“No, it was not mine,” said the child, “it was master’s; but it loved me, and I have nothing to love me now.”
Mrs. Merton entered into conversation with the girl, and learnt from her that she was an orphan, and had been bound an apprentice by the parish to a neighbouring farmer. The dog that lay dead before them had been her playfellow and companion, and the poor girl’s sorrow at its loss was the greater as she had nothing to supply its place in her affections. As, however, it was impossible to restore it to life, Mrs. Merton thought the best thing that could be done was to change the current of the child’s ideas, and accordingly gave her a shilling, which effectually answered the purpose intended; for the little girl, who had never been mistress of so much money before, instantly dried her tears, and ran off, leaving Agnes very indignant at her, for suffering herself to be so easily consoled.
They now passed a farm-house, which both Mrs. Merton and Agnes thought might possibly belong to the master of the little girl; and they noticed some remarkably fine poultry feeding at the door of the barn.
“I have noticed in passing through the Island,” said Mrs. Merton, “that the poultry is remarkably fine everywhere, and that it is apparently very abundant.”
“One reason,” said Mr. Merton, “is no doubt the fact, that there are neither badgers nor pole-cats in the Island, and till lately there were no foxes; but these have been now introduced for the sake of hunting them.”
“The inhabitants of the Isle of Wight,” said Mrs. Merton smiling, “appear to have been very badly off with regard to the rural sports, for at one time, I believe, no hares were to be found here. At least I remember reading somewhere, that the same Sir Edward Horsley, whose tomb we saw at Newport, was so anxious to introduce hares here, that he gave a fat lamb for every hare that was brought over from the mainland alive.”
“Oh! look mamma,” cried Agnes, interrupting her mother, “what a beautiful butterfly! Surely that is quite different from those we saw the other day.”
“You are quite right,” said her mother, “it is different; and it is very extraordinary that it should be here at all, as it is generally found only in low marshy places.”
“I have heard, however,” said Mr. Merton, “of its being found in the neighbourhood of Dover on the chalk cliffs, and, therefore, it is not very surprising that we should meet with it here.”
“But what is the name of this butterfly, mamma?” said Agnes.