MINNIE AND THE BEE.
“I wonder that you did not crush the spider that would have eaten up your bee.”
“Why should I? She did nothing wrong. It is Nature that has taught her to live on such food; I would be merciful to spiders as well as to bees.”
“You carried off her dinner—she would not thank you for that.”
“Perhaps I did foolishly,” said Minnie with a smile; “but I cannot see a creature suffering and not try to help it.”
“I wish that you saw the green-grocer’s horse with his bones all starting through his skin, and the marks of the blows on his head. What would you say to the master of that horse?”
“Oh, I wish that he would remember that one verse from the Bible, ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’ Without mercy, what would become of the best—without mercy, we all should be ruined for ever. And if only the merciful can obtain mercy, oh! what will become of the cruel?”
“Pshaw!” cried Tom, not able to dispute the truth of Minnie’s words, but not choosing to listen to them, for he had too many recollections of bird-nesting, cockchafer-spinning, and worrying of cats, to make the subject agreeable. Some find it easier to silence an opponent with a “pshaw!” than by reason or strength of argument; and this was Tom’s usual way. He did not wish to continue the conversation, and, perhaps with a view to change its subject, said in a sudden, abrupt tone, as he stirred his porridge with his pewter spoon—
“You’ve not put a morsel of sugar in my bowl.”
“Yes, indeed, I put some,” replied Minnie.