Chapter II: Part I

"Why, Phebe, are you come so soon,
Where are your berries, child?
You cannot, sure, have sold them all,
You had a basket pil'd."

"No, mother, as I climb'd the fence,
The nearest way to town,
My apron caught upon a stake,
And so I tumbled down."

"I scratched my arm, and tore my hair,
But still did not complain;
And had my blackberries been safe,
Should not have cared a grain.

"But when I saw them on the ground
All scattered by my side,
I pick'd my empty basket up,
And down I sat and cried.

"Just then a pretty little Miss
Chanced to be walking by;
She stopp'd, and looking pitiful,
She begg'd me not to cry.

"'Poor little girl, you fell,' said she,
'And must be sadly hurt'--
'O, no,' I cried, 'but see my fruit,
All mixed with sand and dirt!'

"'Well, do not grieve for that,' she said:
'Go home, and get some more:'
Ah, no, for I have stripp'd the vines,
These were the last they bore.

"My father, Miss, is very poor,
And works in yonder stall;

He has so many little ones,
He cannot clothe us all.

"I always long'd to go to church,
But never could I go;
For when I ask'd him for a gown,
He always answer'd, 'No.'

"'There's not a father in the world
That loves his children more;
I'd get you one with all my heart,
But, Phebe, I am poor.'

"But when the blackberries were ripe
He said to me one day,
'Phebe, if you will take the time
That's given you for play,

"And gather blackberries enough,--
And carry them to town,--
To buy your bonnet and your shoes,
I'll try to get a gown.'

"O Miss, I fairly jumped for joy,
My spirits were so light:
And so, when I had leave to play,
I pick'd with all my might.

"I sold enough to get my shoes,
About a week ago;
And these, if they had not been spilt,
Would buy a bonnet too.

"But now they are gone, they all are gone,
And I can get no more,
And Sundays I must stay at home
Just as I did before.

"And, mother, then. I cried again,
As hard as I could cry;
And, looking up, I saw a tear
Was standing in her eye.

"She caught her bonnet from her head--
'Here, here,' she cried, 'take this!'

O, no, indeed--I fear your 'ma
Would be offended, Miss.

"'My 'ma! no, never! she delights
All sorrow to beguile;
And 'tis the sweetest joy she feels,
To make the wretched smile.

"'She taught me when I had enough,
To share it with the poor:
And never let a needy child
Go empty from the door.

"'So take it, for you need not fear
Offending her, you see;
I have another, too, at home,
And one's enough for me.'

"So then I took it,--here it is--
For pray what could I do?
And, mother, I shall love that Miss
As long as I love you."

THE BLACKBERRY GIRL.