At this same school was a bright little fellow, as full of good-nature, fun, and mischief as he could hold. He did not always know his lessons, and there really seemed no end to the monkey tricks he was constantly playing upon his school-fellows; but somehow, when he said he was sorry for his idleness, and his capers, in his coaxing voice, and trying to keep back two dimples that would come in his cheeks, neither teachers nor comrades could help forgiving him immediately. Everybody loved little Kriss Luff.
He even tried to make friends with Philip; and one bright summer morning resolved to get him up in time for prayers. When the first bell rang, Kriss went to the sleeping boy’s bed, and shaking him well, shouted out: “Come, Lazybones, it’s time for you to be learning your A, B, C; Get up! get up!”
Philip only snored louder, and gave a kick with one of his legs, whereupon the little fellow, with a tremendous push, tilted him suddenly out on the floor, and then had to run for his life, or he would have got a good thrashing from the angry boy.
Thanks to the upset, Philip was down this morning in time for prayers; but went sound asleep again while on his knees, and his neighbors had to poke and pinch him well, to get him upon his feet, when the morning service was ended.
But you may be certain he managed to keep awake at the breakfast table, where he made up for having a head as empty as a drum, by filling his stomach till he could scarcely breathe. He never stopped for salt or pepper; he did not waste his time talking; and was always the very last one at the table, getting up with his cheeks sticking out like a balloon, from thrusting into his mouth every thing he could catch in a hurry.
During school hours, Master Philip went to sleep again—and the master coming up rapped so loudly and suddenly on the desk, that he jumped half a yard high, exclaiming: “Dear me, how could you frighten me so!” while all the boys shouted with laughter.
You may imagine that our friend Philip did not injure himself in the least with studying. He was always wishing that his slate was a hot buttered pancake, so he could eat it up, and never see it again; he would stare at his books as if they were scarecrows, and the idea of writing a composition brought the tears in his eyes quicker than red pepper. The whole of his pocket-money was spent in buying tough pastry; little round stale pound-cakes, with three dead flies and two currants stuck over the top; some oranges, green apples, and molasses candy. Not a suck or a bite did one of his school-fellows ever get, for a greedy boy is always selfish.
At last Dr. Gradus gave up in despair, and wrote a letter to Philip’s father, informing him very frankly that there were no more brains in his son’s head than in a cocoa-nut; that he would do nothing but sleep and cram, from morning till night; that he woke the boys in his dormitory every night by yelling with the nightmare, because he had eaten so much at supper; and that he was very sorry, but Master Philip must leave the school; and he advised, that the very best thing to do with him was to bind him out to a plain country farmer, where he would have to rise at the first peep of day—and work hard till sunset.
Philip’s father thought long and seriously over this letter—then he took a journey; and on his return he brought with him a farmer, and an intelligent-looking country lad.
The boy’s name was John Goodfellow, and he looked as good as his name—for his clear blue eyes sparkled with good-nature; his cheeks shone with good health; and his voice had a tone of good-breeding, notwithstanding his plain country dress and manners. I have no doubt his mother was a good woman, his father a good man, and we know the name of all three was Goodfellow—and so much goodness in a bunch, makes me write about it with extra goodwill.