Johnny scrambled1 to his feet in a moment, to the full as eager as herself. Polly held his fat little hand tight within her own, and began running as fast as she could drag him along. But the poor child’s round heavy figure and short steps were altogether unsuited for anything like a race. Polly felt him as a dead weight hanging to her arm. In vain she pulled, dragged, and jerked, now began to encourage, and now to scold; poor Johnny became tired, frightened, and out of breath, and at last fairly tumbled upon his face.
“Get up—I’m in such a hurry!”—no answer but a roar. “Stupid child! he’ll be gone!”—Johnny bellowed2 louder than before. “There, I’ll leave you on the road, you[90] great tiresome3 boy; you have half pulled out my arm with dragging you on. I’ll leave you there, and silly Sally may get you.”
Then, without heeding4 the poor little child’s cries and entreaties5 that she would stop, as he lay on the ground, half suffocated6 with sobs7, Polly Bright, thinking only of the prize which her vanity made her so much desire, hastened after the pedlar.
POOR SALLY.
Silly Sally, who has been twice mentioned in my tale, was a poor idiot-woman who lived with some kind neighbours on a common about two miles from the village. She was perfectly8 harmless, and therefore allowed to go about with freedom wherever she chose; but the terrible misfortune, alas9! exposed her to the scorn and sometimes even persecution10 of wicked children, who made the worst use of the senses left them, by tormenting11 one already so much afflicted12. Poor Sally used to wander about the lanes, uttering her unmeaning sound. Perhaps[91] even she had some pleasure in life, when the sun shone brightly and the flowers were out, for she would gather the wild roses from the bank, or the scarlet13 poppies from the field, and weave them into garlands for her head. Nothing pleased her more than when she found a long feather to add to her gaudy14 wreath. If the poor witless creature[92] had delight in making herself gay, Polly at least had no right to laugh at her.
Timid and easily frightened, the idiot felt a nervous terror for schoolboys, for which they had given her but too much cause. She had been hooted15 at, even pelted16 with mud, pursued with laughter like a hunted beast. Twice had Minnie to interfere17 with her brother, pleading even with tears for one so helpless and unhappy. If there be anything more brutal18 and hateful than cruelty to a harmless animal, it is heartless barbarity to a defenceless idiot—to one who bears our image, is descended19 from our race, and whose only crime is the being most unfortunate. Deal gently, dear children, with the poor senseless idiot; we trust that there is a place in heaven even for him. The powers denied him in this world may be granted in the next; and in a brighter realm, although never here below, he may be found at his Lord’s feet, clothed and in his right mind.
On hastened the little girl, breathless and[93] panting. At the place where the roads joined she looked anxiously up the highway, to see if she had not been mistaken in her distant view of the traveller. No; there was the pedlar, pack and all, and no mistake, but walking more briskly than might have been expected from his burden and the warmth of the afternoon. His pack must have been much lightened since he first set out with it.
Polly called out; but he either did not hear, or did not attend. The wind was blowing the dust in her face, she was tired with her vain attempts to drag poor Johnny, her shoes were down at heel and hindered her running; for it by no means follows that those who wish to be fine care to be tidy also. But the brooch of false diamonds—the coveted20 brooch—the thought of that urged her on to still greater efforts; even the remembrance of her swelled21 nose was lost in the hope of possessing such a beautiful ornament22. Polly, as she shuffled23 hastily[94] along, saw more than one person meet the pedlar. If they would but stop him—if only for one minute—to give her time to get up with him at last. No one stopped him—how fast he seemed to walk! Polly’s face was flushed and heated, her hair hung about her ears—would that we were as eager and persevering24 in the pursuit of what really is precious, as the girl was in that of a worthless toy!
At last her gasped-out “Stop!” reached the ear of the pedlar. He paused and turned round, and in a few minutes more his pack was opened to the admiring eyes of Polly. Ah, how she coveted this thing and that! how she wished that her six pennies were shillings instead! A cherry-coloured neckerchief, a pink silk lace, a large steel pin, and a jewelled ring,—how they took her fancy, and made her feel how difficult it is to decide when surrounded by many things alike tempting25!
But at last the wonderful brooch of false[95] diamonds was produced. There was only one left in the pedlar’s stock. How fortunate did Polly think it that it also had not been sold! Neckerchief, lace, pin, or ring was nothing compared to this. She tried it on, had some doubts of the strength of the pin, tried in vain to obtain a lessening26 of the price. It ended in the girl’s placing all her pence in the hand of the pedlar, and carrying home her prize with delight. She had had her wish. Her vanity was gratified—the brooch was her own; but to possess is not always to enjoy.
[96]
POLLY AND THE PEDLAR.
[97]Polly returned to her cottage with much slower steps; she was heated, and tired, and perhaps a little conscious that she had not been faithful to her trust. As she came near her home she quickened her pace, for to her surprise she heard voices within, and voices whose tones told of anxiety and fear. These were the words which struck her ear, and made her pause ere she ventured to enter,—
[98]“What a mercy it is that I returned for the basket that I had forgotten! If I had not, what would have become of my poor babe!” exclaimed Mrs. Bright in much agitation27.
“I can’t understand how it happened,” replied another voice, which Polly knew to be that of Mrs. Wingfield.
“You may well say that,” said the mother. Polly could hear that she was rocking her chair backwards28 and forwards, as she sometimes did when hushing the sick child to sleep. “I left Polly in charge of the children: I came back to find her gone, and my poor, poor baby in a fit.”
Polly turned cold, and trembled so that she could hardly stand.
“Is there no one who could go for a doctor?” continued the agitated29 mother; “another fit may come on—I would give the world to see him!”
“I am so feeble,” replied Mrs. Wingfield, “that I am afraid—”
[99]“Take the baby, then, and I’ll go myself; not a moment is to be lost.”
“No, no; there’s my boy Tom,” cried Mrs. Wingfield, as she saw her son run hastily into her little cottage, which was just opposite to Mrs. Bright’s.
“Oh, send him, in mercy send him!” cried the mother; and her neighbour instantly crossed over to fulfil her wishes, passing Polly as she did so, and looking at her with mingled30 surprise and scorn, though in too much haste to address her.
“My boy, my own darling!” murmured the anxious mother, pressing her sick child to her bosom31, “what will your father say when he hears of this?” Except her low, sad voice, the cottage was so still that the very silence was terrible to Polly; it would have been a relief to have heard the feeble, fretful wail32 which had made her feel impatient so often.
With pale, anxious face and noiseless step, dreading33 to meet her mother’s eye, the[100] unhappy girl stole into the cottage. There sat Mrs. Bright, her bonnet34 thrown back from her head, her hair hanging loose, her gaze fixed35 upon the child in her arms; whilst the poor little babe, with livid waxen features and half-closed eyes, lay so quiet, and looked so terribly ill, that but for his hard breathing his sister would have feared that his life had indeed passed away.
Mrs. Bright raised her head as Polly entered, and regarded her with a look whose expression of deep grief was even more terrible than anger. She asked no question; perhaps the misery36 in which she saw the poor girl made her unwilling37 to add to her suffering by reproach; or perhaps, and this was Polly’s own bitter thought, she considered her unworthy of a word. Whatever was the cause, no conversation passed between them, except a few short directions from the mother about things connected with the comfort of the baby, as poor Polly,[101] with an almost bursting heart, tried to do anything and everything for him.
POLLY IN DISGRACE.
In the meantime Tom had gone for the doctor, though with an unwillingness38 and desire to delay which had made his mother both surprised and indignant.
“He should go by the fields,” he said,[102] though he well knew that to be the longest way; and he would have done so, had not Mrs. Wingfield roused herself to such anger, that even her rude and undutiful son did not dare to disobey her.
The doctor came in about an hour, Tom having happily found him at home, and, with an anxiety which those who have attended beloved ones in the hour of sickness only can tell, Mrs. Bright and Polly listened for his opinion of the case. The doctor examined the child, and asked questions concerning his illness: “How long had the fit lasted?” There was a most painful pause. Mrs. Bright looked at her daughter. Polly could not utter a word; it was not till the question was repeated that the distressing39 reply, “No one knows,” was given.
“Very well—that’s to say—I don’t exactly—he was—I think—”
[103]“There has been gross negligence42 here,” said the doctor sternly; “gross negligence,” he repeated, “and it may cost the child his life.”
Polly could only clasp her hands in anguish43; but the mother exclaimed, “Oh, sir, is there no hope for my boy?”
“While there is life there is hope,” replied the doctor in a more kindly44 tone; “he must be bled at once. Have you a basin here?” he added, taking a small instrument-case from his pocket.
Polly was at all times timid and nervous, and quite unaccustomed to self-command, and now, when she would have given worlds to have been useful, her hand shook so violently, her feelings so overcame her, that there was no chance of her doing anything but harm.
“Give the basin to me, dear,” said a gentle voice behind her; Minnie Wingfield had just entered the cottage. “You look so ill, you must not be present. Go up-stairs, Polly; I will help your mother.”
“Go and pray,” whispered Minnie as she glided46 from her side; and Polly, trembling and weeping, slowly went up the narrow wooden staircase, and entering her little chamber47, sank down upon her knees.
“Oh, spare him, only spare him, my darling little brother!” she could at first utter no other words. She had never loved the baby as she did now, when she feared that she might be about to lose him, and bitterly she lamented48 her own impatient temper that had made her weary of the duty of tending him. Oh, that we would so act towards our relations, that if death should remove any one from our home, our grief should not be embittered49 by the thought, “I was no comfort or blessing50 to him while he was here, and now the opportunity of being so is gone for ever!”
But the most terrible thought to Polly was, that the baby’s danger might be partly[105] owing to her neglect. Should he die—should the little darling be taken away—could her mother ever forgive her? As Polly sobbed51 in an agony of grief, something fell from her bosom upon the floor; she started at the sight of her forgotten brooch, that which she had coveted so much, that which had cost her so dear. Snatching it up, and springing to her feet, with a sudden impulse she ran to the window, and flung it far out into the lane. Then once more falling on her knees, again she prayed, but more calmly, and she implored52 not only that the baby might live, but that her own weak, vain heart might be cleansed53, that she might henceforth live not only for herself, but do her duty as a faithful servant of God. She rose somewhat comforted, and creeping down-stairs, listened ere she ventured to enter the little parlour.
“I hope that he may do well now. I shall send something for him to-night. Keep him quiet. I shall call here to-morrow.” These[106] were the doctor’s parting words, and they were a great relief to Polly. She came in softly, and bent54 down by the baby, now laid again in his little cradle, and looking white as the sheet that was over him; she would have kissed his thin, pale face, but she feared to disturb the poor child. Her heart was full of mingled sorrow and love; she felt as though she could never bear to leave him again.
“Thank you, Minnie, my girl,” said Mrs. Bright earnestly; “you have been a real comfort to me in my time of need. Your mother is a happy woman to have such a child.”
“Can I do anything else for you now?” said Minnie; “if you would allow me to sit up instead of you to-night?”
“No, no; I could not close an eye. But I should be glad if you would bring Johnny home, my dear; it is near his bed-time, and I do not think that he will disturb the baby.”
[107]“I will bring him with pleasure; where is he?” said Minnie.
“Where is he?” repeated Mrs. Bright; “is he not at your home?”
“No; he has not been there all day.” Polly started as if she had been stabbed.
“Then where is he?” cried Mrs. Bright, looking anxiously round. “Is he up-stairs, Polly?” The miserable girl shook her head. Her fears for the baby had made her quite forget her little brother, and it now flashed across her mind that she had not passed him in the lane, when she had retraced55 her steps to the cottage. Where could he have gone, where could he be now?
Mrs. Bright had endured much, but her cup seemed now to overflow56. She walked close up to Polly, laid a heavy grasp upon her shoulder, and said, in a tone which the girl remembered to her dying day, “When was your brother last with you?”
[108]“And where did you leave him?”
“In the lane, near the high-road.”
“Go and find him,” said the mother, between her clenched58 teeth, “or never let me set eyes on you again!”
Polly rushed out of the cottage, and began her anxious search up and down the lane, by the hedge, in the ditch, along the road, asking every person that she met, and from every one receiving the same disheartening answer. No one had seen the boy, no one could think what had become of him. He was too young to have wandered far; had he run towards the road, he must have been met by Polly—if the other way, he must have been seen by his mother; he could not have got over the hedge; there was no possibility of his having lost his way. Many neighbours joined in the search; many pitied the unhappy mother, but she was less to be pitied than Polly.
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1
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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2
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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3
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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4
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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6
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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7
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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8
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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9
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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10
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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11
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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12
afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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14
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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15
hooted
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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17
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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18
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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19
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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20
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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21
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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22
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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23
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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24
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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25
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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26
lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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27
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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28
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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29
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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30
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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31
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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32
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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33
dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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34
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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35
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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36
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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37
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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38
unwillingness
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| n. 不愿意，不情愿 | |
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39
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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40
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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41
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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42
negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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43
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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44
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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45
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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46
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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47
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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48
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
embittered
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| v.使怨恨，激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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51
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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52
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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55
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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56
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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57
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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58
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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