CHAPTER THE SIXTH.
THE MAY GARLAND.
Though Lydia watched very anxiously, a day or two passed before she saw the little folk again; one day, however, as she was sitting at the window, she saw them coming, she flew down stairs, and, met them just as they were going by the gate; in her haste to catch them she had run down without the presents; she, therefore, desired them to stop a minute, and going up stairs again, soon returned with the shawl, the shoes, the apron, and the almonds and raisins. She made the two children very happy by her gifts, particularly the boy, who said, Thank you, and cried, Shoes! shoes! twenty times over.
Lydia made him sit down on the bench whilst his sister put them on, and observing he had but one shoe-string, ran in to ask for a bit of ribbon. Mary gave her a very nice bit of black ribbon, long enough to tye both shoes, and sent the young folk away much delighted; though the dressing them took up her attention so much, that she forgot to ask their names, or where they lived. Many days had passed, and Lydia had almost forgotten the little girl and boy, when one morning she arose early, very cheerful with the consciousness of having behaved well the preceding day; and as the sun shone, and it was very pleasant, she put on her hat, handkerchief, and gloves, and walked into the garden before breakfast: she had not walked long before she saw something held up at the gate that looked very pretty; she went that way to see what it was, and soon knew the little girl and boy to whom she had been so kind. They held between them a garland made of all sorts of pretty flowers, tied with bits of ribbon; What have you there? said Lydia; I never saw such a pretty thing before! It is a present for you, Miss, said Sally, if you will please to accept of it: to day is May Day, and my mother and I got up at four o’clock this morning to make the garland. My mother had several good friends who gave her leave to gather flowers in their gardens, and some ladies gave her bits of ribbon; we have taken a great deal of pains to make it, and I hope you will like it.
The delight of Lydia is not to be expressed; she thanked the little girl in a very civil pretty manner, and then ran, half wild with pleasure, into her Mamma’s room, to show her prize. It is very handsome, indeed, my dear, said her Mamma, the child’s mother has shown a very grateful attention. But you should make the little girl some present; for though I dare say that was not her mother’s view in sending the garland, yet it is usual on May Day.—Run down with this shilling.
Away flew little Lydia; but she was too late. The children had been strictly charged not to stay at all, for fear it should seem as if they expected any thing; and if any money were offered them, to refuse it very civilly, and say, their mother would be very angry if they took it.
The joy of the garland had still prevented any inquiry about their name or place of abode; but Miss Lydia’s Mamma was so pleased with this instance of delicate civility in their mother, that she took pains to learn who she was, and found that her name was Brush; that she was a very worthy and industrious woman, who kept a little school, and took in needle-work. Miss Lydia, after showing her garland with great delight in the parlour, hung it up in the nursery; and at every interval of leisure, during the day, came to admire it, and to play with it.
In the morning as soon as Miss Lydia arose, she went to look at her garland; but to her great mortification saw that all its beauty was gone; that the tulips hung their heads, that the other flowers were withered, and their colours faded; with some concern she went to her Mamma, to show her the change in her garland. My dear moppet, said she, had you forgotten that flowers would wither? they draw all their nourishment from the earth, and, therefore, when they are separated from it they must die.
Lydia.
How can the earth nourish them, Mamma?