sixpence:
EDCEWORTH
SIMPLE SUSAN.
Front.
SIMPLE SUSAN.
MARIA EDGEWORTH.
LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO.
FARRINGDON STREET.
SIMPLE SUSAN.
BY
MAEIA EDGE WORTH.
LONDON :
G". ROUTLEDGE & Co., FARRINGDON STREET.
NEW YORK : 18, BEEKMAN STREET.
1856.
SIMPLE SUSAN.
CHAPTER I.
Waked, as her custom -was, before the day,
To do the observance due to sprightly May.
Dryden.
In a retired hamlet on the borders of
Wales, between Oswestry and Shrewsbury,
it is still the custom to celebrate the 1st
of May.
The children of the village, who look
forward to this rural festival with joyful
eagerness, usually meet on the last day of
April to make up their nosegays for the
morning, and to choose their queen. Their
customary place of meeting is at a haw-
thorn, which stands in a little green nook,
open on one side to a shady lane, and sepa-
rated on the other side by a thick sweet-
brier and hawthorn hedge from the garden
of an attorney.
This attorney began the world with
nothins; but he contrived to scrape to-
A 2
4 SIMPLE SUSAN.
ether a good deal of money: everybody
new how. He built a new house at the
entrance of the village, and had a large
well-fenced garden; yet, notwithstanding
his fences, he never felt himself secure.
Such were his litigious habits, and his
suspicious temper, that he was constantly
at variance with his simple and peaceable
neighbours. Some pig, or dog, or goat, or
goose was for ever trespassing. His com-
plaints and his extortions wearied and
alarmed the whole hamlet. The paths in
his fields were at length unfrequented—
his stiles were blocked up with stones, or
stuffed with brambles and briers, so that
not a gosling could creep under or a giant
get over them. Indeed, so careful were even
the village children of giving offence to
this irritable man of the law, that they
would not venture to fly a kite near liis
fields, lest it should entangle in his trees,
or fall upon his meadow.
Mr. Case, for this was the name of our
attorney, had a son and a daughter, to
whose education he had not time to at-
tend, as his whole soul was intent upon
accumulating for them a fortune. For
several years he suffered his children to
SIMPLE SUSAN. 5
run wild in the village; but suddenly,
upon his being appointed to a consider-
able agency, he began to think of making
his children a little genteel. He sent his
son to learn Latin; he hired a maid to
wait upon his daughter Barbara; and he
strictly forbade her thenceforward to keep
company with any of the poor children,
who had hitherto been her playfellows.
They were not sorry for this prohibition,
because she had been their tyrant rather
than their companion. She was vexed to
observe that her absence was not regretted,
and she was mortified to perceive that
she could not humble them by any dis-
play of airs and finery.
There was one poor girl, amongst her
former associates, to whom she had a pe-
culiar dislike,—Susan Price, a sweet-tem-
pered, modest, sprightly, industrious lass,
who was the pride and delight of . the vil-
lage. Her father rented a small farm,
and, unfortunately for him, he lived near
Attorney Case.
Barbara used often to sit at her window,
watching Susan at work. Sometimes she
saw her in the neat garden, raking the
beds, or weeding the borders; sometimes
6 SIMPLE SUSAN.
she was kneeling at her beehive with fresh
flowers for her bees; sometimes she was
in the poultry-yard, scattering corn from
her sieve amongst the eager chickens;
and in the evening she was often seated
in a little honey-suckle arbour, with a
clean, light, three-legged deal table before
her, upon which she put her plain work.
Susan had been taught to work neatly
by her good mother, who was very fond
of her, and to whom she was most grate-
fully attached.
Mrs. Price was an intelligent, active,
domestic woman; but her health was not
robust. She earned money, however, by
taking in plain work; and she was famous
for baking excellent bread and breakfast-
cakes. She was respected in the village
for her conduct as a wife and as a mother,
and all were eager to show her attention.
At her door the first branch of hawthorn
was always placed on May-morning,
and her Susan was usually Queen of the
May.
It was now time to choose the Queen.—
The setting sun shone full up oh the pink
blossoms of the hawthorn, when the merry
group assembled upon their little green.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 7
Barbara was now walking in sullen state
in her father's garden. She heard the
busy voices in the lane, and she concealed
herself behind the high hedge, that she
might listen to their conversation.
" Where's Susan V were the first unwel-
come words which she overheard. "Ay,
where's Susan V repeated Philip, stopping
short in the middle of a new tune that he
was playing on his pipe. " I wish Susan
would come ! I want her to sing me this
same tune over again; I have not it yet."
"And I wish Susan would come, I'm
sure," cried a little girl, whose lap was
full of primroses. "Susan will give me
some thread to tie up my posegays, and
she'll show me where the fresh violets
grow; and she has promised to give me a
great bunch of her double cowslips to
wear to-morrow. I wish she would come."
" Nothing can be done without Susan!
She always shows us where the nicest
flowers are to be found in the lanes and
meadows," said they. " She must make
up the garlands; and she shall be Queen
of the May!" exclaimed a multitude of
little voices.
" But she does not come 1" said Philip.
8 SIMPLE SUSAX.
Rose, who was her particular friend,
now came forward to assure the impatient
assembly, " that she would answer for it
Susan would come as soon as she possibly
could, and that she probably was detained
by business at home.1'
The little electors thought that all busi-
ness should give way to theirs, and Rose
was despatched to summon her friend
immediately.
" Tell her to make haste," cried Philip.
" Attorney Case dined at the Abbey to-
day—luckily for us. If he comes home
and finds us here, maybe he'll drive us
away; for he says this bit of ground
belongs to his garden : though that is not
true, I'm sure; for Farmer Price knows,
and says, it was always open to the road.
The attorney wants to get our playground,
so he does. I wish he and his daughter
Bab, or Miss Barbara, as she must now be
called, were a hundred miles off, out of
our way, I know. No later than yester-
day she threw down my nine-pins in one
of her ill humours, as she was walking by
with her gown all trailing in the dust."
_ " Yes," cried Mary, the little primrose-
girl, " her gown is always trailing. She
SIMPLE SUSAN. 9
does not hold it up nicely, like Susan ;
and with all her fine clothes she never
looks half so neat. Mamma says she
wishes I may be like Susan, when I grow
up to be a great girl, and so do I. I
should not like to look conceited, as Bar-
bara does, if I was ever so rich."
"Bich or poor," said Philip, "it does
not become a girl to look conceited, much
less bold, as Barbara did the other day,
when she was standing at. her father's
door without a hat upon her head, staring
at the strange gentleman, who stopped
hereabout to let his horse drink. I know
what he thought of Bab by his looks, and
of Susan, too; for Susan was in her garden,
bending down a branch of the laburnum-
tree, looking at its yellow flowers, which
were just come out; and when the gentle-
man asked her how many miles it was from
Shrewsbury, she answered him so modest!
—not bashful, like as if she had never
seen nobody before—but just right; and
then she pulled on her straw hat, which
was fallen back with her looking up at
the laburnum, and she went her ways
home ; and '.the gentleman says to me,
after she was gone, ' Pray who is that neat,
10 SIMPLE SUSA3L
modest girl?' But I wish Susan would
come," cried Philip, interrupting himself.
Susan was all this time, as her friend
Bose rightly guessed, busy at home. She
was detained by her father's returning
later than usual. His supper was ready
for him nearly an hour before he came
home; and Susan swept up the ashes
twice, and twice put on wood to make a
cheerful blaze for him ; but at last, when
he did come in, he took no notice of the
blaze or of Susan; and when his wife
asked him how he did, he made no
answer, but stood with his back to the
fire, looking very gloomy.. Susan put his
supper upon the table, and set his own
chair for him; but he pushed away the
chair, and turned from the table, saying—
I shall eat nothing, child! Why have
you such a fire, to roast me at this time
of the year ?"
" You said yesterday, father, I thought,
that you liked a little cheerful wood fire
in the evening; and there was a great
shower of hail; your coat is quite wet, we
.must dry it."
" Take it then, child," said he, pulling
it off—" I shall soon have no coat to dry
SIMPLE SUSAN. 11
—and take my hat too," said he, throwing
it upon the ground.
Susan hung up his hat, put his coat
over the back of a chair to dry, and then
stood anxiously looking at her mother,
who was not well; she had this day
fatigued herself with baking; and now,
alarmed by her husband's moody be-
haviour, she sat down pale and trembling.
He threw himself into a chair, folded his
arms, and fixed his eyes upon the fire.
Susan was the first who ventured to
break silence. Happy the father who has
such a daughter as Susan !—her unaltered
sweetness of temper, and her playful,
affectionate caresses, at last somewhat
dissipated her father's melancholy.
He could not be prevailed upon to eat
any of the supper which had been pre-
pared for him; however, with a faint
smile, he told Susan that he thought he
could eat one of her Guinea-hen's eggs.
She thanked him, and with that nimble
alacrity which marks the desire to please,
she ran to her neat chicken-yard; but,
alas ! her Guinea-hen was not there!—it
had strayed into the attorney's garden.
She saw it through the paling, aud timidly
12 SIMPLE SUSAN.
opening the little gate, she asked Miss Bar-
bara, who was walking slowly by, to let her
come in and take her Guinea-hen. Bar-
bara, who was at this instant reflecting,
with 110 agreeable feelings, upon the con-
versation of the village children, to which
she had recently listened, started when
she heard Susan's voice, and with a proud,
ill-humoured look and voice, refused her
request.
" Shut the gate," said Barbara, " you
have no business in our garden; and as
for your hen, I shall keep it; it is always
flying in here, and plaguing us; and
my father says it is a trespasser ; and he
told me I might catch it and keep it the
next time it got in; and it is in now."
Then Barbara called to her maid Betty,
and bid her catch the mischievous hen.
" Oh, my Guinea-hen! my pretty Guinea-
hen," cried Susan, as they hunted the
frightened, screaming creature from corner
to corner.
"Here we have got it!" said Betty,
holding it fast by the legs.
"Now pay damages, Queen Susan; or
good-bye to your pretty Guinea-hen!" said
Barbara, in an insulting tone.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 13
" Damages! what damages'?" said Susan;
" tell me what I must pay." "A shilling,"
said Barbara. " Oh, if sixpence would
do!" said Susan ; " I have but sixpence of
my own in the world, and here it is." " It
wont do," said Barbara, turning her back.
"Nay, but hear me," cried Susan; "let
me at least come in to look for its
eggs. I only want one for my father's
supper; you shall have all the rest."
" What's your father or his supper to us 1
is he so nice that he can eat none but
Guinea-hen's eggs'?" said Barbara. "If
you want your hen and your eggs, pay for
them, and you'll have them." "I have
but sixpence, and you say that wont do,"
said Susan, with a sigh, as she looked at
her favourite, which was in the maid's
grasping hands, struggling and screaming
in vain.
Susan retired disconsolate. At the door
of her father's cottage she saw her friend
Bose, who was just come to summon her
to the hawthorn bush.
" They are all at the hawthorn, and I
am come for you. We can do nothing
without you, dear Susan," cried Rose,
running to meet her, at the moment she
14 SIMPLE SUSAN.
saw her. "You are chosen Queen of the
May;—come, make haste. But what's the
matter ! why do you look so sad V
"Ah !" said Susan, "don't wait for me;
I can't come to you; but," added she,
pointing to the tuft of double cowslips in
the garden, " gather those for poor little
Mary ; I promised them to her; and tell
her the violets are under the hedge just
opposite the turnstile, on the right as we
go to church. Good-bye; never mind me;
I can't come—I can't stay; for my father
wants me."
" But don't turn away your face; I wont
keep you a moment; only tell me what's
the matter," said her friend, following her
into the cottage.
" Oh, nothing, not much," said Susan ;
" only that I wanted the egg in a great
hurry for father, it would not have vexed
me—to be sure, I should have clipped my
Guinea-hen's wings, and then slie could
not have flown over the hedge ; but let us
think no more about it now," added she,
twinkling away a tear.
When Rose, however, learnt that her
friend's Guinea-hen was detained prisoner
by the attorney's daughter, she exclaimed,
SIMPUE SUSAN, 15
with all the honest warmth of indignation,
and instantly ran back to tell the story to
her companions.
"Barbara! ay; like father, like daugh-
ter," cried Farmer Price, starting from the
thoughtful attitude in which he had been
fixed, and drawing his chair closer to his
wife.
" You see something is amiss with me,
wife—I'll tell you what it is." As he
lowered his voice, Susan, who was not
sure that he wished she should hear what
he was going to say, retired from behind
his chair. "Susan, don't go; sit you
down here, my sweet Susan," said he,
making room for her upon his chair; " I
believe I was a little cross when I came
in first to-night • but I had something to
vex me, as you shall hear!
"About a fortnight ago, you know,
wife," continued he, " there was a ballot-
ing in our town for the militia; now at
that time I wanted but ten days of forty
years of age; and the attorney told me I
was a fool for not calling myself plump
forty. But the truth is the truth ; and it
is what I think fittest to be spoken at all
times, come what will of it—so I was
16 SIMPLE SUSAN.
drawn for a militia-man; but when I
thought how loth you and I would be to
part, I was main glad to hear that I could
get off by paying eight or nine guineas
for a substitute ; only I had not the nine
guineas; for you know we had bad luck
with our sheep this year, and they died
away one after another; but that was no
excuse ; so I went to Attorney Case, and
with a power of difficulty I got him to
lend me the money; for which, to be sure,
I gave him something, and left my lease
of our farm with him, as he insisted upon
it, by way of security for the loan.
Attorney Case is too many for me. He
has found what he calls a flaw in my
lease; and the lease he tells me is not
worth a farthing, and that he can turn us
all out of our farm to-morrow if he
pleases; and sure enough he will please;
for I have thwarted him this day, and he
swears he'll be revenged of me. Indeed
he has begun with me badly enough
already. I'm not come to the worst part
of my story yet ."
Here Farmer Price made a dead stop:
and his wife and Susan looked up in his
face breathless with anxiety.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 17
" It must come out," said he, with a
short sigh; "I must leave you in three
days, wife."
" Must you!" said his wife, in a faint
resigned voice. "Susan, love, open the
window." Susan ran to open the window,
and then returned to support her mother's
head.
When she came a little to herself, she
sat up, begged that her husband would go
on, and that nothing might be concealed
from her. Her husband had no wish
indeed to conceal anything from a wife he
loved so well; but, firm as he was, and
steady to his maxim, that the truth was
the thing the fittest to be spoken at all
times, his voice faltered, and it was with
some difficulty that he brought himself to
speak the whole truth at this moment.
The fact was this:—Case met Farmer
Price, as he was coming home, whistling
from a new-ploughed field. The attorney
had just dined at the Abbey. The Abbey
was the family seat of an opulent baronet
in the neighbourhood, to whom Mr. Case
Jhad been agent. The baronet died sud-
denly, and his estate and title devolved to
a younger brother, who was now just
B
18 SIMPLE SUSAN.
arrived in the country, and to whom Mr.
Case was eager to pay his court, in hopes
of obtaining his favour. Of the agency he
flattered himself that he was pretty secure;
and he thought that he might assume the
tone of command towards the tenants,
especially towards one who was some
guineas in debt, and in whose lease there
was a flaw.
Accosting the farmer in a haughty
manner, the attorney began with, " So,
Farmer Price, a word with you, if you
please; walk on here, man, beside my
horse, and you'll hear me. You have
changed your opinion, I hope, about that
bit of land,—that corner at the end of my
garden V " As how, Mr. Case V said the
farmer. " As how, man—why, you said
something about its not belonging to me,
when you heard me talk of inclosing it,
the other day." " So I did," said Price,
" and so I do."
Provoked and astonished at the firm
tone in which these words were pro-
nounced,- the attorney was upon the point
of swearing that he would have his re-
venge; but, as his passions were habi-
tually attentive to the letter of the law, he
SIMPLE SUSAN. 19
refrained from any hasty expression, which
might, he was aware, in a court of justice,
be hereafter brought against him.
".My good friend, Mr. Price," said he,
in a soft voice, and pale with suppressed
rage—he forced a smile—" I'm under the
necessity of calling in the money I lent
you some time ago, and you will please
to take notice that it must be paid to-
morrow morning. I wish you a good
evening. You have the money ready for
me, I dare say."
" No," said the farmer, " not a guinea of
it; but John Simpson, who was my sub-
stitute, has not left our village yet. I'll
get the money back from him, and go
myself, if so be it must be so, into the
militia—so I will."
The attorney did not expect such a de-
termination, and he represented, in a
friendly, hypocritical tone to Price, that
he had no wish to drive him to such an
extremity; that it would be the height of
folly in him to ran his head against a wall
for no purpose. " You don't mean to take
the corner into your own garden, do you,
Price?" said he. "I," said the farmer,
" God forbid ! it's none of mine; I never
b 2
20 SIMPLE SUSAJST.
take what does not belong to me." " True,
right, very proper, of course," said Mr.
Case; " but then you have no interest in
life in the land in question1?" "None."
"Then why so stiff about it, Price 1 all I
want of you is to say " " To say that
black is white, which I wont do, Mr. Case.
The ground is a thing not worth talking
of; but it's neither yours nor mine. In
my memory, since the new lane was made,
it has always been open to the parish;
and no man shall inclose it with my good-
will. Truth is truth, and must be spoken;
justice is justice, and should be done, Mr.
Attorney." " And law is law, Mr. Farmer,
and shall have its course, to your cost,"
cried the attorney, exasperated by the
dauntless spirit of this village Hampden.
Here they parted. The glow of enthu-
siasm, the pride of virtue, which made
our hero brave, could not render him
insensible. As he drew nearer home,
many melancholy thoughts pressed upon
his heart. He passed the door of his own
cottage with resolute steps, however, and
went through the village in search of the
man who had engaged to be his substitute.
He found him, told him how the matter
SIMPLE SUSAN. 21
stood; and luckily the man, who had not
yet spent the money, was willing to return
it; as there were many others drawn for
the militia, who, he observed, would be
glad to give him the same price, or more,
for his services.
The moment Price got the money, he
hastened to Mr. Case's house, walked
straight forward into his room, and laying
the money down upon his desk, " There,
Mr. Attorney, are your nine guineas;
count them; now I have done with you."
"Not yet," said the attorney, jingling
the money triumphantly in his hand.
" We'll give you a taste of the law, my
good sir, or I'm mistaken. You forget the
flaw in your lease, which I have safe in
this desk."
"Ah, my lease," said the farmer, who
had almost forgot to ask for it till he was
thus put in mind of it by the attorney's
imprudent threat.
"Give me my lease, Mr. Case. I've
paid my money; you have no right to
keep the lease any longer, whether it is a
bad one or a good one."
" Pardon me," said the attorney^ locking
his desk, and putting the key into his
22 SIMPLE SUSAN.
pocket, "possession, my honest friend,"
cried he, striking his hand upon the desk,
" is nine points of the law. Good night
to you. I cannot in conscience return a
lease to a tenant in which I know there
is a capital flaw. It is my duty to show
it to my employer; or, in other words, to
your new landlord, whose agent I have
good reasons to expect I shall be. You
will live to repent your obstinacy, Mr.
Price. Your servant, sir."
Price retired with melancholy feelings,
but not intimidated. Many a man returns
home with a gloomy countenance, who
has not quite so much cause for vexation.
When Susan heard her father's story,
she quite forgot her Guinea-hen, and her
whole soul was intent upon her poor
mother, who, notwithstanding her utmost
exertion, could not support herself under
this sudden stroke of misfortune.
In the middle of the night, Susan was
called up; her mother's fever ran high for
some hours; but towards morning it
abated, and she fell into a soft sleep, with
Susan's hand locked fast in hers.
Susan sat motionless, and breathed
softly, lest she should disturb her. The
SIMPLE SUSAN. 23
rushlight, which stood beside the bed,
was now burnt low; the long shadow of
the tall wicker chair flitted, faded, ap-
peared, and vanished, as the flame rose
and sunk in the socket. Susan was afraid
that the disagreeable smell might waken
her mother ; and, gently disengaging her
hand, she went 011 tiptoe to extinguish
the candle. All was silent: the grey
light of the morning was now spreading
over every object; the sun rose slowly,
and Susan stood at the lattice-window,
looking through the small leaded, cross-
barred panes at the splendid spectacle. A
few birds began to chirp; but as Susan
was listening to them, her mother started
in her sleep, and spoke unintelligibly.
Susan hung up a white apron before the
window to keep out the light, and just
then she heard the sound of music at a
distance in the village. As it approached
nearer, she knew that it was Philip play-
ing upon his pipe and tabor. She dis-
tinguished the merry voices of her com-
panions "carolling in honour of the May,"
and soon she saw them coming towards
her father's cottage, with branches ana
garlands in their hands. She opened
24 SIMPLE SUSAN.
quick, but gently, the latch of the door,
and ran out to meet them.
" Here • she is !—here's Susan !" they
exclaimed joyfully. " Here's the Queen
of the May !" " And here's her crown !"
cried Rose, pressing forward; but Susan
put her finger upon her lips, and pointed
to her mother's window. Philip's pipe
stopped instantly.
" Thank you," said Susan, " my mother
is ill; I can't leave her, you know."
Then gently putting aside the crown, her
companions bid her say who should wear
it for her.
" Will you, dear Rose?" said she, placing
the garland upon her friend's heacl. " It's
a charming May morning," added she,
with a smile ; " good-bye. We shan't hear
your voices or the pipe when you have
turned the corner into the village; so you
need only stop till then, Philip."
" I shall stop for all day," said Philip :
"I've no mind to play any more."
"Good-bye, poor Susan. It is a pity
you can't come with us," said all the chil-
dren ; and little Mary ran after Susan to
the cottage-door.
" I forgot to thank you," said she, " for
SIMPLE SUSAN". 25
the double cowslips; look how pretty
they are, and smell how sweet the violets
are in my bosom, and kiss me quick, for
I shall be left behind." Susan kissed the
little breathless girl, and returned softly
to the side of her mother's bed.
" How grateful that child is to me for
a cowslip only! How can I be grateful
enough to such a mother as this ?" said
Susan to herself, as she bent over her
sleeping mother's pale countenance.
Her mother's unfinished knitting lay
upon a table near the bed, and Susan sat
down in her wicker arm-chair, and went
on with the row, in the middle of which
her hand stopped the preceding evening.
" She taught me to knit, she taught me
everything that I know," thought Susan;
" and best of all, she taught me to love
her', to wish to be like her."
Her mother, when she awakened, felt
much refreshed by her tranquil sleep, and
observing that it was a delightful morn-
ing, said "that she had been dreaming
she heard music; but that the drum
frightened her, because she thought it
was the signal for her husband to be
carried away by a whole regiment of
26 SIMPLE SUSAN.
soldiers, who liad pointed their bayonets
at him. But that was but a dream, Susan;
I awoke, and knew it was a dream, and I
then fell asleep, and have slept soundly
ever since."
How painful it is to awake to the re-
membrance of misfortune. Gradually, as
this poor woman collected her scattered
thoughts, she recalled the circumstances
of the preceding evening. She was too
certain that she had heard from her hus-
band's own lips the words, " I must leave
you in three days and she wished that
she could sleep again, and think it all a
dream.
" But he'll want, he'll want a hundred
things," said she, starting up. "I must
get his linen ready for him. I'm afraid
it's very late. Susan, why did you let me
lie so long
" Everything shall be ready, dear mother;
only don't hurry yourself," said Susan.
And indeed her mother was ill able to
bear any hurry, or to do any work this
day. Susan's affectionate, dexterous, sen-
sible activity was never more wanted, or
more effectual. She understood so readily,
she obeyed so exactly; and when she was
SIMPLE SUSAN. 27
left to her own discretion, judged so pru-
dently, that her mother had little trouble
and no anxiety in directing her. She
said that Susan never did too little, or
too much.
Susan was mending her father's linen,
when Rose tapped softly at the window,
and beckoned to her to come out. She
went out. " How does your mother do,
in the first place ?" said Rose.' " Better,
thank you." " That's well, and I have a
little bit of good news for you besides—
here," said she, pulling out a glove, in which
there was money, " we'll get the Guinea^-
hen back again—we have all agreed about
it. This is the money that has been
given to us in the village this May morn-
ing. At every door they gave silver.
See how generous they have been,—
twelve shillings, I assure you. Now we
are a match for Miss Barbara. You wont
like to leave home. I'll go to Barbara,
and you shall see your Guinea-lien in ten
minutes."
Rose hurried away, pleased with her
commission, and eager to accomplish her
business. Miss Barbara's maid Betty
was the first person that was visible
28 SIMPLE SUSAN.
at tlie attorney's house. Rose insisted
upon seeing Miss Barbara herself, and she
was shown into a parlour to_ the young
lady, who was reading a dirty novel,
which she put under a heap of law-papers
as they entered.
" Dear, how you startled me! Is it only
you T said she to her maid ; but as soon
as she saw Rose behind the maid, she put
on a scornful air. "Could not ye say I
was not at home, Betty 1 Well, my good
girl, what brings you here 1 Something
to borrow or beg, I suppose."
May every ambassador—every ambas-
sador in as good a cause—answer with as
much dignity and moderation as Rose re-
plied to Barbara upon the present occasion.
She assured her, that the person from
whom she came did not send her either
to beg or borrow • that she was able to
pay the full value of that for which she
came to ask ; and producing her well-
filled purse, "I believe that this is a very
good shilling," said she. " If you don't
like it, I will change it; and now you will
be so good as to give me Susan's Guinea-
hen. It is in her name I ask for it."
"No matter in whose name you ask for
SIMPLE SUSAN. 29
it," replied Barbara, "yon will not liave
it. Take up your shilling, if you please.
I would have taken a shilling yesterday,
if it had been paid at the time properly •
but I told Susan, that if it was not paid
then, I should, keep the hen, and so I
shall, I promise her. You may go back,
and tell her so."
The attorney's daughter had, whilst
Rose opened her negotiation, measured
the depth of her purse with a keen eye ;
and her penetration discovered that it
contained at least ten shillings. With
proper management she had some hopes
that the Guinea-hen might be made to
bring in at least half the money.
Rose, who was of a warm temper, not
quite so fit a match as she had thought
herself for the wily Barbara, incautiously
exclaimed, " Whatever it costs us, we are
determined to have Susan's favourite hen;
so, if one shilling wont do, take two; and
if two wont do, why take three."
The shillings sounded provokingly
upon the table, as she threw them down,
one after another, and Barbara coolly
replied, "Three wont do." "Have you
no conscience, Miss Barbara? then take
30 SIMPLE SUSAN.
four." Barbara shook her head. A fifth
shilling was instantly proffered ; but Bab,
who now saw plainly that she had the
game in her own hands, preserved a cold
cruel silence. Rose went on rapidly,
bidding shilling after shilling, till she
had completely emptied her purse. The
twelve shillings were spread upon the
table. Barbara's avarice was moved; she
consented for this ransom to liberate her
prisoner.
Rose pushed the money towards her;
but just then recollecting that she was
acting for others more than for herself,
and doubting whether she had full powers
to conclude such an extravagant bargain,
she gathered up the public treasure, and
with newly-recovered prudence, observed,
that she must go back to consult her
friends. Her generous little friends were
amazed at Barbara's meanness; but with
one accord declared, that they were most
willing, for their parts, to give up every
farthing of the money. They all went to
Susan in a body, and told her so. "There's
our purse," said they; " do what you
please with it." They would not wait for
one word of thanks, but ran away, leaving
SIMPLE SUSAN. 31
only Eose with lier to settle the treaty
for the Guineajien.
There is a certain manner of accepting
a favour, which shows true generosity of
mind. Many know how to give, but few
know how to accept a gift properly.
Susan was touched, but not astonished,
by the kindness of her young friends, and
she received the purse with as much sim-
plicity as she would have given it.
"Well," said Eose, " shall I go back for
the Guinea-hen1?" "The Guinea-hen?"
said Susan, starting from a reverie into
which she had fallen, as she contemplated
the purse. " Certainly I do long to see
my pretty Guinea-hen once more ; but I
was not thinking of her just then—I Avas
thinking of my father."
Now Susan had heard her mother often,
in the course of this day, wish that she
had but money enough in the world to
pay John Simpson for going to serve in the
militia instead of her husband. " This,
to be sure, will go but a little way,"
thought Susan; " but still it may be of
some use to my father." She told her
mind to Eose, and concluded by saying
decidedly, that " if the money was given
•32 SIMPLE SUSAN.
her to dispose of as she pleased, she would
give it to her father."
" It is all yours, my dear good Susan,"
cried Rose, with a look of warm approba-
tion. " This is so like you !—But I'm
sorry that Miss Bab must keep your
Guinea-hen. I would not be her for all
the Guinea-hens, or guineas either, in the
whole world. Why, I'll answer for it,
the Guinea-hen wont make her happy,
and you'll be happy even without; because
you are good. Let me come and help
you to-morrow," continued she, looking
at Susan's work, " if you have any more
mending work to do—I never liked work
till I worked with you. I wont forget my
thimble or my scissors," added she, laugh-
ing,—" though _ I used to forget them
when I was a giddy girl. I assure you I
am a great hand at my needle now—try
me."
Susan assured her friend that she did
not doubt the powers of her needle, and
that she would most willingly accept of
her services, but that unluckily she had
finished all the needlework that Avas im-
mediately wanted.
" But do you know," said she, " I shall
SIMPLE SUSAN". 33
have a great deal of business to-morrow;
but I wont tell you what it is that I have
to do, for I am afraid I shall not succeed;
but if I do succeed, I'll come and tell you
directly, because you will be so glad of it."
Susan, who had always been attentive
to what her mother taught her, and who
had often assisted her when she was
baking bread and cakes for the family at
the Abbey, had now formed the cou-
rageous, but not presumptuous idea, that
she could herself undertake to bake a
batch of bread. One of the servants from
the Abbey had been sent all round the
village in the morning, in search of bread,
and had not been able to procure any that
was tolerable. Mrs. Price's last baking
failed for want of good barm. She was
not now strong enough to attempt another
herself: and when the brewer's boy came
with eagerness to tell her that he had
some fine fresh yeast for her, she thanked
him, but sighed, and said it would be of
no use to her, she was too ill for the work.
Susan modestly requested permission to
try her hand, and her mother would not
refuse her. Accordingly she went to
work with much prudent care, and when
c
34 SIMPLE SUSAN.
her bread the next morning came out of the
oven, it was excellent; at least her mother
said so, and she was a good judge. It
was sent to the Abbey; and as the family
there had not tasted any good bread since
their arrival in the country, they also
were earnest and warm in its praise. In-
quiries were made from the housekeeper,
and they heard, with some surprise, that
this excellent bread was made by a young
girl only twelve years old.
The housekeeper, who had known Susan
from a child, was pleased to have an
opportunity of speaking in her favour.
" She is the most industrious little
creature, ma'am, in the world," said she,
to her mistress. " Little I can't so well call
her now, since she's grown tall and slender
to look at; and glad I am she is grown
up likely to look at; for handsome is that
handsome does ; and she thinks no more
of her being handsome than I do myself;
yet she has as proper a respect for herself,
ma'am, as you have; and I always see
her neat, and with her mother, ma'am, or
fit people, as a girl should be. As for her
mother, she dotes upon her, as well she
may; for I should myself, if I had half
SIMPLE SUSAN. 35
such a daughter: and then she has two
little brothers ; and she's as good to them,
and, my boy Philip says, taught 'em to
read more than the school-mistress, all
with tenderness and good nature; but I
beg your pardon, ma'am, I cannot stop
myself when I once begin to talk of
Susan."
"You have really said enough to excite
my curiosity," said her mistress; "pray
send for her immediately ; we can see her
before we go out to walk."
The benevolent housekeeper despatched
her boy Philip for Susan, who never
happened to be in such an untidy state as
to be unable to obey a summons without
a long preparation. She had, it is true,
been very busy; but orderly people can
be busy and neat at the same time. She
put on her usual straw hat, and accom-
panied Rose's mother, who was going with
a basket of cleared muslin to the Abbey.
The modest simplicity of Susan's ap-
pearance, and the artless good sense and
propriety of the answers she gave to all
the questions that were asked her, pleased
the ladies at the Abbey, who were good
judges of character and manners.
c 2
36 SIMPLE STJSAJST.
Sir Arthur Somers had two sisters,
sensible, benevolent women. They were
not of that race of fine ladies who are
miserable the moment they come to the
country; nor yet were they of that
bustling sort, who quack and direct all
their poor neighbours, for the mere love
of managing, or the want of something to
do. They were judiciously generous;
and whilst they wished to diffuse happi-
ness, they were not peremptory in requir-
ing that people should be happy precisely
their own way. With these dispositions,
and with a well-informed brother, who,
though he never wished to direct, was
always willing to assist in their efforts to
do good, there were reasonable hopes that
these ladies would be a blessing to the
poor villagers amongst whom they were
now settled.
As soon as Miss Somers had spoken to
Susan, she inquired for her brother ; but
Sir Arthur was in his study, and a gentle-
man was with him on business.
Susan was desirous of returning to her
mother, and the ladies therefore would
not detain her. Miss Somers told her
with a smile, when she took leave, that
SIMPLE SUSA]ST. 37
she would call upon her in the evening at
six o'clock.
It was impossible that such a grand
event as Susan's visit to the Abbey could
long remain unknown to Barbara Case
and her gossiping maid. They watched
eagerly for the moment of her return, that
they mi ght satisfy their curiosity. " There
she is, I declare, just come into her gar-
den," cried Bab ; " I'll run in, and get it
all out of her in a minute."
Bab could descend, without shame,
whenever it suited her purposes, from
the height of insolent pride to the lowest
meanness of fawning familiarity.
Susan was gathering some marigolds
and some parsley, for her mother's broth.
" So, Susan," said Bab, who came close
up to her before she perceived it, " how
goes the world with you to-day ]" " My
mother is rather better to-day, she says,
ma'am—thank you," replied Susan, coldly,
but civilly. " Ma'am ! dear, how polite
we are grown of a sudden!" cried Bab,
winking at her maid. "One may see
you've been in good company this morn-
ing—hey, Susan. Come, let's hear about
it." " Did you see the ladies themselves,
38 SIMPLE SUSAN.
or was it only the housekeeper sent for
you ?" said the maid. " What room did
you go into ?" continued Bab. " Did you
see Miss Somers or Sir Arthur V " Miss
Somers." "La! she saw Miss Somers!
Betty, I must hear about it. Can't you
stop gathering those things for a minute,
and chat a bit with us, Susan?" "I
can't stay, indeed, Miss Barbara; for my
mother's broth is just wanted, and I'm in
a hurry." Susan ran home.
" Lord, her head is full of broth now,"
said Bab to her maid ; " and she lias not
a word for herself, though She has been
abroad. My papa may well call her
Simple Susan; for simple she is, and
simple she will be, all the world over.
For my part, I think she's little better
than a downright simpleton. But how-
ever, simple or not, I'll get what I want
out of her. She'll be able to speak, may
be, when she has settled the grand matter
of the broth. I'll step in, and ask to see
her mother; that will put her in a good
humour in a trice."
Barbara followed Susan into the cottage,
and found her occupied with the grand
affair of the broth. " Is it ready V said
SIMPLE SUSAN. 39
Bab, peeping into the pot that was over
the fire. " Dear, how savory it smells I
I'll , wait till you go in with it to your
mother; for I must ask her how she does
myself." "Will you please to sit down
then, miss," said Simple Susan, with a
smile ; for at this instant she forgot the
Guinea-hen: "I have but just put the
parsley into the broth; but it will soon
be ready."
During this interval Bab employed her-,
self, much to her own satisfaction, in
cross-questioning Susan. She was rather
provoked, indeed, that she could, not learn
exactly how each of the ladies was dressed,
and what there was to be, for dinner at
the Abbey ; and she was curious beyond
measure to find out what Miss Somers
meant, by saying that she would call at
Mr. Price's cottage at six o'clock in the
evening.—" What do you think she could
mean ?" " I thought she meant what she
said," replied Susan, "that she would
come here at six o'clock." "Ay, that's
as plain as a pike-staff," said Barbara;
"but what else did she mean, think
you 1 People, you know, don't always
mean exactly, downright, neither more
40 SIMPLE SUSAN.
nor less than they say." " Not always,"
said Susan, with an arch smile, which
convinced Barbara that she was not
quite a simpleton. "Not always" re-
peated Barbara, colouring,—" oh, then
I suppose you have some guess at what
Miss Somers meant." "No," said Susan,
" I was not thinking about Miss Somers,
when I said not always." " How nice that
broth does look," resumed Barbara, after
a pause.
Susan had now poured the broth into
a basin, and as she strewed over it the
bright orange marigolds, it looked very
tempting. She tasted it, and added now
a little salt, and now a little more, till
she thought it was just to lier mother's
taste. " Oh, I must taste it," said Bab,
taking the basin up greedily. "Wont
you take a spoon," said Susan, trembling
at the large mouthfuls which Barbara
sucked up with a terrible noise. " Take
a spoonful, indeed!" exclaimed Barbara,
setting down the basin in high anger.
"The next time I taste your broth you
shall affront me, if you dare ! The next
time I set my foot in this house, you
shall be as saucy to me as you please."
SIMPLE SUSAN. 41
And she flounced out of the house, repeat-
ing, " Take a spoon, pig, was what you
meant to say."
_ Susan stood in amazement at the begin-
ning of this speech; but the concluding
words explained to her the mystery.
Some years before this time, when
Susan was a very little girl, and could
scarcely speak plain, as she was eating a
basin of bread and milk for her supper at
the cottage door, a great pig came up,
and put his nose into the basin. Susan
was willing that the pig should have some
share of the bread and milk; but as she
ate with a spoon, and he with his large
mouth, she presently discovered that he
was likely to have more than his share;
and in a simple tone of expostulation she
said to him, " Take a poon, pig."* The
saying became proverbial in the village.
Susan's little companions repeated it, and
applied it upon many occasions, whenever
any one claimed more than his share of
anything good. Barbara, who was then
not Miss Barbara, but plain Bab, and who
played with all the poor children in the
neighbourhood, was often reproved in her
* This is a true anecdote.
42 SIMPLE SUSAN.
unjust methods of division by Susan's
proverb. Susan, as she grew up, forgot
the childish saying; but the remem-
brance of it rankled in Barbara's mind,
and it was to this that she suspected
Susan had alluded, when she recom-
mended a spoon to her, whilst she was
swallowing the basin of broth.
" La, miss," said Barbara's maid, when
she found her mistress in a passion upon
her return from Susan's; "I only won-
dered you did her the honour to set your
foot within her doors. What need have
you to trouble her for news about the
Abbey folks, when your own papa has
been there all the morning, and is just
come in, and can tell you everything V
Barbara did not know that her father
meant to go to the Abbey that morning,
for Attorney Case was mysterious even to
his own family about his morning rides.
He never chose to be asked where he was
going, or where he had been; and this
made his servants more than commonly
inquisitive to trace him.
Barbara, against whose apparent child-
ishness and real cunning he was not suf-
ficiently upon his guard, had often the
SIMPLE SUSAN. 43
art of drawing him into conversation
about his visits. She ran into her father's
parlour; but she knew, the moment she
saw his face, that it was 110 time to ask
questions; his pen was across his mouth,
and his brown wig pushed oblique upon
his contracted forehead. The wig was
always pushed crooked whenever he was
in a brown, .or rather a black, study.
Barbara, who did not, like Susan, bear
with her father's testy humour from affec-
tion and gentleness of disposition, but who
always humoured him from artifice, tried
all her skill to fathom his thoughts, and
when she found that it would not do, she
went to tell her maid so, and to complain
that her father was so cross there was no
bearing him.
It is true that Attorney Case was not
in the happiest mood possible^ for he
was by no means satisfied with his morn-
ing's work at the Abbey. Sir Arthur
Somers, the new man, did not suit him,
and he began to be rather apprehensive
that he should not suit Sir Arthur. He
had sound reasons for his doubts.
Sir Arthur Somers was an excellent
lawyer, and a perfectly honest man. This
44 SIMPLE SUSMNT.
seemed to our attorney a contradiction in
terms; in the course of his practice the
case had not occurred; and he had no
precedents ready to direct his proceed-
ings. Sir Arthur was also a man of wit
and eloquence, yet of plain dealing and
humanity. The attorney could not per-
suade himself to believe that his benevo-
lence was anything but enlightened cun-
ning, and his plain dealing he one minute
dreaded as the masterpiece of art, and
the next despised as the characteristic of
folly, in short, he had not yet decided
whether he was an honest man or a
knave. He had settled accounts with
him for his late agency, and had talked
about sundry matters of business. He
constantly perceived, however, that he
could not impose upon Sir Arthur; but
the idea that he could know all the mazes
of the law, and yet prefer the straight
roacl, was incomprehensible.
Mr. Case having paid Sir Arthur some
compliments on his great legal abilities,
and his high reputation at the bar, he
coolly replied, "I have left the bar.:' The
attorney looked in unfeigned astonish-
ment, that a man who was actually
SIMPLE SUSAJST. 45
making 3000£ per annum at the bar
should leave it.
"I am come," said Sir Arthur, "to
enjoy that kind of domestic life in the
country which I prefer to all others, and
amongst people whose happiness I hope
to increase." At this speech the attorney
changed his ground, flattering himself
that he should find his man averse to
business, and ignorant of country affairs.
He talked of the value of land, and of
new leases.
Sir Arthur wished to enlarge his domain,
and to make a ride round it. A map of
it was lying upon the table, and Farmer
Price's garden came exactly across the
new road for the ride. Sir Arthur looked
disappointed; and the keen attorney
seized the moment to inform him that
" Price's whole land was at his disposal."
"At my disposal! how so?" cried Sir
Arthur, eagerly; "it will not be out of
lease, I believe, these ten years. I'll look
into the rent-roll again; perhaps I am
mistaken."
" You are mistaken, my good sir, and
you are not mistaken," said Mr. Case,
with a shrewd smile. " In one sense, the
46 SIMPLE SUSAN.
land will not be out of lease these ten
years, and in another it is out of lease at
this present time. To come to the point
at once, the lease is, ah origine, null and
void. I have detected a capital flaw in
the body of it. I pledge my credit upon
it, sir, it can't stand a single term in law
or equity."
The attorney observed, that at these
words Sir Arthur's eye was fixed with a
look of earnest attention. "Now I have
him," said the cunning tempter to himself
"Neither in law nor equity!" repeated
Sir Arthur, with apparent incredulity.
"Are you sure of that, Mr. Case ?" " Sure !
As I told you before, sir, I'd pledge my
whole credit upon the thing—I'd stake
my existence." " That's something," said
Sir Arthur, as if he was pondering upon
the matter.
The attorney went on with all the
eagerness of a keen man, who sees a
chance at one stroke of winning a rich
friend, and of ruining a poor enemy. He
explained, with legal volubility and tech-
nical amplification, the nature of the
mistake in Mr. Price's lease. "It was,
sir," said he, " a lease for the life of Peter
SIMPLE SUSAN. 47
Price, Susanna his wife, and to the sur-
vivor or survivors of them, or for the full
time and term of twenty years, to be
computed from the first day of May then
next ensuing. Now, sir, this, you see, is
a lease in. reversion, which the late Sir
Benjamin Somers had not, by his settle-
ment, a right to make. This is a curious
mistake, you see, Sir Arthur; and in
filling up those printed leases there's
always a good chance of some flaw. I
find it perpetually; but I never found a
better than this in the whole course of
my practice." .
Sir Arthur stood in silence.
" My dear sir," said the attorney, taking
him by the button, " you have no scruple
of stirring in this business."
" A little," said Sir Arthur.
" Why, then, that can be done away in
a moment. Your name shall not appear
in it at all. You have nothing to do but
to make over the lease to me. I make
all safe to you with my bond. Now being
in possession, I come forward in my own
proper person. Shall I proceed f
"No—you have said enough," replied
Sir Arthur.
48 SIMPLE SUSAN.
tc The case, indeed, lies in a nutshell,"
said the attorney, who had by this time
worked himself up to such a pitch of pro-
fessional enthusiasm, that, intent upon
his vision of a lawsuit, he totally forgot
to observe the impression his words made
upon Sir Arthur.
" There's only one thing we have for-
gotten all this time," said Sir Arthur.
" What can that be, sir V " That we shall
ruin this poor man."
Case was thunderstruck at these words,
or rather by the look which accompanied
them. He recollected that he had laid
himself open before he was sure of Sir
Arthur's real character. He softened, and
said he should have had certainly more
consideration in the case of any but a
litigious, pig-headed fellow, as he knew
Price to be.
"If he be litigious," said Sir Arthur,
"I shall certainly be glad to get him
fairly out of the parish as soon as pos-
sible. When you go home, you will be so
good, sir, as to send me his lease, that I
may satisfy myself, before we stir in this
business."
The attorney, brightening up, prepared
SIMPLE SUSAN. 49
to take leave; but lie could not persuade
himself to take bis departure without
making one push at Sir Arthur about the
agency. t
"I will not trouble you, Sir Arthur,
with this lease of Price's," said Case;
"I'll leave it with your agent. Whom
shall I apply to ?" " To myself, sir, if you
please," replied Sir Arthur.
The courtiers of Louis XIY. could not
have looked more astounded than our
attorney when they received from their
monarch a similar answer. It was this
unexpected reply of Sir Arthur's which
had deranged the temper of Mr. Case,
and caused his wig to stand so crooked
upon his forehead, and which had ren-
dered him impenetrably silent to his in-
quisitive daughter Barbara.
After having walked up and down his
room, conversing with himself, for some
time, the attorney concluded that the
agency must be given to somebody when
Sir Arthur should have to attend his
duty in Parliament; that the agency, even
for the winter season, was not a thing to
be neglected; and that, if he managed
well, he might yet secure it for himself.
D
50 SIMPLE SUSAN.
He had often found that small timely
presents worked wonderfully upon his
own mind, and he judged of others by
himself. The tenants had been in the
reluctant but constant practice of making
him continual petty offerings; and he
resolved to try the same course with Sir
Arthur, whose resolution to be his own
agent, he thought, argued a close, saving,
avaricious disposition. He had heard the
housekeeper at the Abbey inquiring, as
he passed through the servants, whether
there was any lamb to be gotten? She
said that Sir Arthur was remarkably fond
of lamb, and that she wished she could
get a quarter for him. Immediately he
sallied into his kitchen, as soon as the
idea struck him, and asked a shepherd*
who was waiting there, whether he knew
of a nice fat lamb to be had anywhere in
the neighbourhood.
" I know of one," cried Barbara. " Susan
Price has a pet lamb that's as fat as fat
can be." The attorney eagerly caught at
these words, and speedily devised a
scheme for obtaining Susan's lamb for
nothing.
It would be something strange if an
SIMPLE SUSAJST. 51
attorney of his talents and standing was
not an over-match for Simple Susan. He
prowled forth in search of his prey. He
found Susan packing up her father's little
wardrobe; and when she looked up as
she knelt, he saw that she had been in
tears.
" How is your mother to-day, Susan ?"
inquired the attorney. "Worse, sir. _My
father goes to-morrow." " That's a pity."
"It can't be helped," said Susan, with a
sigh. " It can't be helped—how do you
know that ?" said Case. " Sir! dear sir!"
cried she, looking up at him, and a sudden
ray of hope beamed in her ingenuous
countenance. " And if you could help it,
Susan ?" said he. Susan clasped her hands
in silence, more expressive than words.
"You can help it, Susan." She started
up in an ecstasy. "What would you
give now to have your father at home for
a whole week longer?" "Anything!—
but I have nothing." "Yes,but you have,
a lamb," said the hard-hearted attorney.
" My poor little lamb !" said Susan; " but
what good can that do?" "What good
can any lamb do ? Is not lamb good to
eat? Why do you look so pale, girl?
D 2
52 SIMPLE SUSAN.
Are not sheep killed every day, and don't
you eat mutton1? Is your lamb better
than anybody else's, think you?" "I
don't know," said Susan, "but I love it
better." " More fool you," says he. • " It
feeds out of my hand, it follows me
about; I have always taken care of it;
my mother gave it to me." "Well, say
no more about it, then," he cynically ob-
served; "if you love your lamb better
than both your father and your mother,
keep it, and good morning to you."
" Stay, oh, stay!" cried Susan, catching the
skirt of his coat with an eager, trembling
hand;—" a whole week, did you say? My
mother may get better in that time. No,
I do not love my lamb half so well." The
struggle of her mind ceased, and with a
placid countenance and calm voice, " Take
the lamb," said she. " Where is it ?" said
the attorney. " Grazing in the meadow,
by the river-side." " It must be brought
up before night-fall for the butcher, re-
member." "I shall not forget it," said
Susan, steadily.
As soon, however, as her persecutor
turned his back and quitted the house,
Susan sat down, and hid her face in her
SIMPLE SUSAN. 53
hands. She was soon roused by the sound
of her mother's feeble voice, who was
calling Susan from the inner room, where
she lay. Susan went in; but did not
undraw the curtain as she stood beside
the bed.
"Are you there, love1? Undraw the
curtain that I may see you, and tell me;
—I thought I heard some strange voice
just now talking to my child. Some-
thing's amiss, Susan," said her mother,
raising herself as well as she was able in
the bed, to examine her daughter's coun-
tenance.
" Would you think it amiss, then, my
dear mother," said Susan, stooping to kiss
her—"would you think it amiss, if my
father was to stay with us a week longer1?"
" Susan ! you don't say so ?" " He is,
indeed, a whole week;—but how burning
hot your hand is still." " Are you sure
he will stay?" inquired her mother. " How
do you know? Who told you so? Tell
me all, quick." " Attorney Case told me
so; he can get him a week's longer leave
of absence, and he has promised he will."
" God bless him for it, for ever and ever 1"
said the poor woman, joining her hands.
54 SIMPLE SUSAN.
" May tiie blessing of heaven be with
him!"
Susan closed the curtains and was silent
—she could not say, Amen. She was called
out of the room at this moment; for a
messenger was come from the Abbey for
the bread-bills. It was she who always
made out the bills • for though she had not
had a great number of lessons from the
writing-master, she had taken so much
pains to learn, that she could write a very
neat, legible hand; and she found this
very useful. She was not, to be sure, par-
ticularly inclined to draw out a long bill
at this instant; but business must be
done. She set to work, ruled her lines
for the pounds, shillings, and pence, made
out the bill for the Abbey, and despatched
the impatient messenger. She then re-
solved to make out all the bills for the
neighbours, who had many of them taken
a few loaves and rolls of her baking. " I
had better get all my business finished,"
said she to herself, " before I go down to
the meadow to take leave of my poor
lamb."
This was sooner said than done; for she
found that she had a great number of bills
SIMPLE SUSAN. 55
to write, and the slate on which she had
entered the account was not immediately
to be found; and when it was found, the
figures were almost rubbed out: Barbara
had sat down upon it. Susan pored over
the number of loaves, and the names of
the persons who took them; and she
wrote, and cast up sums, and corrected,
and re-corrected them, till her head grew
quite puzzled.
The table was covered with little square
bits of paper, on which she had been
writing bills over and over again, when
her father came in with a bill in his hand.
" How's this, Susan?' said he ;—"how can
ye be so careless, child? What is your
head running upon? Here, look at the
bill you were sending up to the Abbey!
I met the messenger, and luckily asked to
see how much it was.—Look at it."
Susan looked, and blushed; it was
written, " Sir Arthur Somers to John
Price,—debtor, six dozen lambs, so much."
She altered it, and returned it to her
father; but he had taken up some of the
papers which lay upon the table.—" What
are all these, child ?" " Some of them are
wrong, and I've written them out again,"
56 SIMPLE SUSAN.
said Susan. " Some of them! all of them,
I think, seem to be wrong, if I can read,"
said her father, rather angrily; and he
pointed out to her sundry strange mistakes.
Her head indeed had been running upon
her poor lamb. She corrected all the mis-
takes with so much patience, and bore to be
blamed with so much good humour, that
her father at last said, that it was impos-
sible ever to scold Susan, without being in
the wrong at the last.
As soon as all was set right, Price took
the bills, and said he would go round to
the neighbours, and collect the money
himself; for that he should be very proud
to have it to say to them, that it was all
earned by his own little daughter.
Susan resolved to keep the pleasure of
telling him of his week's reprieve till he
should come home to sup, as he had pro-
mised to do, in her mother's room. She
was not sorry to hear him sigh as he
passed the knapsack, which she had been
packing up for his journey. "How de-
lighted he will be when he hears the
good news !" said she to herself; " but I
know he will be a little sorry too for my
poor lamb."
SIMPLE SUSAN. 57
As Susan had now settled all her busi-
ness, she thought she could have time to go
down to the meadow by the river-side to see
her favourite; but just as she had tied on
her straw hat the village-clock struck four,
and this was the hour at which she always
went to fetch her little brothers home
from a dame-school near the village. She
knew that they would be disappointed, if
she was later than usual, and she did not
like to keep them waiting, because they
were very patient good boys; so she put
off the visit to her lamb, and went imme-
diately for her brothers.
58
simple susan.
CHAPTER IL
Ev'n in the spring and play-time of the year,
That calls th' unwonted villager abroad,
With all her little ones, a sportive train,
To gather king-cups in the yellow mead,
And prink their heads with daisies.
Cowper.
The dame-school, which was about a
mile from the hamlet, was not a showy
edifice; but it was reverenced as much by
the young race of village scholars as if it
had been the most stately mansion in the
land; it was a low-roofed, long, thatched
tenement, sheltered by a few reverend
oaks, under which many generations of
hopeful children had gambolled in their
turn.
The close-shaven green, which sloped
down from the hatch-door of the school-
room, was paled round with a rude paling,
which, though decayed in some parts by
time, was not in any place broken by
violence.
The place bespoke order and peace.
'The dame who governed here was well
SJMPLE SUSAN. 59
obeyed, because she was just, and well be-
loved, and because sbe was ever glad to give
well-earned praise and pleasure to her little
subjects.
Susan had once been under her gentle
dominion, and had been deservedly her
favourite scholar. The dame often cited
her as the best example to the succeeding
tribe of emulous youngsters. She had
scarcely opened the wicket which sepa-
rated the green before the school-room
door from the lane, when she heard the
merry voices of the children, and saw the
little troop issuing from the hatchway,
and spreading over the green.
" Oh, there's our Susan !" cried her two
little brothers, running, leaping, and
bounding up to her; and many of the
other rosy girls and boys crowded round
her, to talk of their plays; for Susan was
easily interested in all that made others
happy; but she could not make them com-
prehend, that, if they all spoke at once, it
was not possible that she could hear what
was said.
The voices were still raised one above
another, all eager to establish some im-
portant observation about nine-pins, or
60 SIMPLE SUSAN.
marbles, or tops, or bows and arrows,
when suddenly music was heard, unusual
music, and the crowd was silenced. The
music seemed to be near the spot where
the children were standing, and they
looked round to see whence it could come.
Susan pointed to the great oak-tree, and
they beheld, seated under its shade, an
old man playing upon his harp. The
children all approached—at first timidly,
for the sounds were solemn; but as the
harper heard their little footsteps coming
towards him, he changed his hand, and
played one of his most lively tunes. The
circle closed, and pressed nearer and nearer
to him; some who were in the foremost
row whispered to each other, " He is blind!
What a pity!" and " He looks very poor,
—what a ragged coat he wears!" said
others. " He must be very old, for all his
hair is white; and he must have travelled
a great way, for his shoes are quite worn
out," observed another.
All these remarks were made whilst he
was tuning his harp, for when he once
more began to play, not a word was ut-
tered. He seemed pleased by their simple
exclamations of wonder and delight, and,
SIMPLE SUSAK. 61
eager to amuse his young audience, he
played now a gay and now a pathetic air,
to suit their several humours.
Susan's voice, which was soft and sweet,
expressive of gentleness and good-nature,
caught his ear the moment she spoke. He
turned his face eagerly to the place where
she stood; and it was observed, that when-
ever she said that she liked any tune par-
ticularly, he played it over again.
" I am blind," said the old man, " and
cannot see your faces; but I know you all
asunder by your voices, and I can guess
pretty well at all your humours and cha-
racters by your voices."
" Can you So, indeed ?" cried Susan's
little brother William, who had stationed
himself between the old man's knees.
" Then you heard my sister Susan speak
just now. Can you tell us what sort of a
person she is?"—"That I can, I think,
without being a conjuror," said the old
man, lifting the boy up on his knee;
" your sister Susan is good-natured." The
boy clapped his hands. " And good-tem-
pered." " Eight," said little William, with
a louder clap of applause. "And very
fond of the little boy who sits upon my
62 SIMPLE SUSAN.
knee." "O right! right! quite .right!"
exclaimed the child, and "Quite right,"
echoed on all sides.
" But how came you to know so much,
when you are blind ?" said William, ex-
amining thd old man attentively.
"Hush," said John, who was a year
older than his brother, and very sage,
"you should not put him in mind of his
being blind."
" Though I am blind," said the harper,
" I can hear, you know, and I heard from
your sister herself all that I told you of
her, that she was good-tempered and good-
natured, and fond of you." " Oh, that's
wrong—you did not hear all that from
herself, I'm sure," said John, " for nobody
ever hears her praising herself." "Did
not I hear her tell you," said the harper,
" when you first came round me, that she
was in a great hurry to go home, but that
she would stay a little while, since
you wished it so much? Was not that
good-natured? And when you 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," inter-
SIMPLE SUSAN. 63-
rupted William, "it's all true; but bow
did you find out that she was fond of
me V " That is such a difficult question,"
said the harper, " that I must take time
to consider." The harper tuned his instru-
ment, as he pondered, or seemed to pon-
der; 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 1 A blind harper!
Well, play us a tune, if you can play ever
a good one—play me—let's see, what shall
he play, Bob f added he, turning to his
companion. "' Bumper Squire Jones.'"
The old man, though he did not seem
quite pleased with the peremptory manner
of the request, played, as he was desired,
" Bumper Squire J onesand several other
tunes were afterwards bespoke by the
same rough and tyrannical voice.
The little children shrunk back in timid
silence, and eyed the great brutal boy
with dislike. This boy was the son of
Attorney Case; and as his father had
neglected to correct his temper when he-
64 SIMPLE SUSAJST.
was a child, as he grew up it became in-
sufferable. All who were younger and
weaker than himself dreaded his approach,
and detested him as a tyrant.
When the old harper was so tired that
he could play no more, a lad, who usually
carried his harp for him, and who was
within call, came up, and held his master's
hat to the company, saying," Will you be
pleased to remember us?' The children
readily produced their halfpence, and
thought their wealth well bestowed upon
this poor, good-natured man, who had
taken so much pains to entertain them,
better even than upon the gingerbread-
woman, whose stall they loved to fre-
quent. The hat was held some time to
the attorney's son before he chose to see
it. At last he put his hand surlily into
his waistcoat-pocket, and pulled out a
shilling. There were six pennyworth 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 slily put into the blind
man's hand, he saw that it was not worth
SIMPLE SIJSAN. 63
one farthing. " I am afraid it is not good,
sir," said the lad, whose business it was
to examine the money for his master.
"I am afraid, then, you'll get no other,"
said yoting Case, with an insulting laugh.
" It never will do, sir," persisted the lad ;
"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." " That's your affair," said the
brutal boy, pushing away his hand, "h ou
may pass it, you know, as well as I do, if
you look sharp. You have taken it from
me, and I sha'n't take it back again, I
promise you."
A whisper of " That's very unjust" was
heard. The little assembly, though under
evident constraint, could 110 longer sup-
press their indignation.
"Who says it's unjust?' cried the
tyrant, sternly, looking down upon his
judges.
Susan's little brothers had held her
gown fast, to prevent her from moving at
the beginning of this contest, and she was
now so much interested to see the end of
it, that she stood still, without making
any resistance.
E
66 SIMPLE SUSAN.
" Is any one here amongst yourselves a
judge of silver V said the old man. "Yes,
here's the butcher's boy," said the attor-
ney's son ; " show it to him." He was a
sickly-looking boy, and of a remarkably
peaceable disposition. Young Case fancied,
that he would be afraid to give judg-
ment against him. However, after some
moments' hesitation, and after turning
the shilling round several times, he pro-
nounced, "that, as far as his judgment
went, but he did not pretend to be down-
right certain sure of it. the shilling was
not over and above good." Then turning
to Susan, to screen himself from manifest
danger, for the attorney's son looked upon
him with a vengeful mien, "But here's
Susan here, who understands silver a great
deal better than I do; she takes a power
of it for bread, you know."
"I'll leave it to her," said the old
harper; " if she says the shilling is good,
keep it, Jack." The shilling was handed
to Susan, who, though she had with be-
coming modesty forborne all interference,
did not hesitate, when she was called
upon, to speak the truth: " I think that
this shilling is a bad one," said she ; and
SIMPLE SUSAN. 67
the gentle but firm tone in which she
pronounced the words, for a moment
awed and silenced the angry and brutal
boy. " There's another, then," cried he ;
" I. have sixpences and shillings too in
plenty, thank my stars."
Susan now walked away with her two
little brothers, and all the other children
separated to go to their several homes.
The old harper called to Susan, and begged,
that, if she was going towards the village,
she would be so kind as to show him the
way. His lad took up his harp, and little
William took the old man by the hand.
" I'll lead him, I can lead him," said he;
and John ran on before them, to gather
king-cups in the meadow.
There was a small rivulet, which they
had to cross, and as the plank which
served for a bridge over it was rather
narrow, Susan was afraid to trust the old
blind man to his little conductor; she
therefore went on the tottering plank first
herself, and then led the old harper care-
fully over. They were now come to a
gate, which opened upon the high-road to
the village. "There is the high-road
straight before you," said Susan to the lad,
E 2
68 SIMPLE SUSAN.
who was carrying his master's harp; " yon
can't miss it. Now I must bid you a
good evening; for I'm in a great hurry to
get home, and must go the short way
across the fields here, which would not
be so pleasant for you, because of the
stiles. Good-bye." The old harper thanked
her, and went along the high-road, whilst
she and her brothers tripped on as fast as
they could, by the short way across the
fields.
" Miss Somers, I am afraid, will be
waiting for us," said Susan. " You know
she said she would call at six; and by
the length of our shadows I'm sure it is
late."
When they came to their own cottage-
door, they heard many voices, and they
saw, when they entered, several ladies
standing in the kitchen. "Come in,
Susan; we thought, you had quite forsaken
us," said Miss Somers to Susan, who
advanced timidly. " I fancy you forgot
that we promised to pay you a visit this
evening; but you need not blush so much
about the matter; there is no great harm
done; we have only been here about five
minutes; and we have been well em-
SIMPLE SUSAN. 69
ployed in admiring your neat garden,
and your orderly shelves. Is it you,
Susan, who keep these things in such
nice order V continued 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 as
how," continued John, " she was loth to
refuse us the hearing a blind man play
on the harp. It was we kept her, and we
hopes, ma'am, as you are—as you seem so
good, you wont take it amiss."
Miss Somers and her sister smiled at
the affectionate simplicity with which
Susan's little brothers undertook her de-
fence, and they were, from this slight cir-
cumstance, disposed to think yet more
favourably of a family which seemed so
well united. They took Susan along with
them through the village. Many neigh-
bours came to their doors, and far from
envying, they all secretly wished Susan
well as she passed.
" I fancy we shall find what we want
70 SIMPLE SUSAN.
here," said Miss Somers, stopping before
a shop, where unfolded sheets of pins and
glass buttons glistened in the window,
and where rolls of many-coloured ribbons
appeared ranged in tempting order. She
went in, and was rejoiced to see the
shelves at the back of the counter well
furnished with glossy tiers of stuffs, and
gay, neat, printed linens and calicoes.
"Now, Susan, choose yourself a gown,"
said Miss Somers; " you set an example
of industry and good conduct, of which
we wish to take public notice, for the
benefit of others."
The shopkeeper, who was father to
Susan's friend Eose, looked much satisfied
by this speech, and as if a compliment
had been paid to himself, bowed low to
Miss Somers, and then with alertness,
which a London linendraper might have
admired, produced piece after piece of his
best goods to his young customer—un-
rolled, unfolded, held the bright stuffs
and calendered calicoes in various lights;
now stretched his arm to the highest
shelves, and brought down in a trice what
seemed to be beyond the reach of any but
a giant's arm; now dived into some hid-
SIMPLE SUSAN. 71
den recess beneath the counter, and
brought to light fresh beauties, and fresh
temptations.
Susan looked on with more indifference
than most of the spectators. She was
thinking much of her lamb, and more of
her father.
Miss Somers had put a bright guinea
into her hand, and had bid her pay for
her own gown ; but Susan, as she looked
at the guinea, thought it was a great deal
of money to lay out upon herself; and
she wished, but did not know how to ask,
that she might keep it for a better purpose.
Some people are wholly inattentive to
the lesser feelings, and incapable of read-
ing the countenances of those on whom
they bestow their bounty. Miss Somers
and her sister were not of this roughly
charitable class.
" She does not like any of these things,"
whispered Miss Somers to her sister. Her
sister observed, that Susan looked as if
her thoughts were far distant from gowns.
" If you don't fancy any of these things,"
said the civil shopkeeper to Susan, "we
shall have a new assortment of calicoes
for the spring season soon from town."
72 SIMPLE SUSAN.
"Oh," interrupted Susan, with a smile
and a blush, " these are all pretty, and
too good for me, but " u But what,
SusanV said Miss Somers. "Tell us
what is passing in your little mind."
Susan hesitated. "Well, then, we will
not press you; you are scarcely acquainted
with us yet; when you are, you will not
be afraid, I hope, to speak your mind.
Put this shining yellow counter," con-
tinued she, pointing to the guinea, "in
your pocket, and make what use of it you
please. Prom what we know, and from
what we have heard of you, we are per-
suaded that you will make a good use of
it."
"I think, madam," said the master of
the shop, with a shrewd, good-natured
look, " I could give a pretty good guess
myself what will become of that guinea—
but I say nothing."
" No, that is right," said Miss Somers *
"we leave Susan entirely at liberty; and
now we will not detain her any longer.
Good night, Susan; we shall soon come
again to your neat cottage." Susan
curtsied with an expressive look of grati-
tude, and with a modest frankness in her
SIMPLE SUSAN. 73
•countenance, which seemed to say, "I
would tell you, and welcome, what I
want to do with the guinea; but I am
not used to speak before so many people.
When you come to our cottage again, you
shall know all."
When Susan had departed, Miss Somers
turned to the obliging shopkeeper, who
was folding up all the things he had
opened. "You have had a great deal of
trouble with us, sir," said she; "and
since Susan will not choose a gown for
herself, I must." She selected the prettiest,
and whilst the man was rolling it in paper,
she asked him several questions about
Susan and her family, which he was de-
lighted to answer, because he had now an
opportunity of saying as much as he wished
in her praise.
"No later back, ma'am, than last May
morning," said he, " as my daughter Rose
was telling us, Susan did a turn, in
her quiet way, by her mother, that would
not displease you if you were to hear it.
She was to have been Queen of the May,
which in our little village, amongst the
younger tribe, is a thing that is thought
of a good deal; but Susan's mother wag
74 SIMPLE SUSAX.
ill, and Susan, after sitting up with her
all night, would not leave her in the
morning, even when they brought the
crown to her. She put the crown upon
my daughter Rose's head with her own
hands • and, to be sure, Rose loves her
as well as if she was her own sister. But
I don't speak from partiality; for I am
no relation whatever to the Prices,—only
a well-wisher, as every one, I believe,
who knows them is. I'll send the parcel
up to the Abbey, shall I, ma'am ]"
"If you please," said Miss Somers;
" and, as soon as you receive your new
things from town, let us know. You
will, I hope, find us good customers and
well-wishers," added she, with a smile;
" for those who wish well to their neigh-
bours surely deserve to have well-wishers
themselves."
A few words may encourage the bene-
volent passions, and may dispose people
to live in peace and happiness; a few
words may set them at variance, and may
lead to misery and lawsuits. Attorney
Case and Miss Somers were both equally
convinced of this, and their practice was
uniformly consistent with their principles.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 75
But now to return to Susan. She put
the bright guinea carefully into the glove
with the twelve shillings which she had
received from her companions on May-day.
Besides this treasure, she calculated that
the amount of the bills for bread could
not be less than eight or nine and thirty
shillings; and as her father was now sure
of a week's reprieve, she had great hopes
that, by some means or other, it would be
possible to make up the whole sum neces-
sary to pay for a substitute. "If that
could but be done," said she to herself,
" how happy would my mother be ! She
would be quite stout again, for she cer-
tainly is a great deal better, since I told
her that father would stay a week longer.
Ah! but she would not have blessed
Attorney Case, though, if she had known
about my poor Daisy."
Susan took the path that led to the
meadow by the water-side, resolved to go
by herself, and take leave of her innocent
favourite. But she did not pass by un-
perceived. Her little brothers were watch-
ing for her return, and, as soon as they
saw her, they ran after her, and overtook
her as she reached the meadow.
76 SIMPLE SUSAN.
" What did that good lady want with
you ?" cried William; but looking up in
his sister's face, he saw tears in her eyes,
and he was silent, and walked on quietly.
(Susan saw her lamb by the water-side.
"Who are those two men?" said William.
"What are they going to do with Daisy?"
The two men were Attorney Case and the
butcher. The butcher was feeling whether
the lamb was fat.
Susan sat down upon the bank in silent
sorrow ; her little brothers ran up to the
butcher, and demanded whether he was
going to do any harm to the lamb. The
butcher did not answer; but the attorney
replied, " It is not your sister's lamb any
longer; it's mine—mine to all intents
and purposes." "Yours!" cried the chil-
dren, with terror ; " and will you kill it V
"That's the butcher's business."
The little boys now burst into piercing
lamentations. They pushed away the
butcher's hand; they threw their arms
round the neck of the lamb ; they kissed
its forehead—it bleated. "It will not
bleat to-morrow!" said William, and he
wept bitterly. The butcher looked aside,
and hastily rubbed his eyes with the
SIMPLE SUSAN. 77
corner of his blue apron. The attorney
stood unmoved; he pulled up the head
of the lamb, which had just stooped to
crop a mouthful of clover. " I have no
time to waste," said he • " butcher, you'll
account with me. If it's fat—the sooner
the better. I've no more to say." And
he walked off, deaf to the prayers of the
poor children.
As soon as the attorney was out of
sight, Susan rose from the bank where
she was seated, came up to her lamb, and
stooped to gather some of the fresh dewy
trefoil, to let it eat out of her hand for
the last time. Poor Daisy licked her
well-known hand.
"Now, let us go," said Susan. "I'll
wait as long as you please," said the
butcher. Susan thanked him, but walked
away quickly, without looking again at
her lamb. Her little brothers begged the
man to stay a few minutes, for they had
gathered a handful of blue speedwell and
yellow crowsfoot, and they were decking
the poor animal. As it followed the boys
through the village, the children collected
as. they passed, and the butcher's own son
was among the number. Susan's steadi-
78 SIMPLE SUSAN.
ness about tlie bad shilling was full in
this boy's memory; it had saved him a
beating. He went directly to his father
to beg the life of Susan's lamb.
" I was thinking about it, boy, myself,"
said the butcher; "it's a sin to kill a pet
lamb, I'm thinking—any way, it's what
I'm not used to, and don't fancy doing,
and I'll go and say as much to Attorney
Case; but he's a hard man; there's but
one way to deal with him, and that's the
way I must take, though so be I shall be
the loser thereby; but we'll say nothing
to the boys, for fear it might be the thing
would not take; and then it would be
worse again to poor Susan, who is a good
girl, and always was, as well she may,
being of a good breed, and well reared
from the first."
" Come, lads, don't keep a crowd and a
scandal about my door," continued he,
aloud, to the children • " turn the lamb
in here, John, in the paddock, for to-night,
and go your ways home."
The crowd dispersed, but murmured,
and the butcher went to the attorney.
" Seeing that all you want is a good, fat,
tender lamb, for a present for Sir Arthur,
SIMPLE SUSAN. 79
as you told me," said the butcher, "I
could let you have what's as good and
better for your purpose." " Better—if it's
better, I'm ready to hear reason." The
butcher had choice tender lamb, he said,
fit to eat the next day * and as Mr. Case
was impatient to make his offering to Sir
Arthur, he accepted the butcher's pro-
posal, though with such seeming reluc-
tance, that he actually squeezed out of
him, before he would complete the bar-
gain, a bribe of a fine sweetbread.
In the meantime Susan's brothers ran
home to tell her that her lamb was put
into the paddock for the night; this was
all they knew, and even this was some
comfort to her. Rose, her good friend,
was with her, and she had before her the
pleasure of telling her father of his week's
reprieve. Her mother was better, and
even said she was determined to sit up to
supper in her wicker arm-chair.
Susan was getting things ready for
supper, when little William, who was
standing at the liouse-door, watching in
the dusk for his father's return, suddenly
exclaimed, " Susan! if here is not our old
man !"
80 SIMPLE SUSAN.
"Yes," said the old harper, "I have
found my way to you. The neighbours
were kind enough to show me where-
abouts you lived; for, though I didn't
know your name, they guessed who I
meant by what I said of you all." Susan
came to the door, and the old man was
delighted to hear her speak again. " If
it would not be too bold," said he, " I'm a
stranger in this part of the country, and
come from afar off. My boy has got a
bed for himself here in the village; but I
have no place. Could you be so charitable
as to give an old blind man a night's
lodging?" Susan said she would step in
and ask her mother; and she soon re-
turned with an answer, that he was
heartily welcome, if he could sleep upon
the children's bed, which was but small.
The old man thankfully entered the
hospitable cottage. He struck his head
against the low roof, as he stepped over
the door-sill. " Many roofs that are twice
as high are not half so good," said he.
Of this he had just had experience at the
house of Attorney Case, where he had
asked, but had been roughly refused all
assistance by Miss Barbara, who was,
SIMPLE SUSAN. 81
according to her usual custom, standing
staring at the hall-door.
The old man's harp was set down in
Farmer Price's kitchen, and he promised
to play a tune for the boys before they
went to bed; their mother giving them
leave to sit up to supper with their father.
He came home with a sorrowful coun-
tenance; but how soon did it brighten,
when Susan, with a smile, said to him,
" Father, we've good news for you! good
news for us all!—You have a whole week
longer to stay with us; and perhaps," con-
tinued she, putting her little purse into
his hands,—"perhaps with what's here
and the bread-bills, and what may some-
how be got together before a week's at an
end, we may make up the nine guineas
for the substitute, as they call him. Who
knows, dearest mother, but we may keep
him with us for ever!"—As she spoke,
she threw her arms round her father, who
pressed her to his bosom without speaking,
for his heart was full. He was some
little time before he could perfectly
believe that what he heard was true; but
the revived smiles of his wife, the noisy
joy of his little boys, and the satisfaction
F
82 SIMPLE SUSAN".
that shone in Susan's countenance, con-
vinced him that he was not in a dream.
As they sat down to supper, the old
harper was made welcome to his share of
the cheerful though frugal meal.
Susan's father, as soon as supper was
finished, even before he would let the
harper play a tune for his boys, opened
the little purse, which Susan had given
to him. He was surprised at the sight of
the twelve shillings, and still more, when
he came to the bottom of the purse, to see
the bright golden guinea.
" How did you come by all this money,
Susan?" said he. "Honestly and hand-
somely, that I'm sure of beforehand," said
her proud mother; " but how, I can't
make out, except by the baking. Hey,
Susan, is this your first baking?" "Oh,
no, no," said her father, " I have her first
baking snug here, besides, in my pocket.
I kept it for a surprise, to do your mother's
heart good, Susan. Here's twenty-nine
shillings, and the Abbey bill, which is
not paid yet, comes to ten more. What
think you of this, wife ? Have we not a
right to be proud of our Susan ? Why,"
continued he,, turning to the harper, " I
SIMPLE SUSAN. 83
ask your pardon for speaking out so free
before strangers in praise of my own,
which I know is not mannerly; but the
truth is the fittest thing to be spoken, as
I think, at all times; therefore, here's
your good health, Susan ; why, by-and-by
she'll be worth her weight in gold—in
silver, at least. But tell us, child, how
came you by all this riches 1 and how
comes it that I don't go to-morrow 1 All
this happy news makes me so gay in my-
self, I'm afraid I shall hardly understand
it rightly. But speak on, child—first
bringing us a bottle of the good mead
you made last year from your own honey."
Susan did not much like to tell the history
of her Guinea-hen—of the gown—and of
her poor lamb. Part of this would seem as
if she was vaunting of her own generosity,
and part of it she did not like to recollect.
But her mother pressed to know the whole,
and she related it as simply as she could.
When she came to the story of her lamb,,
her voice faltered, and everybody present
was touched. The old harper sighed
once, and cleared his throat several times.
He then asked for his harp, and, after
tuning it for a considerable time, he recol-
f 2
€4 SIMPLE SUSAN.
lected—for he had often fits of absence—
that he sent for it to play the tune he had
promised to the boys.
This harper came from a great distance,
from the mountains of Wales, to contend
with several other competitors for a prize,
which had been advertised by a musical
society about a year before this time.
There was to be a splendid ball given
upon the occasion at Shrewsbury, which
was about five miles from our village.
The prize was ten guineas for the best
performer on the harp, and the prize was
now to be decided in a few days.
All this intelligence Barbara had long
since gained from her maid, who often
paid visits to the town of Shrewsbury,
and she had long had her imagination in-
fiamed with the idea of this splendid
music-meeting and ball. Often had she
sighed to be there, and often had she re-
volved in her mind schemes for intro-
ducing herself to some genteel neighbours,
who might take her to the ball in their
carriage. How rejoiced, how triumphant
was she, when this very evening, just
about the time when the butcher was
bargaining with her father about Susan's
SIMPLE SUSAN. 85
lamb, a livery servant from tlie Abbey
rapped at the door, and left a card of in-
vitation for Mr. and Miss Barbara Case !
" There," cried Bab, "/ and papa are to
dine and drink tea at the Abbey to-morrow.
Who knows 1 I dare say, when they see
that I'm not a vulgar-looking person, and
all that—and if I go cunningly to work
with Miss Somers—as I shall—to be sure,
I dare say, she'll take me to the ball with
her."
" To be sure," said the maid; " it's the
least one may expect from a lady that
demeans herself to visit Susan Price, and
goes about a-shopping for her. The least
she can do for you, is to take you in her
carriage, which costs nothing, but is just a
common civility, to a ball."
"Then pray, Betty," continued Miss
Barbara, " don't forget to-morrow, the first
thing you do, to send off to Shrewsbury
for my new bonnet. I must have it to
dine in, at the Abbey, or the ladies will
think nothing of me; and, Betty, remem-
ber the mantua-maker too. I must see
and coax papa to buy me a new gown
against the ball. I can see, you know,
something of the fashions to-morrow at
86 SIMPLE SUSAN.
the Abbey. I shall look the ladies well
over, I promise you. And, Betty, I have
thought of the most charming present for
Miss Somers: as papa says it's good never
to go empty-handed to a great house, Til
make Miss Somers, who is fond, as her
maid told you, of such things—I'll make
Miss Somers a present of that Guinea-hen
of Susan's • it's of no use to me; so do
you carry it up early in the morning to
the Abbey, with my compliments. That's
the thing."
In full confidence that her present and
her bonnet would operate effectually in
her favour, Miss Barbara paid her first
visit at the Abbey. She expected to see
wonders. She was dressed in all the
finery, which she had heard from her
maid, who had heard from the 'prentice
of a Shrewsbury milliner, was the thing in
London; and she was much surprised
and disappointed, when she was shown
into the room where the Miss Somerses
and the ladies at the Abbey were sitting,
to see that they did not, in any one part
of their dress, agree with the picture her
imagination had formed of fashionable
ladies. She was embarrassed when she
SIMPLE SUSAN. 8*7
saw books, and work, and drawings upon
the table, and she began to think that
some affront was meant to her, because
the company did not sit with their hands
before them.
When Miss Somers endeavoured to find
out conversation that would interest her,
and spoke of walks, and flowers, and
gardening, of which she was herself fond,
Miss Barbara still thought herself under-
valued, and soon contrived to expose her
ignorance most completely, by talking of
things which she did not understand.
Those who never attempt to appear
what they are not—those who do not in
their manners pretend to anything un-
suited to their habits and situation in
life, never are in danger of being laughed
at by sensible well-bred people of any
rank; but affectation is the constant and
just object of ridicule.
Miss Barbara Case, with her mistaken
airs of gentility, aiming to be thought a
woman, and a fine lady, whilst she was in
reality a child, and a vulgar attorney's
daughter, rendered herself so thoroughly
ridiculous, that the good-natured yet dis-
cerning spectators were painfully divided
88 SIMPLE SUSAJST.
between their sense of comic absurdity,
and a feeling of shame for one who could
feel nothing for herself.
One by one the ladies dropped off. Miss
Somers went out of the room for a few
minutes to alter her dress, as it was the
custom of the family, before dinner. She
left a portfolio of pretty drawings and
good prints, for-Miss Barbara's amuse-
ment; but Miss Barbara's thoughts were
so intent upon the harpers' ball, that she
could not be entertained with such trifles.
How unhappy are those who spend their
time in expectation! They can never
enjoy the present moment. Whilst Bar-
bara was contriving means of interesting
Miss Somers in her favour, she recollected
with surprise, that not one word had yet
been said of her present of the Guinea-
hen. Mrs. Betty, in the hurry of her
dressing her young lady in the morning,
had forgotten it; but it came just whilst
Miss Somers was dressing; and the house-
keeper came into her mistress's room to
announce its arrival.
" Ma'am," said she, " here's a beautiful
Guinea-hen just come, with Miss Barbara
Case's compliments to you."
SIMPLE SUSAN. 891
Miss Somers knew, by the tone in which
the housekeeper delivered this message,
that there was something in the business
which did not perfectly please her. She
made no answer, in expectation that the
housekeeper, who was a woman of a very
open temper, would explain her cause of
dissatisfaction. In this she was not mis-
taken. The housekeeper came close up to
the dressing-table, and continued, " I never
like to speak till I'rti sure, ma'am, and I'm
not quite sure, to say certain, in this case,
ma'am, but still I think it right to tell
you, which can't wrong anybody, what
came across my mind about this same
Guinea-hen, ma'am; and you can inquire
into it, and do as you please afterwards,
ma'am. Some time ago, we had fine
Guinea-fowls of our own, and I made
bold, not thinking, to be sure, that all our
own would die away from us, as they have
done, to give a fine couple last Christmas
to Susan Price; and very fond and pleased
she was at the time, and I'm sure would
never have parted with the hen with her
good-will; but if my eyes don't strangely
mistake, this hen, that comes from Miss
Barbara, is the self-same identical Guinea-
90 SIMPLE SUSAJST.
lien that I gave to Susan. And how Miss
Bab came by it is the thing that puzzles
me. If my boy Philip was at home,
maybe, as he's often at Mrs. Price's (which
I don't disapprove), he might know the
history of the Guinea-hen. I expect him
home this night, and if you have no
objection, I will sift the affair."
"The shortest way, I should think,"
said Henrietta, "would be to ask Miss
Case herself about it, which I will do this
evening." "If you please, ma'am," said
the housekeeper, coldly; for she knew that
Miss Barbara was not famous in the village
for speaking truth.
Dinner was now served. Attorney
Case expected to smell mint-sauce, and, as
the covers were taken from off the dishes,
looked around for lamb; but no lamb
appeared. He had a dexterous knack of
twisting the conversation to his point.
Sir Arthur was speaking, when they sat
down to dinner, of a new carving-knife,
which he lately had had made for his
sister. The attorney immediately went
from carving-knives to poultry; thence to
butcher's meat. Some j oints, he observed,
were much more difficult to carve than
SIMPLE SUSAN. 91
others. He never saw a man carve better
than the gentleman opposite him, who
was the curate of the parish. " But, sir,"
said the vulgar attorney, " I must make
bold to differ with you in one point, and
I'll appeal to Sir Arthur. Sir Arthur,
pray may I ask, when you carve a fore-
quarter of lamb, do you, when you raise
the shoulder, throw in salt, or not V This
well-prepared question was not lost upon
Sir Arthur. The attorney was thanked
for his intended present; but mortified
and surprised to hear Sir Arthur say that
it was a constant rule of his never to ac-
cept of any presents from his neighbours.
" If we were to accept a lamb from a rich
neighbour on my estate," said he, " I am
afraid we should mortify many of our
poor tenants, who can have little to offer,
though, perhaps, they may bear us tho-
rough good-will notwithstanding."
After the ladies left the dining-room, as
they were walking up and down the large
hall, Miss Barbara had a fair opportunity
of imitating her keen father's method of
conversing. One of the ladies observed,
that this hall would be a charming place
for music. Bab brought in harps, and
92 SIMPLE SUSAN.
harpers, and the harpers' ball, in a breath.
"I know so mudh about it,—about the
ball, I mean," said she, " because a lady
in Shrewsbury, a friend of papa's, offered
to take me with her; but papa did not
like to give her the trouble of sending so
far for me, though she has a coach of her
own." Barbara fixed her eyes upon Miss
Somers as she spoke; but she could not
read her countenance as distinctly as she
wished, because Miss Somers was at this
moment letting down the veil of her hat.
" Shall we walk out before tea V said
Miss Somers to her companions; " I have
a pretty Guinea-hen to show you." Bar-
bara, secretly drawing propitious omens
from the Guinea-hen, followed with a
confidential step. The pheasantry was
well filled with pheasants, peacocks, &c.;
and Susan's pretty little Guinea-hen ap-
peared well, even in this high company.
It was much admired. Barbara was in
glory; but her glory was of short dura-
tion.
Just as Miss Somers was going to in-
quire into the Guinea-hen's history, Philip
came up, to ask permission to have a bit
of sycamore, to turn a nutmeg-box for his
SIMPLE SUSAJST. 93
mother. He was an ingenious lad, and a
good turner for his age. Sir Arthur had
put by a bit of sycamore 011 purpose for
him, and Miss Somers told him where it
was to be found. He thanked her; but
in the midst of his bow of thanks his eye
was struck by the sight of the Guinea-
hen, and he involuntarily exclaimed,
" Susan's Guinea-hen, I declare !" " No,
it's not Susan's Guinea-hen," said Miss
Barbara, colouring furiously; "it is mine,
and I have made a present of it to Miss
Somers."
At the sound of Bab's voice, Philip
turned—saw her—and indignation, un-
restrained by the presence of all the
amazed spectators, flashed in his counte-
nance.
" What is the matter, Philip V said Miss
Somers, in a pacifying tone; but Philip
was not inclined to be pacified. " Why,
ma'am," said he, " may I speak out ?" and,
without waiting for permission, he spoke
out, and gave a full, true, and warm
account of Rose's embassy, and of Miss
Barbara's cruel and avaricious pro-
ceedings.
Barbara denied, prevaricated, stam-
94 SIMPLE SUSAN.
mered, and at last was overcome with
confusion; for which even the most in-
dulgent spectators could scarcely pity her.
Miss Somers, however, mindful of what
was due to her guest, was anxious to
despatch Philip for his piece of sycamore.
Bab recovered herself as soon as he was
out of sight; but she further exposed
herself by exclaiming, "I'm sure I wish
this pitiful Guinea-hen had never come
into my possession. I wish Susan had
kept it at home, as she should have done 1"
" Perhaps she will be more careful, now
that she has received so strong a lesson,"
said Miss Somers. "Shall we try her?"
continued she. " Philip will, I dare say,
take the Guineas-hen back to Susan, if we
desire it." " If you please, ma'am," said
Barbara, sullenly; " I have nothing more
to do with it."
So the Guinea-hen was delivered to
Philip, who setoff joyfully with his prize,
and was soon in sight of Farmer Price's
cottage. He stopped when he came to the
door. He recollected Rose and her gene-
rous friendship for Susan. He was deter-
mined that she should have the pleasure
of restoring the Guinea-hen. He ran.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 95
into the village. All the children who
had given np their little purse on May-
day were assembled on the play-green.
They were delighted to see the Guinea-
hen once more. Philip took his pipe
and tabor, and they marched in in no-
cent triumph towards the whitewashed
cottage.
" Let me come with you—let me come
with you," said the butcher's boy to Philip.
" Stop one minute! my father has some-
thing to say to you." He darted into his
father's house. The little procession
stopped, and in a few minutes the bleat-
ing of a lamb was heard. Through a back
passage, which led into the paddock be-
hind the house, they saw the butcher
leading a lamb.
"It is Daisy!" exclaimed Eose—"It's
Daisy!" repeated all her companions.
" Susan's lamb! Susan's lamb!" and there
was a universal shout of joy.
"Well, for my part," said the good
butcher, as soon as he could be heard,—
" for my part, I would not be so cruel as
Attorney Case for the whole world. These
poor brute beasts don't know aforehand
what's going to happen to them; and as
■96 SIMPLE SUSA2*.
for dying, it's what we must all do some
time or another; but to keep wringing
the hearts of the living, that have as much
sense as oneself, is what I call cruel; and
is not this what Attorney Case has been
doing by poor Susan, and her whole
family, ever since he took a spite against
them? But, at any-rate, here's Susan's
lamb safe and sound. Id have taken it
back sooner, but I was off before day to
the fair, and am but just come back.
Daisy, however, has been as well off in
my paddock as he would have been in
the field by the water-side."
The obliging shopkeeper, who showed
the pretty calicoes to Susan, was now at
his door, and when he saw the lamb, and
heard that it was Susan's, and learned its
history, he said that he would add his
mite; and he gave the children some ends
of narrow riband, with which Rose deco-
rated her friend's lamb.
The pipe and tabor now once more
began to play, and the procession moved
on in joyful order, after giving the humane
butcher three cheers;—three cheers which
were better deserved than "loud huzzas"
usually are.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 97
Susan was working in her arbour, with
her little deal table before her. When
she heard the sound of the music, she put
down her work and listened. She saw
the crowd of children coming nearer and
nearer. They had closed round Daisy, so
that she did not see it; but as they came
up to the garden-gate, she saw that Rose
beckoned to her. Philip played as loud
as he could, that she might not hear, till
the proper moment, the bleating of the
lamb. Susan opened the garden-wicket,
and at this signal the crowd divided, and
the first thing that Susan saw, in the midst
of her taller friends, was little smiling
Mary, with the Guinea-hen in her arms.
" Come on ! Come on!" cried Mary, as
Susan started with joyful surprise; " you
have more to see."
At this instant the music paused; Susan
heard the bleating of a lamb; and scarcely
daring to believe her senses, she pressed
eagerly forward, and beheld poor Daisy!
—she burst into tears. " I did not shed
one tear when I parted with you, my dear
little Daisy!" said she. " It was for my
father and mother. I would not have
parted with you for anything else in the
G
98 SIMPLE SUSAN1.
whole world. Thank you, thank you all,"
added she to her companions, who sym-
pathized in her joy, even more than they
had sympathized in her sorrow. "Now
if my father was not to go away from us
next week, and if my mother was quite
stout, I should be the happiest person in
the world!"
As Susan pronounced these words, a
voice behind the little listening crowd
cried in a brutal tone, " Let us pass, if
you please • you have no right to stop up
the public road!" This was the voice of
Attorney Case, who was returning with
his daughter Barbara from his visit to the
Abbey. He saw the lamb, and tried to
whistle as he passed on. Barbara also
saw the Guinea-hen, and turned her head
another way, that she might avoid the
contemptuous, reproachful looks of those
whom she only affected to despise. Even
her new bonnet, in which she had ex-
pected to be so much admired, was now
only serviceable to hide her face and
conceal her mortification.
"I am glad she saw the Guinea-hen,"
cried Kose, who now held it in her hands.
"Yes," said Philip, "she'll not forget
SIMPLE SUSAN. 99
May-day in a hurry." " Nor I neither, I
hope," said Susan, looking round upon
her companions with a most affectionate
smile; " I hope, whilst I live, I shall
never forget your goodness to me last
May-day. Now I've my pretty Guinea-
hen safe once more, I should think of
returning your money." "No! no! no!"
was the general cry. "We don't want the
money—keep it, keep it—you want it for
your father." " Well," said Susan, " I am
not too proud to be obliged. I will keep
your money for my father. Perhaps some
time or other I may be able to earn—"
" Oh," interrupted Philip, " don't let us
talk of earning; don't let us talk to her of
money now; she has not had time hardly
to look at poor Daisy and her Guinea-hen.
Come, we had best go about our business,
and let her have them all to herself."
The crowd moved away in consequence
of Philip's considerate advice; but it was
observed that he was the very last to stir
from the' garden-wicket himself. He
stayed, first, to inform Susan that it was
Rose who tied the ribands on Daisy's
head. Then he stayed a little longer to
let her into the history of the Guinea-hen,
62
100 SIMPLE SUSAN.
and to tell her who it was that brought
the hen home from the Abbey.
Rose held the sieve, and Susan was
feeding her. long-lost favourite, whilst
Philip leaned over the wicket, prolonging
his narration. " Now, my pretty Guinea-
hen," said Susan—"my naughty Guinea-
hen, that flew away from me, you shall
never serve me so again. I must cut your
nice wings; but I wont hurt you." " Take
care," cried Philip; "you'd better, indeed
you'd better, let me hold her, whilst you
cut her wings."
When this operation was successfully
erformed, which it certainly could never
ave been if Philip had not held the hen
for Susan, he recollected that his mother
had sent him with a message to Mrs. Price.
This message led to another quarter of an
hour's delay; for he had the whole history
of the Guinea-hen to tell over again to
Mrs. Price, and the farmer himself luckily
came in whilst it was going on, so it was
but civil to begin it afresh; and then the
farmer was so rejoiced to see his Susan so
happy again with her two little favourites,
that he declared he must see Daisy fed
himself; and Philip found that he was
SIMPLE SUSAN. 101
wanted to hold the jug full of milk, out
of which Farmer Price filled the pan for
Daisy! Happy Daisy! who lapped at his
ease, whilst Susan caressed him, and
thanked her fond father and her pleased
mother.
"But, Philip," said Mrs. Price, "I'll
hold the jug—you'll be late with your
message to your mother; we'll not detain
you any longer."
Philip departed, and as he went out of
the garden-wicket he looked up, and saw
Bab and her maid Betty staring out of the
window, as usual. On this, he immedi-
ately turned back to try whether he had
shut the gate fast, lest the Guinea-hen
might stray out, and fall again into the
hands of the enemy.
Miss Barbara, in the course of this day,
had felt considerable mortification, but no
contrition. She was vexed that her
meanness was discovered; but she felt no
desire to cure herself of any of her faults.
The ball was still uppermost in her vain,
selfish soul. " Well," said she, to her
confidante Betty, "you hear how things
have turned out; but if Miss Somers
wont think of asking me to go with her,
102 SIMPLE SUSAN.
I've a notion I know who will. As papa
says, it's a good thing to have two strings
to one's bow."
Now, some officers, who were quartered
at Shrewsbury, had become acquainted
with Mr. Case. They had gotten into
some quarrel with a tradesman in the
town, and Attorney Case had promised to
bring them through the affair, as the man
threatened to take the law of them.
Upon the faith of this promise, and with
the vain hope that, by civility, they might
dispose him to bring in a reasonable bill
of costs, these officers sometimes invited
Mr. Case to the mess; and one of them,
who had lately been married, prevailed
upon his bride sometimes to take a little
notice of Miss Barbara. It was with this
lady that Miss Barbara now hoped to go
to the harpers' ball.
" The officers and Mrs. Strathspey, or,
more properly, Mrs. Strathspey and the
officers, are to breakfast here to-morrow,
do you know," said Bab to Betty. " One
of them dined at the Abbey to-day, and
told papa that they'd all come. They are
going out, on a party, somewhere into the
country, and breakfast here in their way.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 103
Pray, Betty, don't forget that Mrs. Strath-
spey can't breakfast without honey. 1
heard her say so myself." " Then, indeed,"
said Betty, "I'm afraid Mrs. Strathspey
will be likely to go without her breakfast
here: for not a spoonful of honey have
we, let her long for it ever so much."
" But, surely," said Bab, " we can contrive
to get some honey in the neighbourhood."
" There's none to be bought, as I know
of," said Betty. " But is there none to be
begged or borrowed ?" said Bab, laughing.
"Do you forget Susan's beehive? Step
over to her in the morning, with my cmrv-
plimmts, and see what you can do. Tell
her it's for Mrs. Strathspey."
In the morning, Betty went with Miss
Barbara's compliments to Susan, to beg
some honey for Mrs. Strathspey, who
could not breakfast without it. Susan did
not like to part with her honey, because
her mother loved it, and she therefore
gave Betty but a small quantity. When
Barbara saw how little Susan sent, she
called her a miser, and said she must have
some more for Mrs. Strathspey. " I'll go
myself and speak to her;—come you with
me, Betty," said the young lady, who
104 SIMPLE SUSAN.
found it at present convenient to forget
her having declared, the day that she
sucked up the broth, that she never would
honour Susan with anoth er visit. " Susan,"
said she, accosting the poor girl, whom she
had done everything in her power to injure,
"I must beg a little more honey from
you for Mrs. Strathspey's breakfast. You
know, on a particular occasion, such as
this, neighbours must help one another."
" To be sure they should," added Betty.
Susan, though she was generous, was
not weak; she was willing to give to
those she loved, but not disposed to let
anything be taken from her, or coaxed
out of her, by those she had reason to
despise. She civilly answered, that she
was sorry she had no more honey to spare.
Barbara grew angry, and lost all com-
mand of herself, when she saw that Susan,
without regarding her reproaches, went
on looking through the glass pane in the
beehive.—" I'll tell you what, Susan
Price," said she, in a high tone, "the
honey I will have; so you may as well
give it to me by fair means—yes or no?
—Speak ! will you give it me, or not ?
Will you give me that piece of the honey-
SIMPLE SUSAN. 105
comb that lies there?" "That bit of
honeycomb is for my mother's break-
fast," said Susan; " I cannot give it you."
" Can't you ?" said Bab ; " then see if I
don't get it." She stretched across Susan
for the honeycomb, which was lying by
some rosemary-leaves that Susan had
freshly gathered for her mother's tea. Bab
grasped, but at her first effort she reached
only the rosemary. She made a second
dart at the honeycomb; and in her
struggle to obtain it she overset the bee-
hive. The bees swarmed about her. Her
maid Betty screamed, and ran away.
Susan, who was sheltered by a laburnum-
tree, called to Barbara, upon whom the
black clusters of bees were now settling,
and begged her to stand still, and not to
beat them away. " If you stand quietly,,
you wont be stung, perhaps." But, instead
of standing quietly, Bab buffeted, and
stamped, and roared, and the bees stung
her terribly. Her arms and her face
swelled in a frightful manner. She was
helped home by poor Susan and treacher-
ous Mrs. Betty, who, now the mischief
was done, thought only of exculpating
herself to her master.
106 SIMPLE SUSAN".
" Indeed, Miss Barbara," said she, "this
was quite wrong of you, to go and get
yourself into such a scrape. I shall be
turned away for it, you'll see."
" I don't care whether you are turned
away or not," said Barbara; " I never felt
such pain in my life. Can't you do some-
thing for me? I don't mind the pain
either so much as being such a fright.
Pray how am I to be fit to be seen at
breakfast by Mrs. Strathspey? and I sup-
pose I can't go to the ball either to-mor-
row, after all!"
" No, that you can't expect to do, in-
deed," said Betty, the comforter. " You
need not think of balls; for those lumps
and swellings wont go off your face this
week. That's not what pains me; but
I'm thinking of what your papa will say
to me when he sees you, miss."
Whilst this amiable mistress and maid
were in their adversity reviling one an-
-other, Susan, when she saw that she could
be of no farther use, was preparing to
depart; but at the house-door she was
met by Mr. Case. Mr. Case had revolved
things in his mind; for his second visit
at the Abbey pleased him as little as his
SIMPLE SUSAN. 107
first, owing to a few words which Sir
Arthur and Miss Somers dropped in
speaking of Susan and Farmer Price.
Mr. Case began to fear that he had mis-
taken his game in quarrelling with this
family. The refusal of his present dwelt
upon the attorney's mind; and he was
aware that, if the history of Susan's lamb
ever reached the Abbey, he was undone.
He now thought that the most prudent
course he could possibly follow would be
to hush up matters with the Prices with
all convenient speed. Consequently, when
he met Susan at his door, he forced a
gracious smile. "How is your mother,
Susan?" said he. "Is there anything in
our house can be of service to her?" On
hearing his daughter, he cried out, " Bar-
bara! Barbara! Bab ! come downstairs,
child, and speak to Susan Price." But as
no Barbara anwered, her father stalked
upstairs directly, opened the door, and
stood amazed at the spectacle of her
swelled visage.
Betty instantly began to tell the story
of Barbara's mishap her own way. Bab
contradicted her as fast as she spoke.
The attorney turned the maid away upon
108 SIMPLE SUSAN.
the spot • and partly with real anger, and
partly with feigned affectation of anger,
he demanded from his daughter how she
dared to treat Susan Price so ill, "when,"
as he said, " she was so neighbourly and
obliging as to give you some of her honey?
Couldn't you be content, without seizing
upon the honeycomb by force? This is
scandalous behaviour, and what, I assure
you, I can't countenance."
Susan now interceded for Barbara; and
the attorney, softening his voice, said
that "Susan was a great deal too good
to her; as you are, indeed," added he,
"to everybody. I forgive her for your
sake." Susan curtsied, in great surprise;
but her lamb could not be forgotten, and
she left the attorney's house as soon as
she could, to make her mother's rosemary-
tea for breakfast.
Mr. Case saw that Susan was not so
simple as to be taken in by a few fair
words. His next attempt was to con-
ciliate Farmer Price. The farmer was a
blunt, honest man, and his countenance
remained inflexibly contemptuous, when
the attorney addressed him in his softest
tone.
SIMPLE SUSAN. 109
So stood matters the day of the long-
expected harpers' ball. Miss Barbara
Case, stung by Susan's bees, could not,
after all her manoeuvres, go with Mrs.
Strathspey to the ball. The ball-room
was filled early in the evening. There
was a numerous assembly. The harpers,
who contended for the prize, were placed
under the music-gallery at the lower end
of the room. Amongst them was our old
blind friend, who, as he was not so well
clad as his competitors, seemed to be dis-
dained by many of the spectators. Six
ladies and six gentlemen were now ap-
pointed to be judges of the performance.
They were seated in a semicircle, opposite
to the harpers. The Miss Somerses, who
were fond of music, were amongst the
ladies in the semicircle; and the prize
was lodged in the hands of Sir Arthur.
There was now silence. The first harp
sounded, and as each musician tried his
skill, the audience seemed to think that
each deserved the prize. The old blind
man was the last. He tuned his instru-
ment; and such a simple, pathetic strain
was heard as touched every heart. All
were fixed in delighted attention; and
110 SIMPLE SUSAN.
when the music ceased, the silence for
some moments continued.
The silence was followed by an uni-
versal buzz of applause. The judges were
unanimous in their opinions, and it was
declared that the old blind harper, who
played the last, deserved the prize.
The simple, pathetic air which won the
suffrages of the whole assembly, was his
own composition. He was. pressed to
give the words belonging to the music;
and at last he modestly offered to repeat
them, as he could not see to write. Miss
Somers's ready pencil was instantly pro-
duced; and the old harper dictated the
words of his ballad, which he called—
" /Susaris Lamentation for her Lamb."
Miss Somers looked at her brother from
time to time, as she wrote; and Sir
Arthur, as soon as the old man had
finished, took hiin aside, and asked him
some questions, which brought the whole
history of Susan's lamb and of Attorney
Case's cruelty to light.
The attorney himself was present when
the harper began to dictate his ballad.
His colour, as Sir Arthur steadily looked
at him, varied continually; till at length,
SIMPLE SUSAN. Ill
when he heard the words " Susan's Lamen-
tation for her Lamb," he suddenly shrunk
back, skulked through the crowd, and
disappeared. We shall not follow him;
we had rather follow our old friend, the
victorious harper.
No sooner had he received the ten
guineas, his well-merited prize, than he
retired into a small room belonging to
the people of the house, asked for pen,
ink, and paper, and dictated, in a low
voice, to his boy, who was a tolerably
good scribe, a letter, which he ordered
him to put directly into the Shrewsbury
post-office. The boy ran with the letter to
the post-office. He was but just in time,
for the postman's horn was sounding.
The next morning, when Farmer Price,
his wife, and Susan, were sitting together,
reflecting that his week's leave of absence
was nearly at an end, and that the money
was not yet made up for John Simpson,
the substitute, a knock was heard at the
door, and the person who usually deli-
vered the letters in the village put a
letter into Susan's hand, saying," A penny,
if you please—here's a letter for your
father."
.112 simple susan.
"For me!" said Farmer Price; " here's
the penny then; but who can it be from,
I wonder ? Who can think of writing to
me, in this world?" He tore open the
letter; but the hard name at the bottom
of the page puzzled him—" Your obliged
Jriend—Llewellyn."
" And what's this?" said he, opening a
paper that was enclosed in the letter. " It's
a song, seemingly; it must be somebody
that has a mind to make an April fool of
me." "But it is not April, it is May,
father," said Susan. "Well, let us read
the letter, and we shall come at the truth
all in good time.
Farmer Price sat down in his own chair,
for he could not read entirely to his
satisfaction in any other, and read as
follows:—
" My worthy Friend,—I am sure you
will be glad to hear that I have had good
success this night. I have won the ten-
guinea prize, and for that I am in a great
measure indebted to your sweet daughter
Susan; as you will see by a little ballad
I enclose for her. Your hospitality to me
.has afforded me an opportunity of learn-
SIMPLE SUSAN". 113
ing some of your family history. You
do not, I hope, forget that I was present
when you were counting the treasure in
Susan's little purse, and that I heard for
what purpose it was all destined. You
have not, I know, yet made up the full
sum for your substitute, John Simpson ;
therefore do me the favour to use the
five-guinea bank-note which you will find
within the ballad. You shall not find
me as hard a creditor as Attorney Case.
Pay me the money at your own conveni-
ence. If it is never convenient to you to
pay it, I shall never ask it. I shall go
my rounds again through this country, I
believe, about this time next year, and
will call to see how you do, and to play
the new tune for Susan and the dear little
boys.
" I should just add, to set your heart
at rest about the money, that it does not
distress me at all to lend it to you. I
am not quite so poor as I appear to be.
But it is my humour to go about as I do.
I see more of the world under my tat-
tered garb than, jjerhaps, I should ever
see in a better dress. There are many of
my profession who are of the same mind
H
114 simple susan.
as myself in this respect; and we are
glad, when it lies in our way, to do any
kindness to such a worthy family as yours.
—So, fare ye well.
"Your obliged Friend,
" Llewellyn."
Susan now, by her father's desire,
opened the ballad. He picked up the
five-guinea bank-note, whilst she read
with surprise, " Susan's Lamentation for
her Lamb." Her mother leaned over her
shoulder to read the words; but they
were interrupted, before they had finished
the first stanza, by another knock at the
door. It was not the postman with an-
other letter. It was Sir Arthur and his
sisters.
They came with an intention, which
they were much disappointed to find that
the old harper had rendered vain—they
came to lend the farmer and his good
family the money to pay for his sub-
statute.
" But, since we are here," said Sir
Arthur, "let me do my own business,
which I had like to have forgotten. Mr.
Price, will you come out with me, and let
SIMPLE SUSAN. 115
me show you a piece of your land,
through which I want to make a road ?
Look there," said Sir Arthur, pointing to
the spot, " I am laying out a ride round
my estate, and that bit of land of yours
stops me."
"Why, sir," said Price, "the land's
mine, to be sure, for that matter; but I
hope you don't look upon me to be that
sort of person that would be stiff about a
trifle or so."
" The fact is," said Sir Arthur, " I had
heard you were a litigious, pig-headed
fellow; but you do not seem to deserve
this character."
" Hope not, sir," said the farmer; " but
about the matter of the land, I don't want
to take any advantage of your wishing
for it. You are welcome to it; and I
leave it to you to find me out another bit
of land convenient to me that will be
worth neither more nor less; or else to
make up the value to me some way or
other. I need say no more about it."
" I hear something," continued Sir
Arthur, after a short silence,—"I hear
something, Mr. Price, of a flaw in your
lease. I would not speak to you of it
H 2
116 SIMPLE SUSAK,
whilst we were bargaining about your
land, lest I should overawe you; but, tell
me, what is this flaw ?"
" In truth, and the truth is the fittest
thing to be spoken at all times," said the
farmer, "I didn't know myself what a
flaw, as they call it, meant, till I heard of
the word from Attorney Case; and, I
take it, a flaw is neither more nor less
than a mistake, as one should say. Now,
by reason a man does not make a mis-
take on purpose, it seems to me to be the
fair thing, that if a man finds out his mis-
take, he might set it right; but Attorney
Case says this is not law; and I've no
more to say. The man who drew up my
lease made a mistake; and if I must
suffer for it, I must," said the farmer.
" However, I can show you, Sir Arthur,
just for my own satisfaction and yours, a
few lines of a memorandum on a slip of
paper, which was given me by your rela-
tion, the gentleman who lived here before,
and let me my farm. You'll see, by that
bit of paper, what was meant; but the
attorney says, the paper's not worth a
button in a court of justice, and I don't
understand these things. All I under-
SIMPLE SUSAN. 117
stand is the common honesty of the
matter. I've no more to say."
" This attorney, whom you speak of so
often," said Sir Arthur, "you seem to
have some quarrel with. Now, would
you tell me frankly what is the matter
between "
"The matter between us, then," said
Price, "is a little bit of ground, not worth
much, that is there open to the lane at
the end of Mr. Case's garden, sir, and he
wanted to take it in. Now I told him
my mind, that it belonged to the parish,
and that I never would willingly give my
consent to his cribbing it in that way.
Sir, I was the more loath to see it shut
into his garden, which moreover is large
enough of all conscience without it, be-
cause you must know, Sir Arthur, the
children in our village are fond of making
a little play-green of it; and they have
a custom of meeting on May-day at a
hawthorn that stands in the middle of it,
and altogether I was very loath to see 'em
turned out of it by those who had no right."
Let us go and see this nook," said Sir
Arthur. " It is not far off, is it f
" Oh no, sir; just hard by here."
118 SIMPLE SUSAN.
When they got to the ground, Mr. Case,
who saw them walking together, was in
a hurry to join them, that he might put a
stop to any explanations. Explanations
were things of which he had a great dread;
but, fortunately, he was upon this occasion
a little too late.
" Is this the nook in dispute?" said Sir
Arthur. " Yes; this is the whole thing,"
said Price. "Why, Sir Arthur," inter-
posed the politic attorney, with an assumed
air of generosity, "don't let us talk any
more about it. Let it belong to whom it
will, I give it up to you."
" So great a lawyer, Mr. Case, as you
are," replied Sir Arthur, "must know
that a man cannot give up that to which
he has no legal title; and in this case it
is impossible that, with the best inten-
tions to oblige me in the world, you can
give up this bit of land to me, because it
is mine already, as I can convince you
effectually by a map of the adjoining land,
which I have fortunately safe amongst
my papers. This piece of ground belonged
to the farm on the opposite side of the
road, and it was cut off when the lane
was made."
SIMPLE SUSAX. 119
"Very possibly. I dare say you are
quite correct; you must know best," said
the attorney, trembling for the agency.
" Then," said Sir Arthur, "Mr.Price,you
will observe that I now promise this little
green to the children for a play-ground; and
I hope they may gather hawthorn many
a May-day at this them favourite bush."
Mr. Price bowed low, which he seldom
did, even when he received a favour him-
self. " And now, Mr. Case," said Sir
Arthur, turning to the attorney, who did
not know which way to look, " you sent
me a lease to look over."
"Ye—ye—yes," stammered Mr. Case.
" I thought it my duty to do so; not out
of any malice or ill-will to this good man."
" You have done him no injury," said
Sir Arthur, coolly. " I am ready to make
him a new lease, whenever he pleases, of
his farm, and I shall be guided by a me-
morandum of the original bargain, which
he has in his possession. I hope I never
shall take an unfair advantage of any
one."
" Heaven forbid, sir," said the attorney,
sanctifying his face, "that I should sug-
gest the taking an unfair advantage of
120 SIMPLE SUSAN.
any man, rich or poor ; but to break a bad
lease is not taking an unfair advantage."
" You really think so?" said Sir Arthur.
" Certainly I do, and I hope I have not
hazarded your good opinion by speaking
my mind concerning the flaw so plainly.
I always understood that there could be
nothing ungentlemanlike, in the way of
business, in taking advantage of a flaw in
a lease."
"Now," said Sir Arthur, "you have
pronounced judgment undesignedly in
your own case. You intended to send me
this poor man's lease; but your son, by
some mistake, brought me your own, ana
I have discovered a fatal error in it." "A
fatal error?" said the alarmed attorney.
"Yes, sir," said Sir Arthur, pulling the
lease out of his pocket. " Here it is. You
will observe that it is neither signed nor
sealed by the grantor." " But you wont
take advantage of me, surely, Sir Arthur?"
said Mr. Case, forgetting his own prin-
ciples. "I shall not take advantage of
you, as you would have taken of this
honest man. In both cases I shall be
guided by memoranda which I have in
my possession. I shall not, Mr. Case,
SIMPLE SUSAN. 121
defraud you of one shilling of your pro-
perty. I am ready, at a fair valuation, to
pay the exact value of your house and
land; but upon this condition, that you
quit the parish within one month !"
Attorney Case was thus compelled to
submit to the hard necessity of the case,
for he knew that he could not legally
resist. Indeed he was glad to be let off so
easily; and he bowed and sneaked away,
secretly comforting himself with the hope,
that when they came to the valuation of
the house and land he should be the
gainer, perhaps of a few guineas. His repu-
tation lie justly held very cheap.
"You are a scholar; you write a good
hand; you can keep accounts, cannot
you V said Sir Arthur to Mr. Price, as
they walked home towards his cottage.
" I think I saw a bill of your little daugh-
ter's drawing out the other day, which
was very neatly written. Did you teach
her to write V
" No, sir," said Price, " I can't say I did
that, for she mostly taught it herself; but
I taught her a little arithmetic, as far as
I knew, on our winter nights, when I had
nothing better to do."
122 SIMPLE SUSAN.
"Your daughter shows that she has
been well taught," said Sir Arthur; " and
her good conduct and good character speak
strongly in favour of her parents."
" You are very good, very good indeed,
sir, to speak in this sort of way," said the
delighted father.
" But I mean to do more than pay you
with words" said Sir Arthur. "You are
attached to your own family; perhaps you
may become attached to me, when you
come to know me, and we shall have fre-
quent opportunities of judging of one
another. I want no agent to squeeze my
tenants, or to do my dirty work. I only
want a steady, intelligent, honest man,
like you, to collect my rents; and I hope,
Mr. Price, you will have no objection to
the employment."
" I hope, sir," said Price, with joy and
gratitude glowing in his honest counte-
nance, " that you'll never have cause to
repent your goodness."
" And what are my sisters about here?"
said Sir Arthur, entering the cottage, and
going behind his sisters, who were busily
engaged in measuring an extremely pretty
coloured calico.
SIMPLE SUSAN". 123
" It is for Susan, my clear brother," said
they. " I knew she did not keep that
guinea for herself," said Miss Somers.
" I have just prevailed upon her mother
to tell me what became of it. Susan gave
it to her father; but she must not refuse
a gown of our choosing this time; and I
am sure she will not, because her mother,
I see, likes it. And, Susan, I hear that,
instead of being Queen of the May this
year, you were sitting in your sick mother's
room. Your mother has a little colour in
her cheeks now."
" Oh, ma'am," interrupted Mrs. Price,
" I'm quite well. Joy, I think, has made
me quite well."
" Then," said Miss Somers, "I hope you
will be able to come out on your daughter's
birthday, which, I hear, is the 25th of this
month. Make haste and get quite well
before that day; for my brother intends
that all the lads and lasses of the village
shall have a dance on Susan's birthday."
" Yes," said Sir Arthur, " and I hope on
that day, Susan, you will be very happy
with your little friends upon their play-
green. I shall tell them that it is your
good conduct which has obtained it for
124 SIMPLE SUSAN.
them; and if you have anything to ask,
any little favour for any of your com-
panions, which we can grant, now ask,
Susan. These ladies look as if they would
not refuse you anything that is reason-
able; and, I think, you look as if you
would not ask anything unreasonable."
" Sir," said Susan, after consulting her
mother's eyes, "there is, to be sure, a
favour I should like to ask; it is for Rose."
" Well, I don't know who Rose is," said
Sir Arthur, smiling; " but, go on."
" Ma'am, you have seen her, I believe;
she is a very good girl, indeed," said Mrs.
Price. " And works very neatly, indeed,"
continued Susan, eagerly, to Miss Somers;
" and she and her mother heard you were
looking out for some one to wait upon you."
"Say no more," said Miss Somers;
" your wish is granted. Tell Rose to come
to the Abbey to-morrow morning, or rather
come with her yourself; for our house-
keeper, I know, wants to talk to you about
a certain cake. She wishes, Susan, that
you should be the maker of the cake for
the dance; and she has good things ready
looked out for it already, I know. It must
be large enough for everybody to have a
SIMPLE SUSAN. 125
slice, and the housekeeper will ice it for
you. I only hope your cake will be as
good as your bread. Fare ye well."
How happy are those who bid farewell
to a whole family, silent with gratitude,
who will bless them aloud when they are
far out of hearing!
" How do I wish, now," said Farmer
Price, " and it's almost a sin for one that
has had such a power of favours done him,
to wish for anything more ; but how I do
wish, wife, that our good friend the harper
was only here at this time! It would do
his old warm heart good. Well, the best of
it is, we shall be able, next year, when he
cymes his rounds, to pay him his money
with thanks, being all the time, and for
ever, as much obliged to him as if we kept
it. I long, so I do, to see him in this
house again, drinking, as he did, just in
this spot, a glass of Susan's mead, to her
very good health."
" Yes," said Susan, " and the next time
he comes, I can give him one of my
Guinea-hen's eggs, and I shall show him
my lamb, Daisy."
" True, love," said her mother, " and he
will play that tune, and sing that pretty
126 SIMPLE SUSAN.
ballad. Where is it? for I have not
finished it."
" Rose ran away with it, mother; but
I'll step after her, and bring it back to
you this minute," said Susan.
Susan found her friend Rose at the
hawthorn, in the midst of a crowded circle
of her companions, to whom she was
reading "Susan's Lamentation for her
Lamb."
"The words are something; but the
tune—the tune—I must have the tune,"
cried Philip. " I'll ask my mother to ask
Sir Arthur to try and find out which way
that good old man went after the ball;
and if he's above ground, we'll have him
back by Susan's birthday; and he shall sit
here, just exactly here, by this our bush,
and he shall play—I mean if he pleases—
that same tune for us; and I shall learn
it—I mean if I can—in a minute."
The good news, that Parmer Price was
to be employed to collect the rents, and
that Attorney Case was to leave the parish
in a month, soon spread over the village.
Many came out of their houses to have
the pleasure of hearing the joyful tidings
SIMPLE SUSAN. 127
confirmed by Susan herself. The crowd
on the play-green increased every minute.
" Yes," cried the triumphant Philip, "I
tell you it's all true,—every word of it.
Susan's too modest to say it herself; but
I tell ye all, Sir Arthur gave us this
play-green for ever, on account of her
being so good."
You see, at last, Attorney Case, with all
his cunning, has not proved a match for
" Simple Susan."
THE END.
London:
sayill and edwards, printers, chandos street,
cotent garden.
In sq. 16mo, 24 pages each.
ooxjtlkdge's evesla.stixg six-
Id* PENNY PRIMERS, Printed on Fine Cloth,
with Cloth Covers, and numerous Illustrations,
L Mayor's Illustrated Primer. Fifty-nine Cuts.
2. Markharn's Illustrated Primer. Forty two cuts.
3. The Illustrated Electric Primer. Ninety Cuts.
4. The Illustrated School Primer. SiKty-ft ur Cuts, j
The Cheapest Primers ever Punted.
Roftledgk's twopenny cloth
FIRST BOOKS. Illustrated.
1. Alphabet, with snraU letters,
2. Alphabet, with capital letters.
3. Domestic Birds r.nd Fables.
4„ Moral Lessons and Stories of Animals.
R/S
oftledge's penny cloth liat-
DORF.S. Illustrated.
1. First Picture Alphabet.
2. Second Picture Alphabet.
3. Third Picture Alphabet.
4. Lessons in One Syllable.
5. Lessons in Numbers.
6. Words in Common Use.
lire great advantage of the above for the use of
Children will he found in their being printed on or lined
with cloth, and, therefore, not liable to be destroyed
E31 _ -
tONinay i o. rodtludge and co., farringdon atrrkt
SMmoad Evans, Enjpravw tad Printer. Ka<;uet Cmrt. FUc-t Street.