Young Folks Treasury Volume 3 (of 12), Hamilton Wright Mabie [best free ereader .txt] 📗

said you did not like the tune she liked best, she was not angry with you, but said, 'Then play William's first, if you please.' Was not that good-tempered?"

"Oh, yes," said William, "it's all true; but how did you find out she was fond of me?"

"That is such a hard question," said the harper, "that I must take time to think."

He tuned his harp, as he thought, or seemed to think, and at this instant two boys, who had been searching for birds' nests in the hedges and who had heard the sound of the harp, came blustering up, and pushing their way through the circle, one of them exclaimed, "What's going on here? Who are you, my old fellow? A blind harper! Well, play us a tune, if you can play a good one-play-let's see, what shall he play, Bob?" added he, turning to his companion. "Play 'Bumper Squire Jones.'"

The old man, though he did not seem quite pleased with the way in which he was asked, played "Bumper Squire Jones." Several tunes were afterwards named by the same rough voice.

The little children shrunk back shyly, as they looked at the bold boy. He was the son of Attorney Case, and as his father had not cured his temper when he was a child, it became worse and worse as he grew up. All who were younger and weaker than himself were afraid of him and disliked him. When the old harper was so tired that he could play no more, a lad who usually carried his harp for him came up, and held his master's hat to those around, saying, "Will you please remember us?" The children readily gave their halfpence to this poor, good-natured man, who had taken so much pains to amuse them. It pleased them better even than to give them to the gingerbread-woman, whose stall they loved to visit. The hat was held to the Attorney's son before he chose to see it. At last he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a shilling. There was sixpenny-worth of halfpence in the hat. "I'll take these halfpence," said he, "and here's a shilling for you."

"God bless you, sir," said the lad; but as he took the shilling which the young gentleman had slyly put into the blind man's hand, he saw that it was not worth one farthing. "I am afraid It is not good, sir," said the lad, whose business it was to look at the money for his master.

"I am afraid, then, you'll get no other," said young Case, with a rude laugh.

"It never will do, sir, look at it yourself; the edges are all yellow. You can see the copper through it quite plain. Sir, nobody will take it from us."

"I have nothing to do with that," said the rude boy, pushing away his hand. "You may pass it, you know, as well as I do, if you look sharp. You have taken it from me, and I shan't take it back again, I can tell you."

A whisper of "that's very unjust," was heard.

"Who says it's unjust?" cried the Attorney's son sternly, looking down upon his judges.

"Is any one here among yourselves a judge of silver?" said the old man.

"Yes, here's the butcher's boy," said the Attorney's son; "show it to him."

He was a quiet, timid boy, and young Case fancied that he would be afraid to say what he thought. However, after turning the shilling round several times, the butcher's lad said that so far as he could tell, although he would not like to be quite sure of it, the coin was not a good one. Then, seeing the Attorney's son scowl angrily at him, he turned to Susan saying that she knew more than he did about money, as so much passed through her hands in payment of the bread she made.

"I'll leave it to her," said the old harper. "If she says the shilling is good, we will keep it."

The coin was then handed to Susan, who had not yet spoken, but now that she was called upon she did not shrink from telling the truth. In a gentle but firm tone she said, "I think the shilling is a bad one."

"There's another then," cried the Attorney's son; "I have plenty of shillings and sixpences. They are nothing to me." And he walked away.

The children now all started for their homes, and the old harper begged that Susan would show him the way to the village, if she were going there. The lad took up the harp and little William led the old man by the hand, while John ran on before to gather buttercups in the meadows. When they reached a little brook which they must cross by a narrow plank, Susan was afraid to leave the harper to the care of his little guide, so she herself took his hand and led him safely to the other side.

Soon they reached the road, and Susan told the boy who carried his master's harp that he could not now lose his way. She then said good-by to the harper, adding that she and her brothers must take the short path across the fields, which would not be so pleasant for him because of the stiles.

"I am afraid Miss Somers will be waiting," said Susan to to her brothers as they ran along together. "You know she said she would call at six o'clock, and I am sure by the length of our shadows that it is getting late."


VII

GOOD NEWS


When they came to their own cottage-door, they heard voices, and they saw, when they entered, two ladies standing in the kitchen.

"Come in, Susan," said Miss Somers, "I fancy you forgot that we promised to pay you a visit this evening; but you need not blush so much, there is no great harm done; we have only been here about five minutes and we have been admiring your neat garden and your tidy shelves. Is it you, Susan, who keeps these things in such nice order?" went on Miss Somers, looking round the kitchen.

Before Susan could reply, little William pushed forward and answered, "Yes, ma'am, it is my sister Susan that keeps everything neat; and she always comes to school for us too, which was what caused her to be so late."

"Because," went on John, "she would not refuse to let us hear a blind man play on the harp. It was we who kept her, and we hope, ma'am, as you seem so good, you won't take it amiss."

Miss Somers and her sister smiled as they listened to Susan's little brothers, but what they heard made them feel sure that Susan was indeed as kind a sister as the housekeeper had said.

When the ladies left the cottage, they took Susan with them through the village.

"I fancy we shall find what we want here," said Miss Somers, stopping before a shop-window where ribbons of all colors were displayed, and where lace collars, glass buttons and sheets of pins were laid out in order. They went in, and on the shelves behind the counter saw gay, neat linens and calicoes.

"Now, Susan, choose yourself a gown," said Miss Somers. "Because you are a busy girl and behave well, we wish others to see that such is the conduct we approve."

The shopkeeper was the father of Susan's friend, Rose. He stretched his arm to the highest shelf, then dived into drawers beneath the counter, sparing no pains to show the best goods to his customers.

Susan did not show the interest that might have been expected. She was thinking much of her lamb and more of her father. Miss Somers had put a bright guinea into her hand and told her to pay for her own gown. But Susan felt that this was a great deal of money to spend upon a frock for herself, and yet she did not know how to ask if she might keep it for a better purpose. Although Susan said nothing, Miss Somers read in her face that she was perplexed. "She does not like any of these things," whispered the lady to her sister.

"She seems to be thinking of something else," was the low reply.

"If you do not fancy any of these calicoes," said the shopkeeper to Susan, "we shall have a larger choice soon."

"Oh," answered Susan, with a smile, and a blush, "these are all too good for me, but-"

"But what, Susan?" asked Miss Somers. "Tell us what is passing in your little mind."

Susan said nothing.

"Well then, it does not matter. You do not know us very well yet. When you do, you will not, I am sure, be afraid to be frank. Put the guinea in your pocket and make what use of it you please. From what we know and from what we have heard of you, we are sure you will make a good use of it."

"I think, madam," said the shopkeeper, "I have a pretty good guess what will become of that guinea, but I say nothing."

"No, that is right," said Miss Somers; "we leave Susan to do just as she likes with it, and now we must not keep her any longer. Good night, Susan, we shall soon come again to your neat cottage."

Susan courtesied and looked gratefully at the ladies, but did not speak. She wished to say, "I cannot explain to you here, with people around, what I want to do with my guinea, but when you come to our cottage you shall know all."

After Susan had left, Miss Somers turned to the obliging shopkeeper who was folding up all the goods he had opened. "You have had a great deal of trouble," she said, "and as Susan will not choose a gown for herself, I must find one for her," and she chose the prettiest.

While the man rolled up the parcel, Miss Somers asked him many questions about Susan, and he was only too glad to be able to tell what he knew about the good girl.

"No later than last May morning," he said, "Susan acted as it will please you to hear. She was to have been Queen of the May, which among the children in our village is a thing a good deal thought of. But Susan's mother was ill, and Susan, after being up with her all night, would not go out in the morning, even when they brought the crown to her. She put it upon my daughter Rose's head with her own hands, and to be sure Rose loves her as well as if she were her own sister. If I praise Susan it is not that I am any relation of the Prices, but just that I wish her well, as does every one that knows her. I'll send the parcel up to the Abbey, shall I, ma'am?"

"If you please," said Miss Somers, "and as soon as your new goods come in, let us know. You will, I hope, find us good customers and well-wishers," she added, with a smile, "for those who wish others well surely deserve to have well-wishers themselves."

But to return to Susan. When she left the shop she carefully put the bright guinea into the purse with the twelve shillings her little friends had given her on Mayday. She next added, as far as she could remember them, the bills for bread that were owing to her, and found they came