Once more he looked at his charge, and was transported to observe, upon its serene brow and sleepy eye, no traces of the dangers it had passed—no trait of shame either for itself or its parents—no discomposure at the unwelcome reception it was likely to encounter from a proud world! He now slipped the fatal string from its neck; and by this affectionate disturbance causing the child to cry, he ran (but he scarcely knew whither) to convey it to a better nurse.
He at length found himself at the door of his dear Rebecca—for so very happy Henry felt at the good luck which had befallen him, that he longed to bestow a part of the blessing upon her he loved.
He sent for her privately out of the house to speak to him. When she came, “Rebecca,” said he (looking around that no one observed him), “Rebecca, I have brought you something you will like.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“You know, Rebecca, that you love deserted birds, strayed kittens, and motherless lambs. I have brought something more pitiable than any of these. Go, get a cap and a little gown, and then I will give it you.”
“A gown!” exclaimed Rebecca. “If you have brought me a monkey, much as I should esteem any present from you, indeed I cannot touch it.”
“A monkey!” repeated Henry, almost in anger: then changing the tone of his voice, exclaimed in triumph,
“It is a child!”
On this he gave it a gentle pinch, that its cry might confirm the pleasing truth he spoke.
“A child!” repeated Rebecca in amaze.