“How I wish gran’pa was here!” exclaimed little Susan Fielding, one day to her mother, who was busying herself about household affairs, and could not devote as much of her time to her children, Susan and Robert, as usual. Robert was about nine years old, and thought himself too much of a little man to complain of any fancied neglect on his mother’s part; so he amused himself by drawing horses and dogs on his new slate, a department of the fine arts, for which, if he had no particular talent, he showed at least a plentiful supply of industry. Susan was two years younger than Robert, and having no female companion of her own age, to converse with when her mother was engaged,[10] really felt lonesome; and this is the reason why she cried, perhaps, a little impatiently, “How I wish gran’pa was here!”
Mrs. Fielding entered the room at this moment, and hearing Susan’s earnest wish, inquired of her why she was so anxious to see her grandpapa just then.
“Because, ma,” replied the little girl; “gran’pa always tells me such nice stories when I ask him to, and I do want some one to talk to me just now.”
“Well, my dear,” replied her mother, soothingly, “you will soon have your wish, for I saw your gran’pa coming up the lawn as I entered. He’ll be here presently, but do not tease him the moment he comes in, for you know he is very old, and must have time to rest after his walk.”
Susan clapped her hands for joy, and promised that she would be very patient, but she could not conceal her anticipated pleasure. As for Robert, as soon as he heard of his grandpapa’s being near the house, his slate and pencil were dropped immediately, and running to the door to meet him, his eyes fairly sparkled with delight as he cried lustily, “Gran’pa’s coming! gran’pa’s coming!”
Old Mr. Fielding was as much delighted with the children as they were with him, and when he seated himself in his easy chair, drawn from its corner by the[11] children, he kissed both affectionately, and placed one on each knee, saying,
“Well, my children, have you been well since I saw you last?”
“Oh, yes, gran’pa,” said Susan, “but I wanted you to come here so bad. Ma has been busy all day, and could not talk to me, and Robert would talk of nothing but dogs and horses, and you know, gran’pa, little girls don’t care about such animals. But now you’re here, and you’ll tell us all about the proud little girl you spoke of last week—that is when you rest yourself, gran’pa,” exclaimed Susan, suddenly recollecting that she must not tease him, as her mother desired.
The old gentleman smiled at his grandchild’s thoughtfulness, and after a few moment’s spent in collecting his ideas, during which time Robert’s slate lay quite neglected, and Susan tried to look very patient, he began as follows:
“Caroline Ellis was the only child of parents who thought that indulging her in every wish was all that was necessary to make her happy, which idea, my dear children, is very erroneous, for little boys and girls are not as well qualified to judge what is good for them as grown people are. Caroline was delicate, and notwithstanding her father’s wealth, she became paler and paler each day, until at last great fears were entertained that[12] her life would pay the forfeit of her parents’ pride, for that was the sole cause of their daughter’s ill-health. Her mother was not like yours, Susan; she taught her child to believe that it was low and vulgar to play as other children do; but kept her always dressed up in the parlor, except when she took her to balls and parties with herself. The consequences were that she pined away, until, as I told you, great fears were felt for her life.
“Country air was recommended by the physicians, and, accompanied by her mother, she visited several watering places, but always dressed up in beautiful silks and satins, so that it was impossible to go in the fields or meadows, without soiling her expensive dresses. Although the change of air did her a great deal of good, her health was by no means re-established, and now the physicians told her mother that her child must be allowed to skip and jump about with children of her own age—which I forgot to say was twelve years—instead of promenading like an old person.”
“What is promenading, gran’pa?” interrupted Susan.
“It is walking slowly, my child, the way vain little girls walk who think more about fine clothes than the sweet little flowers my darling Susan loves so well. However, her mamma was prevailed on to send her to[13] the country, alone, to the house of her uncle, who had four children; but Caroline had never seen them, and it was hard to persuade her to go into the ‘dull country,’ as she called it, and mingle with ‘vulgar country people.’ But she discovered her error in time.
“At her uncle’s, she was treated with great kindness and attention by her cousins, who did all that lay in their power to please her—fresh bouquets of flowers were pulled for her daily, and although she would at first scarcely open her lips to any one of them, their repeated acts of kindness overcame her pride somewhat, and she would occasionally talk with her cousin Ellen, who was nearly her own age; but sometimes she would let her proud feelings overcome her, and exclaim to her cousin, ‘Ellen, how can you content yourself in this dull place?’ Ellen was too much of a real little lady to notice the rudeness, which must have hurt her feelings, for she was doing every thing in her power to make her cousin happy.
“Caroline was too selfish to care for any one’s pleasure but her own,” continued old Mr. Fielding, “she had never been taught that the way to be happy is to try to make others so. Ellen had given up her own pleasures to amuse her cousin in her own way; but she was beginning to get tired of her constant complaints of dullness, for to her nothing could be more[14] charming than the sweet singing of the birds, and she had little time now to listen to the music of nature.
“One morning Ellen and Caroline were walking, and Ellen proposed a visit to a cottage down a long green lane, occupied by their old nurse, greatly beloved by the whole family, who visited her almost every day in good weather. Caroline consented, and when they arrived near the place, they were surprised to hear the voices of children, as if in great glee. Ellen was further surprised and delighted to discover that they were her own brothers and sisters, who had arrived by another route, and were busily engaged with agricultural implements in their hands. Charles and Mary had rakes, raking the hay, Emma was gathering flowers, and calling to Charles to come and see how sweet they looked, and little Eddie was trying to make the hay into bundles. ‘See, sis, how nice I can make it!’ shouted he, and his voice rang clear through the pure air, as he clasped the sweet-scented hay in his little hands. Ellen could resist the temptation no longer; she ran to join her little brother in his healthful exercise. Caroline remained looking at them through the window, shocked at first at the idea of her cousin Ellen joining in such rude and vulgar sports; but in a few moments the rich perfume of the new-made hay tempted her to mingle with her cousins. At first, she made sad work of it, and several times was on the point of withdrawing from the party; but fortunately she did not—and for two long hours these happy children laughed and played, until the time arrived to go home to supper. Caroline’s cheeks were now flushed with exercise—she felt like a new being, and conscious that her cousins were right, and she wrong, she laid her head on Ellen’s lap, and bursting out into tears, asked her forgiveness for her rudeness. But Ellen had nothing to forgive—she was happy because she was the means of breaking her cousin of a fashionable vice, and when next day they went again, refreshed after a sound sleep, to ramble and run among the grass and flowers, the cousins became better acquainted than they ever had been before, and the healthy color soon returned permanently to Caroline’s cheeks, and she became quite well, and her aunt prevailed on her to remain during the whole summer with them, which she willingly did, for she now loved her aunt and cousins dearly.
“When at last her time arrived to go home, she cried heartily at the thought of parting, and promised to come again next summer, and every letter sent by her afterwards told of her continued good health, and was full of thanks to her country cousins for their persevering kindness to her until her proud spirit was completely broken, and she was enabled to become a happy child[16] of nature, and no longer worthy of the title of the Proud Girl.”
The Proud Girl (second plate)
Susan and Robert both thanked their grandpapa for telling them such a nice story, and hoped that they would never become proud and despise any body; and they felt thankful to God for giving them such a good mamma, to lead them in the way to do right.