HERE’S the pedlar! Oh dear! and just as mother has gone out!” cried Polly, who on beginning her afternoon business of nurse to the little children, saw, or thought that she saw, at the end of her lane, a man with a pack travelling along the high-road. “There he is. Oh, if I could only stop him, or if any one would look after the baby whilst I am gone! Minnie Wingfield! Ah, how stupid I am to forget that she is now at the afternoon school! I think that baby would keep very quiet for five minutes; he cannot roll out of his cradle. But Johnny, he’d be[89] tumbling down, or setting the cottage on fire; I cannot leave him for a minute by himself.—Johnny,” said she suddenly, “I want to catch the pedlar and see his pretty things; will you come with me, like a good little boy?” Johnny scrambled to his feet in a moment, to the full as eager as herself. Polly held his fat little hand tight within her own, and began running as fast as she could drag him along. But the poor child’s round heavy figure and short steps were altogether unsuited for anything like a race. Polly felt him as a dead weight hanging to her arm. In vain she pulled, dragged, and jerked, now began to encourage, and now to scold; poor Johnny became tired, frightened, and out of breath, and at last fairly tumbled upon his face.
“Get up—I’m in such a hurry!”—no answer but a roar. “Stupid child! he’ll be gone!”—Johnny bellowed louder than before. “There, I’ll leave you on the road, you[90] great tiresome boy; you have half pulled out my arm with dragging you on. I’ll leave you there, and silly Sally may get you.”
Then, without heeding the poor little child’s cries and entreaties that she would stop, as he lay on the ground, half suffocated with sobs, Polly Bright, thinking only of the prize which her vanity made her so much desire, hastened after the pedlar.
 
POOR SALLY.
Silly Sally, who has been twice mentioned in my tale, was a poor idiot-woman who lived with some kind neighbours on a common about two miles from the village. She was perfectly harmless, and therefore allowed to go about with freedom wherever she chose; but the terrible misfortune, alas! exposed her to the scorn and sometimes even persecution of wicked children, who made the worst use of the senses left them, by tormenting one already so much afflicted. Poor Sally used to wander about the lanes, uttering her unmeaning sound. Perhaps[91] even she had some pleasure in life, when the sun shone brightly and the flowers were out, for she would gather the wild roses from the bank, or the scarlet poppies from the field, and weave them into garlands for her head. Nothing pleased her more than when she found a long feather to add to her gaudy wreath. If the poor witless creature[92] had delight in making herself gay, Polly at least had no right to laugh at her.
Timid and easily frightened, the idiot felt a nervous terror for schoolboys, for which they had given her but too much cause. She had been hooted at, even pelted with mud, pursued with laughter like a hunted beast. Twice had Minnie to interfere with her brother, pleading even with tears for one so helpless and unhappy. If there be anything more brutal and hateful than cruelty to a harmless animal, it is heartless barbarity to a defenceless idiot—to one who bears our image, is descended from our race, and whose only crime is the being most unfortunate. Deal gently, dear children, with the poor senseless idiot; we trust that there is a place in heaven even for him. The powers denied him in this world may be granted in the next; and in a brighter realm, although never here below, he may be found at his Lord’s feet, clothed and in his right mind.
On hastened the little girl, breathless and[93] panting. At the place where the roads joined she looked anxiously up the highway, to see if she had not been mistaken in her distant view of the traveller. No; there was the pedlar, pack and all, and no mistake, but walking more briskly than might have been expected from his burden and the warmth of the afternoon. His pack must have been much lightened since he first set out with it.
Polly called out; but he either did not hear, or did not attend. The wind was blowing the dust in her face, she was tired with her vain attempts to drag poor Johnny, her shoes were down at heel and hindered her running; for it by no means follows that those who wish to be fine care to be tidy also. But the brooch of false diamonds—the coveted brooch—the thought of that urged her on to still greater efforts; even the remembrance of her swelled nose was lost in the hope of possessing such a beautiful ornament. Polly, as she shuffled hastily[94] along, saw more than one person meet the pedlar. If they would but stop him—if only for one minute—to give her time to get up with him at last. No one stopped him—how fast he seemed to walk! Polly’s face was flushed and heated, her hair hung about her ears—would that we were as eager and persevering in the pursuit of what really is precious, as the girl was in that of a worthless toy!
At last her gasped-out “Stop!” reached the ear of the pedlar. He paused and turned round, and in a few minutes more his pack was opened to the admiring eyes of Polly. Ah, how she coveted this thing and that! how she wished that her six pennies were shillings instead! A cherry-coloured neckerchief, a pink silk lace, a large steel pin, and a jewelled ring,—how they took her fancy, and made her feel how difficult it is to decide when surrounded by many things alike tempting!
But at last the wonderful brooch of false[95] diamonds was produced. There was only one left in the pedlar’s stock. How fortunate did Polly think it that it also had not been sold! Neckerchief, lace, pin, or ring was nothing compared to this. She tried it on, had some doubts of the strength of the pin, tried in vain to obtain a lessening of the price. It ended in the girl’s placing all her pence in the hand of the pedlar, and carrying home her prize with delight. She had had her wish. Her vanity was gratified—the brooch was her own; but to possess is not always to enjoy.
[96]
 
POLLY AND THE PEDLAR.
[97]Polly returned to her cottage with much slower steps; she was heated, and tired, and perhaps a little conscious that she had not been faithful to her trust. As she came near her home she quickened her pace, for to her surprise she heard voices within, and voices whose tones told of anxiety and fear. These were the words which struck her ear, and made her pause ere she ventured to enter,—
[98]“What a mercy it is that I returned for the basket that I had forgotten! If I had not, what would have become of my poor babe!” exclaimed Mrs. Bright in much agitation.
“I can’t understand how it happened,” replied another voice, which Polly knew to be that of Mrs. Wingfield.
“You may well say that,” said the mother. Polly could hear that she was rocking her chair backwards and forwards, as she sometimes did when hushing the sick child to sleep. “I left Polly in charge of the children: I came back to find her gone, and my poor, poor baby in a fit.”
Polly turned cold, and trembled so that she could hardly stand.
“Is there no one who could go for a doctor?” continued the agitated mother; “another fit may come on—I would give the world to see him!”
“I am so feeble,” replied Mrs. Wingfield, “that I am afraid—”
[99]“Take the baby, then, and I’ll go myself; not a moment is to be lost.”
“No, no; there’s my boy Tom,” cried Mrs. Wingfield, as she saw her son run hastily into her little cottage, which was just opposite to Mrs. Bright’s.
“Oh, send him, in mercy send him!” cried the mother; and her neighbour instantly crossed over to fulfil her wishes, passing Polly as she did so, and looking at her with mingled surprise and scorn, though in too much haste to address her.
“My boy, my own darling!” murmured the anxious mother, pressing her sick child to her bosom, “what will............