Little Essie going to meet her father.
“It’s dear father,” said Essie, and she laid down her crutches, and was tenderly lifted into the wagon, and bidding Phil “good-by” for an hour, drove off with good old Farmer Hardy, talking pleasantly with him.
And poor Phil was left behind lamenting; for it seemed as if it grew suddenly dark, as the sound of the wheels got faint and fainter, and at last died quite away. Then he went to the end of the crooked lane, and climbed into the fork of a tree to watch for Essie’s return.
You may be sure, when the dear little child was met by her father, and lovingly placed close beside him for the pleasant ride home, she told him how good Phil had been all day, at which Farmer Goodfellow looked very much pleased; and when he and Essie got to where the tree was in which Phil had perched himself, he was told to jump into the wagon, and they all came down the crooked lane, just as the stars were peeping out, three very happy people.
I don’t think you would have known Phil for the same boy, had you seen how he flew round, giving the horses their supper, putting them in their comfortable stalls, and dragging at the wagon, with, the help of the farm man, to get it safely housed. The boys at the school would certainly have declared that it could not be “Philip Badboy,” but a sensible, industrious fellow called Philip Wiseman.
And the farmer showed how much he was gratified, by giving him a seat next his own at the table, and letting Essie help him twice to apple-sauce.
“I dare say,” said the farmer, “you will like farming better than Greek and Latin; while my son John is all for books. Learning suits him to a T.”
Phil blushed deeply, and hung down his head.