“I wish you were flying too: don’t you see that I want to write my fable. Let me see: Ass, 1; Farmer Killwell, 2; somebody’s papa, but not mine. Turkey, 3; Barn-fowls, 4; Little schoolgirl, 5. O, how shall I put all these words together to make any thing of them! O, that I could but begin! There it is!” said Miss Bruce joyfully; and she wrote several words upon her slate. “Well, there is nothing like a good beginning! I will finish to-night; so now let us go to the ladies,” and Miss Bruce skipped out of the room, with her slate and Isabella.
CHAPTER XII.
With some surprise, Miss Damer, in looking over the themes, read the following fable:
“One bleak, cold winter morning, an ass and her foals were loitering upon the edge of a wild common; not a tree was to be seen, and scarcely a bit of herbage for their breakfast to be found. ‘This is a comfortless life!’ said the ass; ‘the winds are chilly, the snow will soon fall, and we have not a shed to cover us! What shall we do? for I fear we shall be lost.’ The ass turned her head, for she heard the tinkling of bells, and saw a shepherd driving sheep from the common. ‘Ah! a happy thought! we will go to Farmer Killwell, and tell our sorrows unto him.’ No sooner said than done; they plodded through miry lanes, waded through shallow brooks, and at length arrived at the farmer’s gate. The tale was soon told. The farmer pitied their piteous case; ‘but,’ said he, ‘idleness bringeth want. Exert yourselves, and you will find friends. Begin a school at once; here are my poultry, my birds, and my young cattle to teach: not a moment is to be lost.’—‘It is a good thing to have a good friend!’ said the ass, as she stalked into the farm-yard. Here she brayed with a most audible voice: ‘Hearken to me, parents and little ones!’ she cried; ‘I am come hither to inspire you all with wisdom.’
“The goose, as wise as a goose can be, stared at the speaker; tossed her head on one side, gave a loud quack, and returned to comfort her goslings, who were fluttering in every direction.
“‘You little ducklings,’ continued the ass, ‘don’t spread your feet so vulgarly. Mrs. Turkey, I have long sighed for the honour of your patronage: the charming little poults, I hope, will gain new beauties from our exertions. Mrs. Barn-fowl, your chickens are too timid; we shall soon teach them to hop with grace. As for these awkward maudlin rabbits, I fear we cannot do any thing with them; and these ill-bred creatures, Mrs. Sow’s progeny, we cannot attempt to teach.’ A sturdy mastiff, who had followed the group of gazers, now barked furiously; dispersed the poultry, pushed Mrs. Sow and her family into the mud; and, spite of Farmer Killwell, drove the ass and her foals out of the farm-yard. A little girl, who was witness to the hubbub, exclaimed, ‘Ah! this is excellent! Mrs. Adair has borrowed a garment from the ass, to teach simple ones wisdom; but she will never teach little girls to love new rules.’”
“Where is the moral to your fable?” asked Miss Damer, with some degree of anger.
“I never thought of the moral; of what use would it be to my theme?” returned Miss Bruce.