The Travels and Extraordinary Adventures of Bob the Squirrel
Part 2
“Master Reynard, the fox, was sadly disappointed at thus losing his dinner, and ran along underneath them several rods, in the hope that the raven would find the load too much, and let poor Bob down again, to be welcomed by his foxship’s fine rows of sharp teeth.
“But there was no such good luck that day for the fox. The squirrel, weak, and famished, and unresisting, was an easy burthen for the raven. Away she flew, over mountain and valley, and rock and field, making herself quite happy, in the expectation of the fine treat the squirrel would afford her young ones. There is, however, many a slip betwixt cup and lip.
“An eagle, who had watched the whole affair, thought he would have a word in the matter. The King of Birds determined to seize both the captor and captive; so, sweeping along, he gave the raven a furious blow, but missed half his prize. The raven let poor Bob go, and down he went, down, down, down. Happily, the eagle left off hunting the squirrel, to pursue the raven.”
“What was Bob thinking of, when he was falling?” asked Frank.
“I declare! What a child!” cried Mary. “As if any body could think, when he was falling!”
“But they can, though, Miss Mary,” said Frank, “and I know it!”
“How?” asked his father.
“Why, when I was falling from the loft—”
“Where the fox-hounds had chased you?” asked Mrs. Goodman.
Frank blushed as he answered “Yes, mother.” And then he added, “I thought a thousand years in one minute!”
Father and mother, and Mary, and even Frank, had a hearty laugh, and then Mr. Goodman went on with the story.
“Fortunately for Bob—or, I ought to say, providentially, for Providence takes care even of the naughty, and gives them a chance to try again, when they are really sorry, and mean to do better—providentially for the squirrel, he fell into a thick tree, where he lodged, and the leaves and branches concealed him from his cruel enemy. He was torn, and bloody, and weak, and could only use one fore paw, for the other was broken.”
“Ho!” shouted little Frank, “Now I say you ar’n’t fair!—You said you wouldn’t tell _my_ story!”
“But you are not a squirrel, Frank,” said his mother, laughing. “Besides, I did not hear your father make any such promise.”
“Well,” said Frank, a little puzzled, “he looked the promise.”
“You are a physiognomist, Frank,” said his father, smiling.
“No, sir, I am sure I am not,” said Frank; “but, what kind of a person is a phys—say it again, father! I know I can’t be one, because I can’t tell what it means.”
“It is one who reads faces, Frank; and children and dogs are the best in the world.”
“Oh, let’s have the rest of the story, father,” said little Mary.
“Well,” the father resumed, “Bob fell asleep with fatigue, and the stunning effect of the fall. When he opened his eyes, what was his joy to find himself in his own little bed. His father was near him, and his mother, who was glad to get her little bad child back, sat at the foot of the bed, with her hands to her eyes, crying.
“They had so much pity for him, that they did not speak one word of reproof, because they thought he had suffered enough. The doctor came, and hurt him more in setting his arm—”
“_Arm_, father?” said Frank.
“_Paw_, I mean. The doctor hurt Bob more than he hurt himself in falling; but he behaved like a little hero, and promised never, never, never to run away any more!”
“Did he keep the promise?” asked little Mary.
“We don’t know,” answered her mother, “but have got to see, yet.”
“There! there!” said Frank, “I knew it would turn out to be me! Didn’t I run away, and take John Dory’s boat?”
“And get upset,” said his sister.
“And swim to land, like a good fellow,” said Frank.
“And beg a lodging and supper, half-drowned and half-starved, of old black Jane,” added Mary.
“And get chased by Squire Jones’s dogs,” said Frank.
“Up into the hay-loft,” added Mary.
“And fall and break my arm,” said Frank, with a look at his now useless limb in the handkerchief.
“Yes, my poor boy,” said his father, drawing Frank between his knees, and parting the hair affectionately over his forehead. “All these mishaps certainly befell you, in consequence of your playing truant.
“I read this little story I have been telling you, a great many years ago, when I was a little boy, as you are now. When I began to-night, I was going to tell it as I read it, as near as I could recollect; but it seemed to make so much amusement for you all, that I altered it a little as I went along.
“You have suffered severely for disobedience; but you must thank your Father in Heaven for preserving your life, and for giving you a lesson in your youth, which you will never forget, I hope, let you live as long as you may.”
And now, having heard the father’s story, and the children’s comments, let us hope that the lesson will not be lost upon any of our little readers. Children look only to present amusement, being unable, even if they desired so to do, to understand causes, or to predict consequences. They may always feel sure that what their parents enjoin, is the result of knowledge and experience; and they are in duty bound to have so much confidence in those who have them in charge, as to obey without hesitation and without doubt.
The story of Robert the Squirrel is what is called a FABLE; and it relates things which could not be true of a squirrel, but which may be true of little boys and girls.
The _instinct_ of the young squirrel leads him to do what is best without so much instruction from his parents as little boys and girls need; but our _reason_, while it shows us how to do right, is apt often to invent excuses for us when we do wrong.
As children live longer, they discover every day the cause of prohibitions and directions which they could not understand when they were given. There are many things of which the best of us have to be ashamed as we grow older; but among these, obedience and kindness to parents never are found.
THE END.
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AUTHOR’S PREFACE.—In writing the following pages, my most earnest desire has been to awaken in the hearts of little children, kindly and affectionate feelings towards each other, submission and loving confidence towards their parents, and reverence and love towards God. This I have attempted in describing scenes and objects, most of which must be familiar to every child. The language I have used is the easiest I could command, so that a child of three years old may understand it.
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CHILDE HAROLD, undoubtedly the greatest poem of its noble author, will exist as an imperishable monument of his genius, and be admired as long as there remains a love of the true and beautiful in poetry. Had it been the only poem that Byron ever wrote, he would still have ranked amongst the first of English poets.
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