Part 6

Lewis took to his heels, and in his haste to escape from the wrath of the turkey, he disturbed a flock of goslings, which with the old grey goose, were quietly sitting on the ground, sunning themselves among the stubble. The goose, seeing her brood in disorder, made such a lamentable outcry as brought the gander and several of his companions to her aid. Lewis was now in the greatest distress; he knew not which way to run. At last he boldly faced about, and taking up a handful of stones, flung them among the foremost of his enemies: the gander, enraged at this, flapped his wings, and gave Lewis several unmerciful pecks on the back of his leg.

It would be difficult to determine which made the most noise, the geese, or Lewis Dormer, for they screamed in concert, and were joined by the turkies; and though the peacock did not attempt to assist his neighbours, yet he added his note to increase the clamour.

The noise did not fail to reach the ears of the party in the meadow, who came quickly up to the barley-field. Mr. Richmond jumped over the stile, and drove the geese away with his stick, and they retired hissing and screaming to a little distance, while Lewis, with tears in his eyes, ran to his mother, and related the bad behaviour of the turkies and geese; declaring at the same time that he wished his uncle would not keep such ill-tempered creatures, for he hated them all.

"And yet, Lewis does not dislike roasted goose for dinner," said his father, "and I have seen him eat turkey at Christmas."

"Yes; but roasted geese never _hurt_ me," said Lewis, rubbing his leg.

"Will you go back, and wait till your leg is better?" said Mrs. Dormer.

"Do, dear Lewis," said his cousin Kate; "and I will stay with you, and we can look at the pictures in the great parlour."

But Lewis, who did not relish the thoughts of returning to the house at all, thanked his cousin, and said his leg was getting better; indeed, he was in a few minutes the foremost in a race that William and Mary were engaged in, and scampered along as if nothing had happened.

They soon reached the harvest-field, where the men were busily employed in loading and carrying the wheat. Here every thing was alive and bustling: the men all looked cheerful and gay; some whistled or sung as they worked, and others talked of the pleasures to be enjoyed at the expected harvest-home supper.

"Here is our good master coming, my boys," cried the men on the loaded waggon to those below.

"Well, my lads," said Mr. Richmond, as he drew near, "when am I to prepare this harvest-supper for you?"

"We expect, Sir, to bring home the last load to-morrow afternoon," said the head man, respectfully taking off his hat to his master.

In that part of the field which was cleared the wives and children of the labourers were permitted to begin gleaning. The children soon ran off to observe the gleaners at work; and Mary and Kate began gathering up the ears of corn, and presenting to those who appeared feeble, and not able to work so hard as the others.

"God bless your pretty faces, my little dears," said a poor old woman, to whom Mary and Kate had given a large handful of corn.

Lewis, hearing the benedictions which were so liberally bestowed on the girls, and determining not to be out-done in generosity, began to present large handfuls of the corn, which he pulled out of the standing sheaves, to the women and children; when, just as Lewis began to fill the lap of a little girl, his uncle touched him on the shoulder. "Aha! my little man, if you are so bountiful I shall soon lose half the profits of my fields."

Lewis was quite in a fright, for he thought his uncle would be very angry: indeed he had never recollected that the wheat was none of his to give away; so he looked very penitent, and begged his uncle's pardon.

His uncle readily forgave him; but reminded him that when he next intended to be generous, at another person's expense, he must first ask permission.

Shortly after Mr. Richmond told them he was going to quit the field, as they should have dinner very soon.

----

The next day presented a scene of bustle and activity; every body was busy, and every countenance beamed with joy--it was Harvest Home--and there was not an individual on the farm but what partook of the general rejoicing that the master's corn was got safely in.

The great oaken table was placed in the middle of the hall, and benches and forms were brought to accommodate the guests. The hall itself was decked with green boughs, and a sheaf of wheat was suspended over the table. A barrel of ale was tapped, and a noble batch of harvest cakes baked; and the gardener brought in a great basket full of apples and plums, to entertain the good folks after supper.

Mary and Kate were highly interested in the preparations for the approaching festival. Mrs. Harrison, taking each of the little girls by the hand, went from place to place, giving orders to the maids, and seeing that her commands were executed; she then proceeded to make the plum-puddings and apple-pies, Mary and Kate seating themselves by her side and attentively looking on.

Presently the butcher knocked at the kitchen door, and Mary's admiration was excited on seeing the enormous pieces of beef and suet which he took out of his basket.

"Mrs. Harrison," she exclaimed, "how is all that meat to be eaten?"

"I warrant you, my dear, there will not be a vast deal too much."

And in a few minutes a great fire was made, the plum-puddings were put into the copper, and two great pieces of beef laid down to roast.

Towards the evening Mrs. Harrison put on her green lute-string gown (which was never worn but on great occasions), her very best cap, and worked-muslin apron, and the maid-servants decked themselves out in their holiday-gowns.

A shout of "The last load! huzzah! here comes the last load!" brought the children to the window. They saw the last load of wheat coming home, crowned with green boughs, and followed by men, women and children, some before and some behind, shouting joyfully as they advanced.

The little Dormers were in as high spirits as any of them; and William and Lewis rushed out to see it unloaded.

Mrs. Harrison hurried forwards with a large basket full of harvest cakes, just hot from the oven, followed by one of the maids with a stone pitcher of ale, to regale the harvest-men as soon as the waggon was unloaded. The men with their wives and children then went home to dress.

At length the supper hour arrived, and the pieces of beef which struck Mary with such astonishment were placed on the table, and two great plum-puddings at the head, and two at the foot, and a great apple-pie in the middle; a large piece of bread and a mug of ale were also placed to every plate. All had been arranged in the nicest order by Mrs. Harrison, who now took the head of the table.

Mr. Richmond walked through the hall with the children, to see that every thing was right, and that the people were comfortable. All the farming men were there, with their wives and children, who looked the pictures of health and joy: they were all standing round the table. When Mr. Richmond entered, the men bowed, the women curtsied, and the children followed the example of their parents.

"Is every thing ready, Mrs. Harrison?" asked Mr. Richmond.

"Yes, Sir; every thing," was the reply.

"Then say grace, and begin your supper," rejoined he.

Grace was accordingly said, and the company having taken their seats, Mrs. Harrison began carving. When Mr. Richmond had seen them all helped, he wished them a good appetite, and (that they might enjoy themselves without restraint) withdrew with his delighted little visitors.

Nor had the guests been forgotten; for when the children entered the dining parlour they found an excellent supper laid out for them.

And now the cloth being removed, Mr. Richmond once more entered the hall, and threw open the folding doors, that the children might see the people.

"Well, my good friends, how do you come on?" asked Mr. Richmond.

"God bless your honour, bravely," replied many voices at once, and again the head man rose and said grace, the cloth was taken away, and the fruit and pitchers of ale put on the table; a horn full of beer was then given to each. In a moment men, women and children burst into the chorus-song of "Here's a health to our good master, the founder of the feast." Certainly their voices were not very harmonious, and the words were rather homely, the song having been used by their fathers before them for many generations: but the children listened to it with great pleasure; they afterwards heard their own healths given, one by one; and Lewis seemed to think himself a person of great consequence when he was toasted in turn.

They staid up long after their usual time, and then retired to bed, greatly pleased at the scene they had beheld.

----

In a day or two after the jovial harvest-home Mr. and Mrs. Dormer took leave of their good brother and his family. The tears stood in Kate's eyes as she viewed the approach of the post-chaise which was to take her aunt away. "And now," she said, "I shall lose you. Oh, how often I shall think of your nice stories, and how happy I have been with my cousins, when I am at school at Guilford."

Mrs. Dormer stooped down and kissed away her tears, which now began to fall very fast. "Do not grieve, my dear Kate, for these happy times will soon come again, for your father has promised that you shall spend next Christmas with me, and I have other stories which you shall hear then; and I hope my little Kate will spend her Christmas holidays as pleasantly as she has the Midsummer." Kate wiped away her tears at hearing this joyful news, and summoned fortitude to bid her cousins good-bye, though it required all Mrs. Harrison's kindness to comfort her, when she could no longer see the carriage that bore them away.

The intervening months passed rapidly away; the long anticipated vacation arrived, and the little Dormers were once more gratified with the company and conversation of their cousin Kate. A thousand little occurrences were remembered and related with mutual satisfaction; and amidst all the festivities attendant on the season of Christmas, the intellectual enjoyment of hearing more tales was eagerly anticipated by the children. The very first evening after Kate's arrival, therefore, Mrs. Dormer was reminded of her kind promise: and as she was at all times willing to gratify her beloved family, she desired the young folks to form themselves into a comfortable circle round the fire whilst she related the story of

THE PRIMROSE GIRL,

OR, LITTLE EMMA'S BIRTH-DAY.

It was a beautiful morning in the month of April, when Mr. and Mrs. Selwhyn arose somewhat earlier than their usual hour, on account of some expected visitors who had been invited on that day to Heathwood Park, for the purpose of celebrating the birth-day of little Emma, who, being an only child, was made a great pet of, and who had now completed her ninth year. She was, indeed, a most promising little creature of her age: but why was she so?--because she was good, and kind, obedient to her parents, and attentive to all the instructions of her teachers: therefore she might truly be called promising; because, my young readers, if children do well at this early age, they promise to do better when they grow older; and thus was Miss Emma Selwhyn at nine years of age considered a very promising young lady by all her numerous friends and acquaintance. It is no wonder, therefore, that her birth-day was commemorated with peculiar pleasure by her fond parents, because they hoped with the increase of years she would also increase in learning, humility, and virtue.

With this pleasing anticipation, Mrs. Selwhyn requested her husband to favour her with half an hour's conversation, as they walked towards the summer-house in the garden, which breathed the delicious fragrance of the opening flowers!

"I have been thinking, my love," said Mrs. Selwhyn, "if you have no objection, of trying a little stratagem with Emma. As it is her birth-day, I should wish to know whether thankfulness for her own blessings would induce her to perform any act of kindness towards others on this particular day, that she may with more pleasure remember it on the next."

"With all my heart," rejoined Mr. Selwhyn. "Let us try the experiment, by presenting her, instead of personal ornaments as formerly, with a purse of money, and we shall then see what she will do with it."

"I shall be much disappointed if she does not make use of it in the way I should wish," said Mrs. Selwhyn, drawing out of her pocket a neat red morocco purse, containing two half-crown pieces, to which Mr. Selwhyn added two more, making in the whole, the sum of ten shillings. Now this was certainly a very large sum for a little girl of Emma's age to be trusted with: for some children spend their money very foolishly, and throw it away on mere trifles. However, we shall see what use Emma will make of it, and I hope it will be a good one; for money is of little or no value, unless it be appropriated to good purposes.

"Now," said Mr. Selwhyn, "we will return; as by this time, I dare say, Emma is ready for her breakfast, and will no doubt be delighted with the unexpected present we are going to make her."

"Oh, you cannot think," cried Mrs. Selwhyn, "how careful she is of her money! I gave her two new shillings, and I should not be at all surprised if she has one of them laid by."

Mrs. Selwhyn now stopped a few moments, intending to gather some flowers, but suddenly directing her attention towards the summer-house, she perceived her amiable daughter in close conversation with a poor little girl, who, though almost clothed in rags, was yet very clean and modest in her appearance. She had no bonnet on her head, but a large basket, plentifully supplied with bunches of primroses; and though she had a smiling countenance, full of good-humour and sweetness, yet her rosy cheeks were wet with tears, which she brushed away with hands that were sun-burnt, but not dirty.

"Poor little girl!" cried Emma, "I am very sorry for you, indeed; and I am sure, if my mamma were here, she would let me buy a great many of your primroses. I would buy all you have got in your basket if I could afford it." With these words Emma, taking a bundle of primroses out of the basket gave the little girl a penny, exclaiming, "how sorry I am that I have no more than this penny; but if I had, you should be welcome to it, indeed you should."

"Bless you, Miss," cried the primrose girl; "it is more than anybody else has given me; and God will love you, because you are not proud, and are not ashamed of speaking to a poor girl like me!"

"Oh dear, I should be very wicked if I were ashamed of speaking to poor people," said Emma. "Papa and mamma would be much displeased with me; and they are so kind, that I should be sorry to do any thing to excite their displeasure."

The primrose girl now placed her basket on her head, and putting her penny into one corner of it, sighed mournfully as she bade Emma adieu, saying she would buy a penny roll, and carry it home to her sick mother.

"Oh dear," cried Emma, "if you have got a sick mother, I am sure my mamma would do something for her, for she is very kind to every body that is ill. Where do you live, little girl? pray tell me, and I will come and see you, if mamma pleases, and bring you something. I have got a nice basket, which will hold a great deal, you cannot think how much! This is my birth-day, and what do you think I will do? I will save all my plum-cake, and you shall have it for your sick mother, indeed you shall."

The primrose girl dropt a low curtsey, and informing her young benefactress that her mother lived by the side of the old barn in the forest, she tripped away in pursuit of more customers, and with a joyful heart, that she had already got one penny towards the homely meal which awaited her when the labours of the day should be over; while little Emma awaited a very different scene in the splendid breakfast parlour in the family mansion of Heathwood Park. Scarcely, however, could the transports of Mr. and Mrs. Selwhyn be concealed in the presence of their beloved child, the discovery of whose benevolent disposition towards the poor primrose girl had rendered her doubly dear to them.

"Well," cried Mrs. Selwhyn, "what do you think of Emma now?"

"Think!" exclaimed Mr. Selwhyn, "why I am of opinion that the red morocco purse cannot be better bestowed than on one who knows so well how to make a proper use of it. Here she comes, with cheeks as fresh as the blooming rose! But pray do not say a word of the primrose girl."

Emma now came into the room, and paid her respects to her papa and mamma, who kissing her ruby lips, reminded her that it was her birth-day.

"You are nine years old to-day, Emma," said Mrs. Selwhyn.

"Yes, mamma; and nine more will make eighteen, and I shall be a great woman, if I live till then; and my apple-tree, that papa said he planted the day I was born, will be a great tree, with plenty of apples on it; and you know, as it is mine, I may, when I am grown a woman, do what I like with it."

"Oh, certainly," exclaimed Mr. Selwhyn; "but pray, Emma, in that case, what would you do with it? I should like to know."

"Why, papa, I would gather all the apples I could find on it and make them all into apple-dumplings, for poor little girls who had sick mothers, and could not afford to buy any."

Mrs. Selwhyn could no longer refrain from pressing her darling girl to her maternal bosom, for at this moment a mother's heart was quite full; while Mr. Selwhyn, equally delighted, affectionately kissed his beloved daughter.

"Mrs. Selwhyn," said he, "I believe it is high time to produce the red morocco purse; it is really growing quite troublesome in my pocket."

"Then suppose you give it without further delay," rejoined Mrs. Selwhyn.

"Emma, your papa is going to present you with a birth-day gift; a little red morocco purse."

"With money in it?" inquired Emma.

"Yes, my love: a purse is of little use without there is money it."

Emma was silent, but her blushing cheeks and sparkling eyes evinced the secret pleasure which this intelligence conveyed.

Mr. Selwhyn, while presenting his daughter with her birth-day gift, said, "now Emma, place this carefully in your pocket; and though you need not now examine its contents, remember they are entirely your own, and you are at liberty to make use of them agreeable to your own inclinations."

"What, papa, may I do what I like with the money?" inquired Emma, regarding the purse with a wishful eye, while she deposited it carefully in her pocket.

"I have given it you for that purpose," answered her fond parent; "only remember, that if you live till next birth-day, you must inform me in what manner you disposed of it." Mr. Selwhyn then retired to his study, and his good lady was left alone with her daughter.

"I will spare you from your studies, this morning, my dear Emma," said Mrs. Selwhyn, "for we have company to dinner, because it is your birth-day. But look! as I live, here is Susannah, your old nurse, hobbling over the stile. She is coming, I suppose, to wish you many happy returns of this day. She was a kind nurse to you, Emma, when you was a helpless little baby, and could not take care of yourself; so I will leave you to make her as welcome as you please, while I attend to my domestic concerns."

Susannah had by this time arrived at the garden-gate, and Emma with a joyful countenance came out to meet her.

"How kind it is of you, dear Susannah," cried she, "to come and see me on my birth-day! But you have walked a great way, and must be extremely fatigued; pray sit down, and rest yourself."

Susannah seated herself in the first chair she could find, for she was very aged and infirm; and when Emma had taken off her cloak, and laid aside her walking-stick, she thus addressed her:

"There, Susannah, now you are seated, and may take as much rest as you please, and I will wait on you, and bring you any thing you may want: for mamma told me you was a kind nurse to me, when I was a little baby and could not help myself, so now I have got strength, I will help you, Susannah. Indeed, I should be very naughty if I did not. Will you take any refreshment after your walk? Suppose I fetch you some nice cake, and a little cream?"

"Heaven preserve and bless you, my darling!" cried Susannah; "there is no occasion for that: I see you, and I am happy; but I could not rest without coming to bless you on your birth-day! You was a tender lamb, and you are a tender lamb now. Heaven spare you to see many such days! But I shall never live to see them--I am growing old and feeble."

"Ah! but, Susannah, you do not know what I have got for you!" said Emma, throwing her arms affectionately round Susannah's neck, while she slyly drew from her pocket the red morocco purse. "Do you know, papa has given me this pretty purse full of money, and says, because it is my birth-day, I may do whatever I like with it. Let us see how much money there is in it." The delighted Emma now threw the whole contents on the table, exclaiming, "there, Susannah, four half-crown pieces, I declare! Only think what a kind papa I have got, and what a deal of money he has given me! Now, Susannah, I will give you two of these pieces, because you are my nurse, and the other two I will keep for somebody. Oh dear, what a charming thing it is to have plenty of money, to do whatever one likes with! I am so happy you cannot think, because I know somebody I am going to see, who will be quite happy too! It is a great pleasure to make other people happy, when we can do it so pleasantly, is it not, Susannah?"

"My dear child," rejoined Susannah, "I cannot accept of your kindness without the consent of your parents;" and with this remark she returned the money, much to the mortification of Emma; who, however, after many entreaties, at last prevailed on her visitor to put the two half-crowns into her pocket.

The maid now came in, to tell Emma that her mamma desired she would go and be dressed, and with an invitation to old Susannah that she would go into the housekeeper's room, where she would be made quite comfortable. Emma accordingly left Susannah, with a fresh kiss, and a fresh blessing from the affectionate nurse.

On being afterwards introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Selwhyn, from whom, on that day, she always received her accustomed present of a new gown and a guinea, Susannah pulled out the two half-crowns which Emma had given her, and while she dwelt with artless simplicity on the kindness and generosity of the young donor, she declared she could not receive her gift without consulting them on the occasion.

Mr. and Mrs. Selwhyn exchanged looks of evident satisfaction.

"The red morocco purse will not disgrace its owner," said Mr. Selwhyn. "You must certainly accept of Emma's present; so put the two half-crowns into your pocket, for the money was given to her with an intimation that she might use it in any manner she liked best; and I am very well satisfied that she knows so well how to appreciate its value."

Before we proceed further, permit me to ask my young readers if it was not very praiseworthy and amiable in Emma, to present her poor old nurse with this mark of her bounty and affection? I am sure you will agree with me; and if you have had a poor old nurse who has taken care of you in your infancy, I have no doubt but you will be happy to imitate the example of Miss Emma Selwhyn.