“That’s the reason, Bobby, why I didn’t bring the knife home. I thought I’d better give it to ye here. Now take it, and don’t for the world ever say a word to anybody how you lost it. And I want ye to come down to the melon-patch with me, for I’m going to send a nice mountain-sweet over to your mother.”
Bobby took his knife, and followed Uncle Ben, unable to utter a word. As they went along, the old man talked to him of his corn and his pumpkins, just as if there was no reason in the world why he and Bobby should not be on the best of terms. He seemed to have quite forgotten that Bobby had ever stolen anything from him. Arrived at the patch he picked off one of the finest melons, as large as the boy could carry, and, after a little more talk, sent him with it to his mother.
And so, after all, Bobby’s heart never felt lighter than it did that morning, after he had left Uncle Ben. He had at last found words to thank him, and to say that he was very sorry for what he had done, but scarce more. But that was all Uncle Ben wanted; and, so long as he lived, after that, he had no truer friend among the neighbor’s boys than Bobby Tatman.
FUNNY LITTLE ALICE.
BY MRS. FANNY BARROW (“AUNT FANNY”).
ONCE on a time, not long ago, four little girls lived together in a large farm-house. It was quite by itself—on the top of a hill with thick woods all around it—but as it was full of people from the city, thirty miles away, and as these people were always polite to each other, and it was warm, sweet summer-time, they were very happy together.
Daisy and May were sisters; Katie had another father and mother, and funny little Alice was the only child of a lady whose husband was dead, so Alice had no father. Poor little thing!
But as she was only two and a half years old, she was too young to feel very sorry for herself, especially as all the ladies in the house loved and petted her; every gentleman rode her to “Banbury Cross” on his foot, and “jumped her” almost as high as the ceiling; and Daisy, May and Kate, who were each seven years old, let her come in to all their plays—which I hope you also do, my little reader, with your baby sisters and brothers.