“Lost it! Has my naughty Little Lucy been playing you some new trick,—teasing Grandpapa as usual?” “No, indeed I have not,” said my young mistress, who had overheard these words as she tripped gaily into the room, “but dear grannie! how very funny you look with your bald head!”
“I think your naughty little pet must have stolen my periwig, as you always call it, for I can find it nowhere.” “What is this new pet of yours, my dear Lucy?” inquired Mrs. Grey, “I think I have never seen it.”
“Not seen my Marmotte!” exclaimed she, running across the room to the corner, where, reclining on the very wig in question, I was enjoying the ludicrous appearance of my old friend.
“Oh! you abominable little thief!” cried Lucy, as soon as she perceived me. “What have you done? I pity you the scolding you will get,” added she, laughingly restoring the wig to her Grandfather, and placing me on Mrs. Grey’s knee. “And what are you going to do with this poor little animal, when you go to school?” said this good old Lady.
“I do not know, and I am very unhappy about it; but come Marmi, show some of your tricks to this good Lady.” Upon which, I jumped down, and began to dance and caper about to her great amusement; she seemed highly delighted to see me eat like a squirrel—sitting on my hind feet and feeding myself with my front paws.
To Lucy’s infinite delight, and my no small pleasure, Mrs. Grey proposed taking me home with her; she had such a kind benevolent countenance, and such good natured affectionate manners, that I was sure she must be very amiable, and therefore liked the idea of living with her, better than the chance of falling into the hands of some one who might not treat me so well. It was not, however, without a deep feeling of regret, that I took leave of the Old Lord and his charming grandchildren, and quitted Cherry Tree Park; for though I was sure Mrs. Grey would treat me very kindly, yet not being acquainted with her household, I feared there might be people under her hospitable roof, who might not treat me so well; and so it proved, for Miss Stitcher, the lady’s maid, looked at me as an intruder, and was very cross from the first day of my arrival; and the dreadful quarrels there sometimes were between her favourite lap dog and myself, only served to increase her ill will towards me; but Mrs. Grey continued very kind, and I heard her one day saying, “It is very wrong of you, Martha, to treat that poor little animal so ill; I always see you pinching and kicking it, whenever it comes near you.” Miss Stitcher did not answer, but turned away looking very ill-natured.
A short time after this, we went to London to pass a few days. I expected great amusement from all the pretty things there, and hoped perhaps to see my dear little Lucy, whose school was in that vast city. But, as it happened, I was never more to see her; for the morning after our arrival, I was sitting at the open window of the first floor apartment, when a boy with a barrel organ stopped before the house where we were, and played the national air of my country, which poor José used so often to whistle: I listened, I gazed at the boy, I listened again, and then having assured myself, by a long and ardent look, of the identity of this little musician, with my oldest and best friend José, I sprang from the window and leaped into his arms. He had also, I think, recognized me; for I had a white mark under my chin, which is not usual in animals of my species. He caressed me, and called me his dear Pierrot; and seeing I answered to this name, he was confident I was his own little Marmotte; and on Mrs. Grey’s coming to the window to see what had become of me, he related to her my former history, and the manner in which he had lost me.
This good old lady, touched by the affection which he shewed for me, and which I seemed to return with such pleasure and gratitude, consented to give me up to my former possessor; and the guinea which she kindly added to the little sum he had collected during his absence from his native country, enabled him to return to his own village, and poor old mother, accompanied by me, whose joy at once more visiting the rugged Alps and fertile valley d’Aosta, in company with my dear José, knew no bounds; but I was very sorry on arriving at his cottage to perceive how much his mother was changed during my absence. Poor old woman; she now hobbles about with a great stick to support her tottering steps, and age will, I fear, soon deprive her of her sight, which is already become very dim.
The meeting between the mother and son was quite affecting. José was now looked upon as the village oracle, having seen so much more of the world than even its oldest inhabitants. His opinion was consulted, and his advice was taken upon every occasion. I was also treated with greater respect for being a traveller; and I can assure you I did look very grave and learned, when seated on the bench by the side of José: I listened to the long accounts he gave of all he had seen and heard; and it was the amusement which these relations seemed to give his companions that first gave me the idea of placing my adventures on paper for the amusement of my young friends, the Young Lord and his sister Lucy.
If any of my little readers desire to know the fate of the wicked Simon, who bore so conspicuous a part in the commencement of this story, I will inform them, that notwithstanding the beatings and lectures he received from his father, as well as the fear and dislike shewed him by all the villagers, he continued his inhuman conduct, and at last fell a victim to it. May his fate prove a warning to all those who are disposed to behave cruelly and wickedly towards poor feeble animals, who have not force or strength to defend themselves. Let them remember that holy precept “do unto others as thou wouldest that they should do unto thee;” and ask themselves whether they would like to be as ill used as the miserable victims of their power.