Johnny scrambled to his feet in a moment, to the full as eager as herself. Polly held his fat little hand tight within her own, and began running as fast as she could drag him along. But the poor child’s round heavy figure and short steps were altogether unsuited for anything like a race. Polly felt him as a dead weight hanging to her arm. In vain she pulled, dragged, and jerked, now began to encourage, and now to scold; poor Johnny became tired, frightened, and out of breath, and at last fairly tumbled upon his face.
“Get up—I’m in such a hurry!”—no answer but a roar. “Stupid child! he’ll be gone!”—Johnny bellowed louder than before. “There, I’ll leave you on the road, you great tiresome boy; you have half pulled out my arm with dragging you on. I’ll leave you there, and silly Sally may get you.”
Then, without heeding the poor little child’s cries and entreaties that she would stop, as he lay on the ground, half suffocated with sobs, Polly Bright, thinking only of the prize which her vanity made her so much desire, hastened after the pedlar.
POOR SALLY.
Silly Sally, who has been twice mentioned in my tale, was a poor idiot-woman who lived with some kind neighbours on a common about two miles from the village. She was perfectly harmless, and therefore allowed to go about with freedom wherever she chose; but the terrible misfortune, alas! exposed her to the scorn and sometimes even persecution of wicked children, who made the worst use of the senses left them, by tormenting one already so much afflicted. Poor Sally used to wander about the lanes, uttering her unmeaning sound. Perhaps even she had some pleasure in life, when the sun shone brightly and the flowers were out, for she would gather the wild roses from the bank, or the scarlet poppies from the field, and weave them into garlands for her head. Nothing pleased her more than when she found a long feather to add to her gaudy wreath. If the poor witless creature had delight in making herself gay, Polly at least had no right to laugh at her.
Timid and easily frightened, the idiot felt a nervous terror for schoolboys, for which they had given her but too much cause. She had been hooted at, even pelted with mud, pursued with laughter like a hunted beast. Twice had Minnie to interfere with her brother, pleading even with tears for one so helpless and unhappy. If there be anything more brutal and hateful than cruelty to a harmless animal, it is heartless barbarity to a defenceless idiot—to one who bears our image, is descended from our race, and whose only crime is the being most unfortunate. Deal gently, dear children, with the poor senseless idiot; we trust that there is a place in heaven even for him. The powers denied him in this world may be granted in the next; and in a brighter realm, although never here below, he may be found at his Lord’s feet, clothed and in his right mind.
On hastened the little girl, breathless and panting. At the place where the roads joined she looked anxiously up the highway, to see if she had not been mistaken in her distant view of the traveller. No; there was the pedlar, pack and all, and no mistake, but walking more briskly than might have been expected from his burden and the warmth of the afternoon. His pack must have been much lightened since he first set out with it.
Polly called out; but he either did not hear, or did not attend. The wind was blowing the dust in her face, she was tired with her vain attempts to drag poor Johnny, her shoes were down at heel and hindered her running; for it by no means follows that those who wish to be fine care to be tidy also. But the brooch of false diamonds—the coveted brooch—the thought of that urged her on to still greater efforts; even the remembrance of her swelled nose was lost in the hope of possessing such a beautiful ornament. Polly, as she shuffled hastily along, saw more than one person meet the pedlar. If they would but stop him—if only for one minute—to give her time to get up with him at last. No one stopped him—how fast he seemed to walk! Polly’s face was flushed and heated, her hair hung about her ears—would that we were as eager and persevering in the pursuit of what really is precious, as the girl was in that of a worthless toy!
At last her gasped-out “Stop!” reached the ear of the pedlar. He paused and turned round, and in a few minutes more his pack was opened to the admiring eyes of Polly. Ah, how she coveted this thing and that! how she wished that her six pennies were shillings instead! A cherry-coloured neckerchief, a pink silk lace, a large steel pin, and a jewelled ring,—how they took her fancy, and made her feel how difficult it is to decide when surrounded by many things alike tempting!