's trowsers. This gave the infant some time to escape, and with terrifying cries she ran toward the house. Her mother came to the door in dreadful alarm, when seeing her nephew closed up against the garden gate, by the powerful shoulders of Mike Redman, (who had his hands clenched,) and the little dog howling at his feet, in extreme pain, she called, in the agony of fear, upon two men, who were looking out from the brewery yard, at the boys' affray, to separate them. "Be aisy, Casper," said one, "and let the boys fight it out, I'll jist step over and see the Frenchman clear o' the fence." "Put I'll see de Frenchman clear o' Mike, Patrick; mine hearts, de poy wouldn't stant no chance at all mit him." With these separate intentions, they both sallied forth, and approached the combatants. Pat released the Frenchman, but Mike, resisting the interference of such authority, was knocked down by the German; who, as an excuse for himself, when he was called upon by Mr. Redman to relate the whole transaction, offered this:--"In my country, de poys are prought up to mind the sayins o' pigger people." Mr. Redman, who was not himself an unjust man, admitted the apology, and soon after, considering, perhaps, though it was then too late, that he did not properly control his vicious propensities, while he exposed them to continual increase in the contaminating sphere around him, he sent Michael to school at a distance from home, and recompensed his little neighbour, by many acts of kindness, for the cruel oppression of his son. When I asked the person, who told me this story, what became of the two boys in after life, he said, Michael Redman inherited a large property, which he soon spent; after this he went to sea; and I would, probably, never have learned his final fate, had he not been announced in the newspapers, some years after, with an _alias_ to his name, among a number of men who were executed for piracy. In process of time, Louis Leroy married his young cousin Susette; and proved, through a long course of years, his filial affection to her parents. He contrived to add to his small patrimony by several useful inventions, which were patented in the state. He reared up a numerous family, with the same frugal and temperate habits that he had been taught, and under the same roof which had sheltered his own boyhood; while all the other habitations that had risen around him were constantly changing their owners and inmates. Behold the just end of "Le Loup et L'Agneau."

THE CHRISTMAS VISIT.

"Come hither, Emily," said Mrs. Osman to her daughter, a little girl about six years old, who had just returned from school; "Come hither, for I have something to tell you."

"What is it, mamma? Have you had a letter from papa? and is he coming home soon?"

"No, that is not it, though I hope your papa will now very soon be home again; but it is that your friend, Mrs. Cassy, has just been here, to invite you to spend the day with her on Christmas day, to meet your friend Julia."

"Oh! delightful, how very kind Mrs. Cassy is!" said the little girl with great animation.

"She is, indeed! And though the object of this invitation is to give Julia a treat before she leaves the country, which you know she will now soon do, as her mamma has sent for her, to return home with her uncle who is to set off in a few days: yet it will, I am sure, be quite as great a pleasure to yourself; for though Mrs. Cassy has no children of her own, you know how much pains she always takes to make her house pleasant to her little visiters."

"Oh, yes! I remember the last time we were there, she had a large baby for us, that she had dressed herself. And it had a beautiful frock and cap, and a pair of socks, just like those that my little sister Emma wears; and we played at its being sick; and then Mrs. Cassy made a scramble of raisins and sugarplums, and a great many other good things, and we had such fun in picking them up! Oh! it was delightful. I hope you will let me go, mamma!"

"Yes! upon one condition."

"Oh! I know what that condition will be. It will be about my tickets for good conduct."

"Yes, you are quite right. You know, Emily, your great fault is idling. You are apt to spend your time idling when you ought to be attending to your lessons. But if you get----"

"A ticket every day for good conduct," interrupted the little girl.

"Yes! I am sure you will not receive a ticket for good conduct unless your lessons have been properly attended to, and your behaviour in school has been such as it ought to be; and therefore your going to Mrs. Cassy's must depend upon your tickets for good conduct. It only wants two days to Christmas day, and if you can bring me a ticket each day for good conduct you shall go: but if not, you must be content to stay at home. It is a very short time for you to keep watch over yourself, so that if you fail, I am sure even your friend Mrs. Cassy herself will not think that you deserve to partake of her kindness."

"Oh! if it only depends upon my getting two tickets for good conduct, I am sure I shall go," returned the little Emily, clapping her hands with pleasure. "Let me see! This is Monday evening; there is only Tuesday and Wednesday; and on Wednesday we shall have school only half the day; so that I shall have to watch myself only a very short time."

"True, Emily, it will only be a very short time, and therefore the terms on which your going depends are not, you see, very severe; but yet that time, short as it is, may be of great service to you, as every time you try, you do something toward forming a habit of attention; and besides, if you succeed, you will both please me, and prove to your friend Mrs. Cassy that you know how to value her kindness."

"I will go directly and learn my lessons for to-morrow," said Emily, and taking up her bag of books she hastened into a little back parlour, in which she was in the habit of studying her lessons. For some time she kept her attention very steadily fixed on her work; but just as she had taken her geography and opened her map to trace the boundaries of North America, a lady who frequently visited her mother, and who sung very well, began at that moment in an adjoining room to sing a song of which Emily was very fond. The little girl had a very good ear for music, and was so exceedingly fond of it, that it was with great difficulty that she could keep her attention fixed upon what she was doing. Over and over again she was on the point of leaving her lessons, and going into the parlour where the musician was; but she recollected how soon it would be bed-time, and how little time there was whilst the mornings were so very short, to learn any lessons that had been neglected the evening before, and determined to persevere; and clasping her little hands, and laying them on the book before her, as if to hold fast her resolution, she repeated, North America is bounded on the north by the Arctic ocean, on the west and south by the Pacific ocean, and on the east by the Atlantic ocean. It is true that as she repeated this, and found answers to the rest of the questions which were contained in her lesson, her feet beat time against the chair, and her head moved in unison, whilst she sometimes found herself trying to make the words of her lesson accord with the measure of the music, as she spun out the words eighty-five degrees of north la-ti-tude, yet still she contrived to keep her mind fixed upon what she was doing till she had impressed it on her memory, so as to be sure of being able to call it forward, when required, the following day. "Now I know all my lessons perfectly," said she, as she replaced her books in her bag: "I am sure of not losing my ticket to-morrow on account of my lessons." So saying, she hastened into the other parlour, but the music was over, the lady was gone, and the room was empty. Emily, however, was seldom at a loss for means of amusement, and she skipped about the room, singing "I'll be a butterfly," as if she were indeed that light and airy creature of pleasure. Satisfied with herself for the resolution that she had exercised, the rest of the evening was spent in more than even her usual cheerfulness, and she laid her head down upon the pillow with repeated resolutions of attention the following day. When the little girl opened her eyes the next morning, it looked so gloomy and dark that she very willingly persuaded herself it was too soon to rise, and had just turned over to compose herself for another nap when the clock struck eight. In an instant she was out of bed. She had only a single hour in which to dress herself, to eat her breakfast, and go to school; she had not, therefore, a single moment to lose. Yet a strong temptation assailed her, for on a chair by her bed-side lay a small paper parcel, directed to her, which on opening she found to contain a cap, that her friend Julia had made for her baby, and which had been sent to her after she was in bed the night before, and placed by the servant near her bed-side, that she might see it as soon as she rose in the morning. "Oh! what a beautiful little cap," exclaimed Emily. "How sweet my baby will look in it. I must try it on directly. But no," added she, recollecting herself, "I must not stay to try it on now or I shall be too late for school, and then away goes my ticket for good conduct at once." And with an effort of self denial that would have done credit to a much older mind, Emily put the tempting cap into a drawer and hastened to finish her dressing. Her breakfast was soon swallowed, and she was in the school-room before the school bell rang. "I think now I am safe for to-day," said she, "only I hope Julia will not be in one of her funny humours and try to make me laugh." To the credit of our little heroine, however, though Julia was in a funny humour and did frequently try to make her laugh, and though Emily's gay and even volatile temper was ever ready to receive a lively impression, yet still she succeeded in keeping herself so far within bounds as to escape reproof, and she returned home in the evening with the wished-for ticket. "Here it is, mamma! here it is!" cried she, running to her mother, and holding out the testimony of her good behaviour. Her mother took the ticket, and congratulated her upon having got over half the time successfully. "More than half, mamma," returned Emma, "for to-morrow will be only half a day, and I have very few lessons to learn to-night."

"I am not sure that you are any more safe on that account, Emma," replied her mother, "for you know I have often remarked to you, that you generally prepare your lessons the worst when you consider them the easiest; as then you are apt, from the idea that they can be learnt in so very short a time, to put them off until you have no time for them at all, instead of learning them first and amusing yourself afterward." "But I will not do so to-night," said the little girl, and away she went directly to study them. And fortunate it was for her that she did so, for she had scarcely finished the last thing that she had to learn before her friend Julia came to play with her. She could now, however, play with safety, and the rest of the evening was passed in amusement. The new cap was tried on and found to fit beautifully, and the baby was dressed and undressed, put to bed and taken up again; declared to be very sick and obliged to take medicine; taken out to visit; sent to bed for being naughty; and, in short, passed through all the vicissitudes of a moderate life-time before the friends parted for the night.

"It is eight o'clock," cried Emily, capering about the room, half dancing and half jumping as she spoke; "I am safe for to-day, and I have only till twelve o'clock to-morrow, and then I shall get my ticket, and then I shall be safe; and then I shall go to Mrs. Cassy's."

"And then," rejoined her mother, "I hope you will have learned how much better it is to work first and play after, than to play first and run the risk of the work being neglected altogether."

"Oh! yes, mamma! I intend to remember that in future," said the little girl, and away she went to bed, singing as she went, to a tune of her own making,

"How pleasant it is at the end of the day, Of no follies to have to repent."

"Emily!" said her mother, rousing her little girl from a sound sleep, as she spoke; "Emily! Do you know it is nearly eight o'clock?"

"Oh! it is time enough, mamma," said Emily, starting up as she spoke; "it struck eight o'clock before I was out of bed yesterday morning; and yet I was in the school-room some minutes before the bell rang."

"But if you trifle in that way, it will be nine o'clock before you are out of this room," continued her mother; as Emily, taking hold of her little night-gown, instead of a frock, began to practice her dancing steps. "You see, my dear, you have yet only got your stockings and shoes on; so, at this rate, it will certainly take you more than an hour to finish your dressing."

"Oh! indeed you are mistaken, mamma, you will see how soon I shall be out of the room," and roused to recollection by this remonstrance, the rest of her dressing was very quickly finished. Her breakfast too was despatched with equal rapidity. "Now I am ready," said she, starting from her chair, and putting on her little brown beaver hat as she spoke; "and now for my coat; but stop," she continued, throwing her coat carelessly over her arm; "I have not my bag: Where is it, I wonder? Oh! I remember! I left it in the piazza when I went to look what sort of a morning it was;" and off she went, dragging her coat, which still hung over her arm, after her; and on the piazza she found her bag, mittens, one of her books, and slate, all lying as she had thrown them out of her hand, to run after some trifle that had at the moment attracted her attention; but as she took up her bag with the intention of putting her book and slate into it, her favourite kitten, which had followed her to the piazza, running after her coat as it dragged after her along the floor, now caught at the bag, and tugged and scratched at it, as if it had been intended entirely for its amusement. This was too congenial with Emily's own frolicsome disposition to be resisted, and there she stood, at one moment drawing the bag away, and the next throwing it back again to the sportive little animal. And we must be permitted here to pause and describe our little friend, as she looked while thus engaged. It was one of those fine mild mornings, which of late years we have so often witnessed in the very depth of winter, and the sun, which had just risen, sent forth his beams to gild the landscape behind her, defining her figure more clearly by the contrast. To the eye of fancy and affection, that rising sun might have been thought to represent her whose orb like his own was just rising; and though a few mists yet obscured the bright rays of mind which had already begun to beam, yet no one could look at the face, which, though not formed according to any of the acknowledged rules of beauty, was bright with innocence, animation, and happiness, without feeling assured, that as it gained its meridian heights, it would shine forth with pure, unclouded lustre, and prepare the way for a clear and glorious evening. Though Emily, as she thus stood, presented a picture that a painter might study, it was but of short duration, for whilst she yet played with her favourite, the clock struck nine, and at once recalled the little girl to a recollection of her folly. "Oh! what shall I do?" she exclaimed. "It is nine o'clock, and I am not ready. Get away, kitty! do not come near me again," she continued, as the kitten, which had received no warning from the stroke of the clock, still tried to catch at the strings of the bag whilst she was putting in its usual contents; "get away! for if you had not come near me, I should not have staid so long. I should not have been tempted with any thing else. Oh! how hard my coat is to get on this morning. I cannot tell what is the matter with this hook and eye! it will not fasten. Yes! now it is fastened and I must run." But though poor Emily did run, and put herself into a most violent heat; and though she went into the school-room puffing and blowing, the words, as she entered, of "Miss Emily Osman--you are too late," told her at once that all chance of visiting her friend Mrs. Cassy was over.

A few tears chased each other silently down her cheek, as she took her seat at her desk, and for the rest of the day it was little effort to poor Emily to be silent and attentive. Julia tried a thousand ways to excite a smile, but in vain; for the idea that she had not only deprived herself of so much pleasure for the morrow, but had disappointed her mamma and appeared ungrateful to Mrs. Cassy for her kindness, weighed on her mind, and every now and then filled her eyes with tears. "Do not cry, Emily, I beg of you," said Julia, as they returned home together, after the school hours were over, "I am quite sure your mamma will let you go to Mrs. Cassy's, after all. I feel quite certain of it, for you know this is almost the last day we have to be together; and I am sure she could not find in her heart to deprive you of the pleasure for such a trifle."

"No! my mamma never changes her mind after she has promised me any thing," said Emily, "and I am glad she does not, because it always makes me sure that if I am good I shall get the reward I expect."

"Oh! well, but she may change her mind just about such a little trifle as that, after all," returned Julia.

"I am quite sure she will not," was Emily's quiet reply, and the friends parted, as their roads now lay in different directions. As Emily entered the house, she felt almost ashamed of meeting her mamma, and she blushed at the idea of the reluctance which she felt; but she soon found that, for the present at least, she was saved the pain of seeing her, for she was told that a very short time after she went to school, her mother had been sent for to a very particular friend, who was dangerously ill, and that she was not yet returned. Emily always thought the house very forlorn and dull when her mother was not in it, but now that she was out of spirits herself, she felt it more so than ever, and she hung about listless and uneasy, and unable to enter into any of her usual amusements. She tried to sing, but her voice was husky and out of tune. She began to practise her steps, but it was impossible to dance without music, and Emily that day had no music in her soul. She took out her baby, with the intention of amusing herself with it, but it brought to her recollection the pleasure she had expected to enjoy in playing with Mrs. Cassy's baby the next day; and she put it aside, and forgot that she had expected entertainment from it. Even her little kitten, which, from its fondness for play, seemed to be so nearly allied to herself, played with a ball of cotton, or ran after its own tail, round and round the room, in vain; for Emily only recollected that it was it that had tempted her to the neglect of her duty in the morning. "I wonder when my mamma will come home," said she to herself, as the short winter's day began to draw to a close. "I wish she would come that I might see her, and hear her say that she forgives me, and will not punish me any further than by not letting me go to Mrs. Cassy's. I hope she will not look grave at me, for that will be worse than all. I wish she would come that I might know at once what she would say. Oh! perhaps that is she," added the little girl, starting up and running to the window at the sound of the door bell; but it was too dark for her to see who it was, and she was returning to the fireside, when the room door opened and the servant brought in a letter, which he said was for her. "For me!" cried Emily, in great surprise; "who can have written to me? I never received a letter in my life from any body." A lamp, however, was lighted, and the letter opened, which proved to be from Julia, and, after spelling and puzzling over it for a considerable time, Emily at length made out the following epistle:

"My dear Emily,

"I have just heard that your mamma is not at home; and I wanted to come round to you, but my aunt would not let me. But I have sent you the ticket for good conduct, which I got to-day, and you may call it your own. It will not be cheating, you know, because you did behave very well at school, and then we shall meet at Mrs. Cassy's to-morrow, which will be delightful; for you know it is almost the last day that we can be together, before I go away.

"Your affectionate friend,

"JULIA."