Simple Susan

The dame-school, which was about a mile from the village, was a long, low house with a thatched roof. It was sheltered by a few old oaks, under which the grandparents and great-grandparents of the children now at school had played long ago. The play-green sloped down from the front of the school, and was enclosed by a rough paling. The children obeyed and loved the dame who taught them, for she was ever quick to praise them when they did well, and to give them all the pleasure she could. Susan had been taught by her, and the dame often told her little pupils that they must try to be like her, wise and modest, gentle and kind. As she now opened the gate, she heard the merry voices of the little ones, and saw them streaming out of the narrow door and scattering over the green.

"Oh, there's Susan!" cried her two little brothers, running, leaping and bounding up to her; and many of the other rosy boys and girls crowded round her to tell of their games.

Susan always liked to hear of all that made others happy, but she had to tell the children that if they all spoke at once she would not be able to hear what any of them said. The voices were still raised one above the other, all eager to tell about ninepins, or marbles, or tops, or bows and arrows, when suddenly music was heard. The children at once became silent, and looked round to see whence the sound came. Susan pointed to the great oak-tree, and they saw, sitting under its shade, an old man playing upon his harp. The children all drew near quietly, for the music was solemn; but as the harper heard little footsteps coming towards him, he played one of his more lively tunes. The merry troop pressed nearer and nearer to the old man. Then some of those who were in front whispered to each other, "He is blind." "What a pity!" "He looks very poor." "What a ragged coat he wears!" "He must be very old, for his hair is white; and he must have come a long way, for his shoes are quite worn out."

All this was said while the harper tuned his harp. When he once more began to play, not a word was spoken, but every now and again there was a cry of delight. The old man then let the children name the airs they would like best to hear. Each, time Susan spoke, he turned his face quickly to where she stood, and played the tune she asked for over and over again.

"I am blind," he said, "and cannot see your faces, but I can tell something about each of you by your voices."

"Can you indeed?" cried Susan's little brother William, who was now standing between the old man's knees. "It was my sister Susan who spoke last. Can you tell us something about her?"

"That I can, I think," said the harper, lifting the little boy on his knee. "Your sister Susan is good-natured."

William clapped his hands.

"And good-tempered."

"Right," said little William, clapping louder than before.

"And very fond of the little boy who sits on my knee."

"Oh! right, right, quite right!" exclaimed the child, and "quite right" echoed on all sides.

"But how do you know so much, when you are blind?" said William, looking hard at the old man.

"Hush!" whispered John, who was a year older than his brother and very wise, "you should not remind him that he is blind."

"Though I am blind," said the harper, "I can hear, you know, and I heard from your sister herself all that I told you of her, that she was good-tempered and good-natured and fond of you."

"Oh, that's wrong—you did not hear all that from her, I'm sure," said John, "for nobody ever hears her praising herself."

"Did not I hear her tell you," said the harper, "when you first came round me, that she was in a great hurry to go home, but that she would stay a little while, since you wished it so much? Was not that good-natured? And when you said you did not like the tune she liked best, she was not angry with you, but said, 'Then play William's first, if you please.' Was not that good-tempered?"

"Oh, yes," said William, "it's all true; but how did you find out she was fond of me?"

"That is such a hard question," said the harper, "that I must take time to think."

He tuned his harp, as he thought, or seemed to think, and at this instant two boys, who had been searching for birds' nests in the hedges and who had heard the sound of the harp, came blustering up, and pushing their way through the circle, one of them exclaimed, "What's going on here? Who are you, my old fellow? A blind harper! Well, play us a tune, if you can play a good one—play—let's see, what shall he play, Bob?" added he, turning to his companion. "Play 'Bumper Squire Jones.'"

The old man, though he did not seem quite pleased with the way in which he was asked, played "Bumper Squire Jones." Several tunes were afterwards named by the same rough voice.

The little children shrunk back shyly, as they looked at the bold boy. He was the son of Attorney Case, and as his father had not cured his temper when he was a child, it became worse [pg 282] and worse as he grew up. All who were younger and weaker than himself were afraid of him and disliked him. When the old harper was so tired that he could play no more, a lad who usually carried his harp for him came up, and held his master's hat to those around, saying, "Will you please remember us?" The children readily gave their halfpence to this poor, good-natured man, who had taken so much pains to amuse them. It pleased them better even than to give them to the gingerbread-woman, whose stall they loved to visit. The hat was held to the Attorney's son before he chose to see it. At last he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a shilling. There was sixpenny-worth of halfpence in the hat. "I'll take these halfpence," said he, "and here's a shilling for you."

"God bless you, sir," said the lad; but as he took the shilling which the young gentleman had slyly put into the blind man's hand, he saw that it was not worth one farthing. "I am afraid It is not good, sir," said the lad, whose business it was to look at the money for his master.

"I am afraid, then, you'll get no other," said young Case, with a rude laugh.

"It never will do, sir, look at it yourself; the edges are all yellow. You can see the copper through it quite plain. Sir, nobody will take it from us."

"I have nothing to do with that," said the rude boy, pushing away his hand. "You may pass it, you know, as well as I do, if you look sharp. You have taken it from me, and I shan't take it back again, I can tell you."

A whisper of "that's very unjust," was heard.

"Who says it's unjust?" cried the Attorney's son sternly, looking down upon his judges.

"Is any one here among yourselves a judge of silver?" said the old man.

"Yes, here's the butcher's boy," said the Attorney's son; "show it to him."

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