Simple Susan

"No later than last May morning," he said, "Susan acted [pg 286] as it will please you to hear. She was to have been Queen of the May, which among the children in our village is a thing a good deal thought of. But Susan's mother was ill, and Susan, after being up with her all night, would not go out in the morning, even when they brought the crown to her. She put it upon my daughter Rose's head with her own hands, and to be sure Rose loves her as well as if she were her own sister. If I praise Susan it is not that I am any relation of the Prices, but just that I wish her well, as does every one that knows her. I'll send the parcel up to the Abbey, shall I, ma'am?"

"If you please," said Miss Somers, "and as soon as your new goods come in, let us know. You will, I hope, find us good customers and well-wishers," she added, with a smile, "for those who wish others well surely deserve to have well-wishers themselves."

But to return to Susan. When she left the shop she carefully put the bright guinea into the purse with the twelve shillings her little friends had given her on Mayday. She next added, as far as she could remember them, the bills for bread that were owing to her, and found they came to about thirty-eight shillings. Then she hoped that by some means or other she might, during the week her father was to remain at home, make up the nine guineas that would enable him to stay with them altogether. "If that could but be," she said to herself, "how happy it would make my mother! She is already a great deal better since I told her my father would stay for a week longer. Ah! but she would not have blessed Attorney Case, if she had known about my poor Daisy." Susan had now reached the path that led to the meadow by the river-side. She wanted to go there alone and take leave of her lamb. But her little brothers, who were watching for her return, ran after her as soon as they saw her and overtook her as she reached the meadow.

"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 asked 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."

"Yours!" cried the children with terror; "and will you kill it?"

"No, that is what the butcher will do."

The little boys now burst into loud cries. 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 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," he said. "Butcher, I leave it to you. If it's fat—the sooner the better. I've nothing 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 clover, that she might feed her pet for the last time. Poor Daisy licked the 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 back. 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 looked after them as they passed, and the butcher's own son was among the number. The boy remembered Susan's firmness about the shilling, for it had saved him a beating. He went at once to his father to beg him to spare the lamb.

"I was thinking about it myself," said the butcher. "It's a sin to kill a pet lamb, I'm thinking. Anyway, it's what I'm not used to, and don't fancy doing. But I've a plan in my head and I'm going straightway to Attorney Case. But he's a hard man, so we'll say nothing to the boys, lest nothing comes of it. Come, lads," he went on, turning to the crowd of children, "it is time you were going your ways home. Turn the lamb in here, John, into the paddock for the night." The butcher then went to the Attorney.

"If it's a good, fat, tender lamb you want for Sir Arthur," he said, "I could let you have one as good or better than Susan's and fit to eat to-morrow."

As Mr. Case wished to give the present to Sir Arthur as soon as he could, he said he would not wait for Susan's lamb, but would take the one offered by the butcher. In the meantime Susan's brothers ran home to tell her that the lamb was put into the paddock for the night. This was all they knew, but even this was some comfort to the poor girl. Rose was at Farmer Price's cottage that evening, and was to have the pleasure of hearing Susan tell her father the good news that he might stay at home for one week longer. Mrs. Price was feeling better and said that she would sit up to supper in her wicker armchair. As Susan began to get ready the meal, little William, who was standing at the house-door watching for his father's return, called out suddenly, "Susan, why here is our old man!"

"Yes," said the blind harper, "I have found my way to you. The neighbors 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 kind as to give an old blind man a night's lodging?"

Susan said she would step in and ask her mother, and she soon returned with an answer that he was heartily welcome, [pg 289] if he could sleep upon the children's bed, which was but small.

The old man entered thankfully, and, as he did so, struck his head against the low roof. "Many roofs that are twice as high do not shelter folk so kind," he said. For he had just come from the house of Mr. Case, and Barbara, who had been standing at the hall-door, said he could have no help there. 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, as their mother had given them leave to sit up to supper with their father.

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