Chapter III: Part 3

The gardener, who had promised to teach Willy gardening, said he was just then very busy about his celery, but that if he would come to him in the evening he would be at leisure; "or if," added he, "you like to come and see me at work now, you may learn something." Willy willingly agreed to do this; so he tied up his tools, and carried them over his shoulder. The gardener said, "if he meant to see him work, he must not meddle with his tools, as it would interrupt him, and he should not be able to get on with his work." Willy promised he would not use his new tools, but he could not bear to part with them.

When they reached the celery bed, Willy thought the celery looked very nice and clean, and that the gardener was going to gather it, for he remembered having eaten some in salad; and he asked the gardener if he would give him "one stick of celery to put into his salad of lettuces?" but the gardener said, the celery was not fit for gathering yet; and, to Willy's great surprise, he found that the gardener was busy covering all these plants with earth, and patting it over them with his spade, just as if they were dirty rubbish, fit for nothing but to be buried in the ground. He could not help crying out, "Oh dear! how can you cover that nice celery with dirt? you will quite spoil it."

"Not a bit," replied the gardener; "it will grow much finer and whiter under the ground than above it. If I let it grow up like other plants, it would be green like them, and so bitter that you could not eat it; but when it is covered up from the light it grows white and crisp, and good to eat."

"Well," said Willy, "I never should have thought that all that dirty earth could have done it any good."

"Your nurse will call this earth dirt if it gets upon your clothes and soils them; but I can tell you, that earth is one of the best things we have. What would become of this garden if there were not earth for the trees and plants of all sorts to grow in? Why, you would have neither flowers nor fruit, and I'm sure that would not please you!"

"No indeed," said Willy, "but you do not cover all the other plants with earth, as you do the celery?"

"No, because we do not want them to grow white; they do much better with green leaves and coloured blossoms and fruit; so we only cover their roots with earth: that is what all plants want. Ah! you little know all the good that happens under this dirty ground, which you despise so much. Have you never sown any seeds?"

"Oh yes, very often."

"Well, then, you know, seeds are little brown things, much of the colour of dirt, and perhaps you may think no better of them than you do of earth; but do you know what they grow into when they are sown?"

"Yes; they turn into flowers, and leaves, and all sorts of pretty things. But I cannot think how all this happens in that dark dirty place underground. I wish I could make a hole down deep enough in the earth to see how the seed is changing into the pretty plant."

"But if you did," replied the gardener, "you could not see what passed there, it is so dark. We none of us know how it is done; but we know who it is that does it. It is the good God, who does so many wonderful things; and we must never forget to thank him for it. However, I know a little more about it than you do, for I have done nothing but work in the garden these fifty years and more. I have sown so many seeds, and watered so many flowers, and gathered so much fruit, that it would be strange if I did not know something about it."

"But you cannot see in the dark any better than I can," said Willy: "so how can you know what happens to the seed underground?"

"It is not by looking at the seed underground, but by taking it up when it is beginning to grow, that I see how it grows. Come along with me," said he, taking Willy by the hand, and carrying his hoe with the other; and he led him to another part of the garden, where there was a bed of fresh earth raked over, quite smooth and neat.

"Are you going to sow some seeds in this bed?" asked Willy, "for there is nothing growing in it?"

"I sowed the seeds some days ago, and by this time I am sure they are all growing; that is, beginning to change into plants; but they have not had time to grow up above ground yet:" then he took his hoe, and turned up a little bit of the earth, and there he found three or four seeds of kidney beans beginning to sprout out and grow. He took up one, and showing it to Willy, said, "Look here, what has happened to this seed!"

"I don't know," replied Willy, "but I think it must have been broken in falling, when it was sown, for you see it is split quite open, and spoiled; so this poor seed will never grow."

"It is not spoiled at all," said the gardener; "for it must be split open to be changed into a plant. The skin of the seed cracks, and through the crack the little stem or stalk of the plant grows up."

"But there is nothing growing out of this split seed."

"No, there has not been time for the stem to grow long enough to get through the crack. But let us go to the other end of the row, where the seeds were sown a day or two earlier." They did so, and upon turning up the earth they found several seeds in which a little stem was growing out of the split seed. This delighted Willy, who also picked up a seed which seemed to have two stems, but the gardener told him one of them was the root of the plant, and would grow down into the ground instead of upright into the air. Then looking carefully along the bed, they saw several tiny stems, scarcely bigger than threads, peeping above ground.

"I should like to know all about these seeds and flowers," said Willy, "it is so very curious."

"I cannot teach you more than I have learnt myself by working in my garden; but there are many people who know more about it from reading in books, and I dare say when you grow up your papa will teach you more about it."

The good old gardener then took Willy back to the house; and every evening Willy went with him to learn how to work in his little garden. The following week the peas were large enough to gather, and Willy shelled them himself; and, I believe, he watched them whilst they were boiling on the fire; and if he had been strong enough I do think he would have carried them himself and placed them on the dinner table; however, he had the satisfaction of seeing them, and hearing them praised by his parents, and he thought he had never tasted any thing so good in all his life.

THE LITTLE COWARD.

When Willy had been some time at his grandmother's, and made acquaintance with every thing about the farm, and had been taught by the old gardener to take care of his little garden, his grandmother told him that she expected some friends from London. She said they would bring with them a little boy about his own age, who, she hoped, would make a pleasant companion for him; "I do not know him," added she, "but as he has always lived in London, I dare say every thing in the country will be new to him and amuse him." The thoughts of a play-fellow pleased Willy much, and he was watching the greater part of the day for the arrival of the carriage: at last he heard the trotting of the horses, and the rolling of the wheels, and presently a carriage stopped at the door, and the bell rung. The party soon alighted, and appeared in the drawing-room; but the little boy, whose name was Tommy, attracted all Willy's attention. There was some shyness between them at first, but they soon got over it, and made acquaintance; and then Willy took Tommy away to show him his garden. There they feasted on gooseberries and currants; but unfortunately Tommy, in thrusting his hand into a gooseberry-bush, got a thorn into one of his fingers, which hurt him sadly.

"Oh! you must come in and have it taken out," said Willy, "and then the pain will be over."

But Tommy did not like to do this, for he fancied that taking it out would give him still more pain; however he was ashamed to say so, and went into the house and told his mamma what had happened.

"You see, Mamma," said he, "that I was not afraid of thrusting my hand into the gooseberry-bush." Poor Tommy knew he was a coward, and therefore he was very glad when he had any thing which he thought courageous to boast of.

"I think it would have been better if you had been afraid," replied his mother. "There is always danger of being pricked, at least by thorns, when you put your hand into a gooseberry-bush, and you should never run into danger when there is no reason for it."

"Well, now let us look at this finger," and she brought her needle for the purpose of taking out the thorn. At sight of the needle poor Tommy's courage was all gone, and instead of holding out his hand he ran off to the farthest corner of the room, and it was not without some difficulty that she got him to consent to have the thorn taken out. When this was done, and he found the pain entirely gone, he thought he had been very foolish to make such a fuss about it, for the pain of taking out the thorn had been very short, and now it was all over, and he should have felt quite happy if he had not been ashamed of his cowardice.

At night he slept in the same room as Willy, and in the morning he was awakened by the crowing of the cocks, and he wanted Willy to get up that he might go and see them in the poultry-yard. Willy said it was too early, and that he must turn about and go to sleep again; but Tommy remained awake listening with delight to the noise of cock-a-doodle-do, cock-a-doodle-doo. By and by he heard another noise, and he could not conceive what it was; it sounded like beating somebody, and he was sadly frightened, thinking perhaps they might come and beat him. But he was ashamed to awake Willy, who had fallen asleep again, lest he should again laugh at him for his cowardice. So he lay awake, trembling with fear, till Willy awoke. He then asked him what the noise was, and Willy burst out laughing when he saw how frightened Tommy was.

"But are they not beating somebody very hard?" cried Tommy.

"No," replied Willy; "they are beating some thing, not some person."

"Well! but they must hurt it very much: I wonder you can laugh so."

"Dress yourself quickly, and come and see what it is, and then you will laugh too."

As soon as they were dressed, Willy took him to the barn, and there they saw four men threshing corn.

Tommy tried to laugh, but he did not do it heartily, for he could not help thinking that those broken sticks tied together might by chance give him a blow, instead of the corn. Willy told him those sticks always struck at the same distance, so it was very easy for them to know how near they might go to the threshers without danger, and he walked boldly on, whilst Tommy followed him timidly, always keeping at a greater distance than Willy; and he was very glad when Willy proposed that they should go and see the cocks and hens, for he was not at all afraid of them. Then there were ducks, too, swimming about in a pretty little round pond, with their little ducklings swimming after them. "I wonder the little chickens do not go into the water too," said Tommy. Willy told him they could not swim, so that if they went into the water they would be drowned; and the dairy-maid, who was there feeding the poultry, took up a little duckling, and showed Tommy how its feet were made. "They look like long fingers," said Tommy, "only they are joined together by a thick skin." Then she took up a chicken, and showed him it had no skin between its toes. "It is this skin," said she, "which makes the ducks swim: look how the great duck paddles in the water with his two legs, just as a man paddles in a boat with his paddles or oars." She then gave the boys some food to throw to the poultry, upon which they all gathered round Willy and Tommy, ducks, chickens, turkeys, and all; and even the pigeons flew down from the pigeon-house to partake of the feast. Tommy thought this extremely diverting, though he could not help sometimes shrinking back a little when a great turkey, or a cock with his red comb, came very near him. Many of the birds quarrelled with each other for the crumbs, and at last the turkey-cock grew so enraged, that he stretched out his great black tail like a fan, his throat swelled and became purple, his eyes and comb became red and fiery, and he screamed out gobbledy, gobbledy, gobbledy; upon which Tommy let fall the dish in which he held the crumbs, and scampered away as fast as his legs could carry him. Willy hallooed after him to stop him, but nothing could persuade him to come near the squalling turkey-cock. "Well," said Willy, "I think it is of no use your coming into the country, if you are afraid of every thing that is amusing."

THE LITTLE COWARD, CONTINUED.

The two boys were going in to breakfast when they met the old nurse, who told them to come along with her, and they should have their breakfast out of doors. When they got there, they found the dairy-maid, who had finished feeding the poultry, and was now milking the cows.

"Well, Master Tommy," said she, "have you got over your fright of the turkey-cock? I think," added she, "that you are apt to be afraid when there is no danger, and not when there is; for you are standing now close by the hind legs of my cow, and if she gave you a kick, she would hurt you much more than any turkey-cock could ever do." Tommy jumped away in an instant, and placed himself close beside the dairy-maid, as if for protection. She then went on milking and filled two jugs, the milk frothing up above the brim; and nurse said, the boys had better drink it there, while it was warm from the cow, than take it home across the farmyard to the nursery; and she gave them each a thick slice of bread and butter to eat with the milk. They sat down on two low milking stools, and ate their breakfasts with great appetite; but just as Tommy held the jug up to his mouth, while his nose dipped into the froth, a donkey who was in one of the stalls began to bray. He had never heard an ass bray in his life, and certainly it is as ugly and disagreeable a noise as can be made by any animal, so it is no wonder that he was frightened. Down fell the jug on the ground, the milk was all spilt, but luckily the mug was not broken. Tommy was going to run away, but the nurse, and the dairy-maid, and Willy, all laughed so much at him, that he stood still, as pale as a sheet, and trembling with fear. "Why, what is it? and where is it? or who is it? Won't it hurt us?"

"You goose," said Willy, "it is nothing but the donkey, the nice little donkey that you are to ride upon after breakfast."

"Oh no, no," cried Tommy, "I will not ride upon it, indeed I will not."

Nurse then took the boys indoors. They each learnt their lessons very well, and then two donkeys were brought to the door for them to ride; but Tommy would not go near them. Willy was much vexed at this, and tried all he could to persuade him to mount one of the donkeys. "See how quiet and gentle they look," said he, "and then the boy who goes with us can lead yours, if you like it." But Tommy could not be persuaded, saying, that if it began braying again he should be so much frightened that he was sure he should fall off. "Then you must go alone, Willy," said his grandmamma; so Willy jumped up, and trotted away. "See what a pleasure you lose," said his mother to Tommy, "from being such a coward."

His mother's observation was very true; he was obliged to take a walk all alone; and as he did not like to go into the lanes, or high roads, for fear of meeting with something that would frighten him, he rambled about the fields, where he unfortunately met with a drove of cows. Some of them were a little skittish, and one of them was running up towards Tommy, who in his fright, in order to avoid her, scrambled up a small tree which stood close by. The drover called to him to come down, telling him the cows would do him no harm, but he said he would rather stay where he was till they were gone by. The drover only laughed at him; but while the cows were passing underneath the tree, the branch on which Tommy sat, so safely as he supposed, gave way, and Tommy, and branch and all, came tumbling down amidst the drove of cows. The cows were now frightened in their turn, and went kicking and scampering about. The hoof of one of them struck poor Tommy, as he lay on the ground, and hurt him sadly. The drover took him up in his arms, and carried him home to the house, where he was put to bed, and the doctor sent for. His poor mother was sadly grieved at this accident, and the more so when she found that it was merely owing to her son's cowardice. Tommy suffered a great deal of pain from being bruised by the cattle, and having sprained his ankle in the fall, was obliged to keep his bed for some days. He had then a great deal of time to think, and he often thought how unlucky he was to meet with so many accidents; but as he was thinking, it came into his mind that there was more folly than ill-luck, and when he began to count over his misfortunes, he found that, excepting the thorn in his finger, they all arose from his cowardice. Oh, how he longed to get rid of his cowardice! But still he felt that he had not the courage to do so.

One day as he was lying in bed with his eyes shut, his mamma, who was sitting in the room at work with his grandmamma, thinking that Tommy was asleep, said,--

"What would I give, if my poor child could get rid of that sad fault. It makes his life unhappy, and mine too, I am sure; for I am always afraid of some accident happening to him, and then it grieves me to the heart that he should be so weak and foolish."

Grandmamma tried to comfort her, and said that she hoped, as he grew older, he would get more courage.

Tommy peeped through his eye-lashes, and saw his mother's eyes full of tears. This made him feel very unhappy. He had always thought that nobody suffered from his cowardice but himself; and he could not bear the idea of making his mother unhappy. When she heard him move in the bed, she said, "Now I must go and give him his medicine, and even that is a painful task for me. I am obliged both to scold and coax in order to make him take it." What was her surprise when, on offering him the dose, he swallowed it at one draught, without even making a wry face, and then flung his arms round his mother's neck, saying, "Dear Mamma, does that make you happy?"

"Yes, my love, indeed it does," said she; "but how is it that you have all at once become so courageous?"

"It is from hearing what you said just now to grandmamma," replied he. "I am so very sorry to have made you unhappy, that I do not think that I shall ever be a coward again. I can't be sure, but I hope so. I will try all I can."

And Tommy kept his word. I do not mean to say that he never shrunk back, or that he did not suffer a great deal from fright; but the idea of his mother's unhappiness always kept up his courage, and after some time he got completely rid of this fault.

THE LITTLE WASHERWOMAN.

The time now came for Willy to return with his parents to London. He was very sorry to leave his dear Grandmamma, his nice little garden, and the good old gardener. He was very sorry, too, to part with Tommy, who since he began to get rid of his cowardice was a very pleasant companion; but there was no choice, so he tried to make the best of it. The railroad soon diverted his thoughts, and he began moving about from place to place, rather to the disturbance of the passengers. His mother desired him to sit still; but then he began to yawn. A lady in the carriage called him to her, and placing him on her knees, said, "Now, I dare say you love stories, don't you?"

"Oh yes, very much," cried Willy, whose yawning suddenly ceased. "Well, then, as I see you are an obedient child, I will tell you one. But my stories are about little girls; for I lived as governess with little girls when I was younger than I am now, and I used to tell them stories about girls."

"Oh, that don't signify," said Willy; "I like all stories, whether they are about girls or boys, or any thing else, and I shall be very glad if you will be so kind as to tell me one." Then the lady began in the following manner:--

"There was once a washerwoman whose name was Mrs. Brown. She had a daughter called Lucy, who was a quick clever child, and who, though only ten years old, was already of some use to her mother, in helping her to wash and iron. As the common irons were too heavy for her, her mother bought her a small one. Lucy was very proud of it, and with it she used to iron children's pocket-handkerchiefs and nightcaps, and other things which were small, and easily ironed. She also went with her mother to gentlemen's houses to fetch the linen to be washed.

"One day, while they were at a gentleman's house, counting out the linen they were to take away, two little girls ran into the room. The elder, who was eight years old, was called Anne, and the name of the younger, who was only six, was Susan."

"Why that is just like Sophy and Cary," said Willy, "but go on."

The lady then continued.

"'Oh, Mrs. Brown!' said Anne, 'I am so glad you and Lucy are come, for we want our doll's clothes to be washed. Cannot you wash them for us?'

"'To be sure I can, Miss,' answered Mrs. Brown; 'but I thought you always washed them yourselves.'

"'Yes, we do in general,' said Susan, 'but we are going to have a little party of friends, so we want the doll to be very nicely dressed, and I am sure you would wash her clothes much better than we could.'

"'But, perhaps,' added she, 'Lucy can wash them; for I know you have taught her to wash; and then she has a nice little iron of her own, which I think would iron dolls' clothes better than a large one. Do you think you could, Lucy?'

"Lucy coloured up with pleasure that the young ladies should trust their doll's clothes to her, and timidly answered 'Yes.' Anne then asked on what day Mrs. Brown brought the linen home, and when she heard it was not till Saturday, she exclaimed, 'Oh dear! that will never do, for our little party is to-morrow evening.'

"'I can wash them out to-day,' said Lucy, 'iron them to-morrow morning, and bring them home in good time.'

"'That will do very well,' said Susan, 'and I will tell you what, if they are nicely done, I will give you one of the cakes that we are to have to treat our friends with. Then you must take particular care of this frock. Only look how pretty it is,' said she, holding up the doll's frock; 'it is covered all over with little worked sprigs, and the muslin is so clear, that you can see quite through it, and the doll has a beautiful pink slip to wear underneath it. But we do not send that to be washed, because it is made of satin, and satin does not wash. This white petticoat,' said she, 'is only an under one, and then, here is her shift, for Miss Dolly must be clean from top to toe, that the company may admire her.'

"Anne also desired that great care should be taken of the frock; 'for,' said she, 'it is so thin, that, if you were to rub it hard, you would be sure to tear it.'

"Lucy promised to mind all they said, and the bundles of linen being now tied up, Mrs. Brown and her daughter carried them away."

"Well!" said Willy, "I dare say something will happen to the poor doll's clothes."

"We shall see," replied the lady, and continued her story.

"When Lucy got home she began immediately to wash out the doll's clothes, and then she hung them out in the garden to dry. She took care not to spread them on a gooseberry-bush, or on any plant that had thorns, which might tear them, but hung them over a little line, and when they were dry, she took them in, sprinkled them, and folded them up."

The train now stopped at a station, and there was so much bustle made by the passengers, some of whom were getting out of the carriages and others getting in, some taking leave of their friends and others meeting friends, that the lady could not go on with her story; but when every one was settled, Willy looked very wistfully at her, and said, "Now we are all so nice and quiet, won't you go on with the story." And the lady went on as follows.

"The next morning Lucy was very impatient to iron the doll's clothes. Her mother bade her take care not to make her iron too hot lest she should scorch them and told her every time she heated it in the fire to try it on something else before she began ironing. This Lucy did very carefully; but as the iron never scorched the linen on which she tried it, she thought she might go on without further trials. She succeeded very well. The shift and the petticoat were nicely ironed and folded up, and she had half-finished ironing the frock, when her mother called her to help her to lift a heavy basket full of clothes, and as her iron was nearly cool she put it to the fire while she went to help her mother. As soon as she returned, she began ironing again, when, lo and behold! there was a great scorch all up the frock from top to bottom. Poor Lucy knew not what to do: she thought of the young ladies, of their party of friends, and of the nice cake they would have given her if she had done her task well. She was ashamed to go and ask her mother what she should do, because she had neglected to follow her advice. After looking at the long yellow stain in dismay for some time, she at last thought she might perhaps wash it out, and dry it and iron it in time to set all right. So she put it into her own little washing-tub and began rubbing it, in hopes of getting out the stain. But it still remained; so she rubbed harder and harder, till at last she tore a great hole in the muslin. Then she thought all was lost, and in despair she burst into tears. Her mother came to know what was the matter, and began scolding her for being so careless; but when she found how much grieved Lucy was, she tried to make the best of it. She finished getting up the frock herself, and then laying all the doll's clothes nicely in a little basket, she bade Lucy carry them home and confess the truth. Poor Lucy was sadly frightened at the idea of carrying home the frock in this condition, thinking she should be scolded, and that the young ladies would never let her wash their things any more. As for the piece of cake, she gave that up for lost; and as she had eaten cake only two or three times in her life, and thought it very nice, she was very sorry to lose it, but not so sorry as she would have been at any other time, for she was too unhappy to care about eating. Well: she walked towards the young ladies' house with her little basket hanging on her arm, but she went on at a very slow pace; and when she came near the house she sat down on a bank by the road-side to try to gather courage to tell the sad story. She looked anxiously towards the house, when she saw the two little girls popping their heads out at a window which looked down the road. 'Oh!' cried she, 'they are watching for me, but if they see me stopping here they will only think the worse of me for loitering whilst they are so impatient. Then,' added she, 'the sooner it is over the better.' So she got up and walked quickly towards the house. When she arrived she could not say a word, but the impatient little girls snatched the basket and began unfolding the parcel. What was their horror when they saw the beautiful sprigged muslin frock quite spoilt! Susan, who was a quick-tempered child, was very angry, and scolded poor Lucy heartily.

"'What a shame!' said she, 'to tear our best doll's frock all to pieces. You shall have no cake, no, that you shall not;' and, bursting into tears, she ran away to tell her mamma. Anne was much more moderate. She was older than her sister, and of a more gentle disposition; and when she saw the tears running down poor Lucy's cheeks, instead of scolding her, she inquired how it had happened; and finding that it was merely from a little heedlessness, she begged Lucy to dry up her tears, as she was sure she would be more careful another time. Susan then returned into the room with her mamma, and Lucy again was frightened, expecting a severe scolding from the lady. But instead of that, she spoke to her calmly and good-naturedly; and Susan, who had been reprimanded by her mother for her violence, stood silent and abashed. Lucy, quite comforted at being so well treated, dropped a courtesy and was going away, when Susan bid her stay a minute longer, and ran and fetched her the cake. But Lucy did not dare take it. 'No, Miss!' she said, 'I do not deserve it.' 'But,' said the lady, 'if you do not deserve it on account of the washing, Susan owes you some amends for behaving so ill to you when she was in a passion.' Lucy blushed and smiled and took the cake, and went away quite happy; and Anne and Susan's kind mamma soon made them happy too; for she gave them a piece of new muslin, which matched the doll's frock exactly. Nurse had just time to take out the spoilt part and sew in a new breadth; and before their little friends arrived, dolly was in full dress, and very much admired by them all."

THE RETURN TO OLD FRIENDS.

"Well, that is a pretty story," said Willy; "and do you know a great many others?"

"Yes," said the lady; "but I should be out of breath if I told you stories all the way; besides, I want to talk to other people as well as to you."

Willy thought that was but fair; and, after thanking the lady for her kindness, he returned to seat himself by his mamma, who told him they would soon reach Derby. This pleased him highly. "Then," said he, "I shall see my old friend Anna, the landlady's daughter at the inn. Oh! but we shall not see the blind woman and her children."

"Possibly we may," replied his mother, "for to-morrow is Sunday, and that is the day they are most likely to go to see their old mother."

Soon after they reached Derby, Willy renewed acquaintance with Anna and the landlady; and in the evening they went to walk in the Arboretum, and there they met all the family, except the blind woman herself.

"Where is she?" asked Willy's mother. "I hope not ill?"

"Oh dear, no, Ma'am," cried Martha, her eyes sparkling with joy at the good news she had to tell; "well, quite well; and she can see us all now, she is no longer blind."

"Oh, how glad I am," said Willy. "Where is she? How happy she must be, and how I should like to see her now she can see!"

"She is at the hospital," said Martha. "She was couched only about ten days ago, and is not allowed yet to go abroad in the daylight; but if you had but seen her kiss us all round when her eyes first saw, and then kneel down and thank God for restoring her sight, and preserving all her children so that she had the blessing of seeing them again. Well, I really thought we should have cried our eyes out, we were all so happy!"

"Cry for being happy!" said Willy; "why I thought people laughed when they were happy."

"So they do," said Martha; "but when they are very, very glad, they cannot laugh, and then they sometimes cry for joy."

Willy told Betsey and Johnny all about grandmamma's farm and his own little garden; and they, in return, told him all about their mother going to the hospital, and how the surgeons had done something to her eyes which made her see; and what a treat their grandmother was going to give them when mother was well enough to leave the hospital. "It is to be a grand drinking tea in the gardens," said she, "and I don't know how many nice things there will be. She is, I believe, making some of the pies and cakes already."

When they returned to the inn, there was still daylight enough for Willy to go over the landlady's garden with his friend Anna, and she showed him the apricot and peach trees, which were now full of ripe fruit, whilst, at their first visit, Willy had scarcely noticed them, seeing nothing but small green balls growing on their branches.

"I will tell you a secret," said Anna, "if you will keep it. Mamma bade me gather some of these apricots and peaches, and put them in a nice little basket, almost quite new, and cover the fruit over with fresh green leaves, as she means to give it to your mamma when she goes away, to eat while she is on the railroad."

The next morning the landlady came with her bill to be paid, and Willy was very glad when he saw his mamma take two sovereigns out of her purse, and a great many shillings, for he thought, "I hope she will have a good deal instead of a _little over_." Then Anna came with the nice basket of fruit and offered it; and Willy's mamma was much pleased, and thanked her, and gave her a pretty silver pencil-case in return, which delighted Anna.

In a few hours more Willy's travels were ended by his arrival in London; we shall therefore take leave of him, after his pleasant journey and his happy return.

THE END.

LONDON:
SPOTTISWOODE and SHAW,
New-street Square.