The most charming little girl in her native village, was Patty; at least, so all the neighbors said, and what everybody says ought to have some truth in it.
Patty deserved their kind words, for she loved everybody and everything, and in return she was loved by all who knew her. The pigeons flew down from their little house to coo around her; the chickens fed from her hand; the cat rolled over her feet and purred with pleasure; and even the steady old dog, Bluff, put himself to the trouble of cutting his liveliest capers to attract her attention.
Patty was always busy, too, about something. When she was no higher than your knee, she used to bustle about and do little things in the handiest manner; and as for sewing, she was the pattern child at the dame’s school, where her sampler was hung upon the wall, as a guide to the other children.
She lived in a little cottage with her parents, who were now old and very poor, and depended upon their little daughter for many things which they were too feeble to do for themselves. One of her daily duties was to go to the spring for water.
She would dip her pitcher into the clear, bright liquid, and sing her sweet little songs, with a voice that made every one who passed that way stop to listen with delight.
Upon one of her journeys to the spring, occurred the great event of her life, of which I am now about to tell you.
Patty had filled her pitcher at the spring, and was carrying it home with some little difficulty, for it was quite heavy when filled. When almost in sight of her cottage, she saw a poor, old, travel-worn woman sitting by the wayside, as if overcome by the fatigue of a long journey.
She sat upon the trunk of a fallen tree; her face was as brown as a nut, and covered with a complete network of wrinkles, while her dim eyes looked dull and sunken. At her back was tied a bundle which seemed quite large enough for a strong man to carry.
She watched Patty as she came near, and cast eager eyes upon the water in the pitcher, which seemed so cool and tempting; and after looking at Patty’s rosy, good-natured face, she asked for some water.
“Dear little child,” said she in a feeble voice, “give me a drink from your pitcher, for I am very old, and faint, and weary.”