So Fritz marched boldly up to the aged burro, and essayed to saddle him. All offers of aid in this matter had been haughtily rejected, and nothing could so easily have convinced them all that their darling was quite himself again as his amusing little swagger.
“Pooh! Must think I’m nobody! Here I have been a-drivin’ that mare of mine away down the mountain, and back; an’ you folks think I can’t saddle a silly old donk! Pooh! I’ll show you!”
The show that he did afford them was certainly a funny one, though not of the kind the little lad himself intended.
From his lonely room, Melville heard the fun, and distinctly recognized the voice of his small cousin. The sound of it in happy activity again was sweet to his ears, for he had never ceased to regret his unintentional injury of the child. Octave had noticed this change more than any of the others, and wondered at first what “had come over Melville to be so like other folks”; and, being of a nature opposed to secrecy, had promptly asked him.
“Well, I tell you, Octave; I had a big scare. What if—no matter, he’s all right again, you say; and one thing I mean to do: I mean to think more about other people and less about myself.”
He had said this shamefacedly, as if he did not feel sure of himself, but did feel sure of her ridicule.
It came swiftly on the heels of his confession.
“That’s all nonsense, Melville Capers. ‘You are no saint, and you needn’t pose for one.’ You have worried everybody about you ever since you were born, and you will go on worrying somebody to the end. I don’t take any stock in your talk. You’re a little scared over what you’ve done; but soon as Fritzy is all right again you’ll be just as disagreeable as ever.”
“You’re a hateful girl!”
“There! I told you so! Don’t, for goodness’ sake,—yes, for goodness’ real sake,—don’t ever tell anybody that you mean to be ‘unselfish.’ He or she won’t believe you, to begin with; and if they suspect your intention they will watch you to see the miracle. Talk is the most inexpensive thing in the world. I used to tell how good I would be, and then Paula would fix her big eyes on me and stare, every time I did any mean little thing. Even Fritzy Nunky would put me all out by taking me at my word. He’d look so surprised when I wasn’t a saint right away quick. Then I’d get mad, and the last state of that girl was worse than the first. If Content heard me quote that, she’d look at me in pious horror; and yet I mean it. No, Melville; take the advice of one who has had experience, don’t lay that sweet unction of ‘going to be’ to your soul. ‘Going to be’ never comes. It’s like the poetry talk about ‘there is no to-morrow.’ And there isn’t.”