Frank and Fanny

I should not omit to tell you, Mrs. Hamilton was bringing Fanny up to be very industrious, both with her sewing and knitting, and Mr. Hamilton taught Frank to weed the garden, and saw wood, and gather chips; and the children were as busy as bees, when at work, and as happy as birds, when at play.

I have told you that Frank seldom played with any one beside his sister; but sometimes when she was busy, after his work was dune, he would cross over a corner of the orchard, to a little brown house that stood near by, to play with a boy that lived there, with his mother. Mrs. Mills was a widow; but Jack was very rough and wild, and Frank's grandmother did not like to have him go there often.

One day Jack called to him from the orchard, and Frank, who had just finished his work, ran over to meet him.

"Look here," said Jack, "see what I've got," and he held out his cap, which was nearly half full of bird's eggs. Frank looked at them with surprise.

"You certainly couldn't have been so wicked as to rob the birds' nests of all those," said Frank.

"Couldn't I?" said Jack, and he gave a long, low whistle; "may be you never did nothing of the kind."

"I never took eggs away from a bird in my life," said Frank; but he held his head down, for he thought of the little bird he had taken only a few weeks before. So he told Jack about it, and how sorry he had felt ever since; but Jack laughed at him, and said:

"Ah, you are nothing but a chicken-hearted fellow, any way; if you wasn't always tied to your sister, you might come with us fellows, and have some fun. Me, and Joe Miller, and Sam White, is going down the meadows, to hunt for more this afternoon, and if you'll come, we'll give you some."

"No, indeed; I wouldn't go for any thing; and I do wish you would let the poor birds be. Just think how badly you'd feel if you was a bird, and had a nice little nest of your own, to find your eggs all stolen."

"Ho, ho," laughed Jack, "here's a young parson, preaching to me, who wasn't too good to help himself to a bird, a few weeks ago, when the old ones did all they could to keep him away from the nest. Why didn't you think then how you'd feel if you'd been the bird?--ha?"

Frank did not answer; but he thought that he had suffered sufficiently for his thoughtlessness, without being taunted with it. He tried to persuade Jack not to rob any more birds' nests; but Jack only laughed at him, and told him to run home to his sister, like a good little boy. Frank was the oldest, and he felt rather vexed at the sneering way in which Jack spoke; but he made no angry answer.

At school time, Frank and Fanny went to school again; but Jack played truant, as he had done in the morning, and went down in the meadows, with the boys, whom he had told Frank he was going with.

Miss Norton asked Frank, if he knew what had kept Jack away from school all day, and he repeated to her, as nearly as he could, the conversation which had taken place between them that noon.

The next morning, when Jack came into school rather late, Miss Norton called him up to her, and told him to read out loud, this piece, from the Village Reader.

Jack was very much confused when he commenced reading. As he read on, he looked more and more ashamed, and when he finished, his face was almost crimson.

Miss Norton was glad to see this, for she thought that it showed, that he was not entirely hardened; so she suffered him to go to his seat, without saying any more to him, hoping that this would be a sufficient reproof. Before school was out, at noon, however, all Jack's mortification had vanished, and in its stead, he indulged in very angry feelings towards Frank for he was sure that Frank had told of him.

"I'll fix him," he said to his seat-mate, Harry Day, a merry little fellow, whose roguish blue eyes looked quite capable of assisting where there was any mischief going on.

"What'll you do?" said Harry.

"Why, I'll get him mad, and then I'll lick him; and I know how I'll get him mad." So Jack, in accordance with his wicked resolution, wrote in very large letters upon a slip of paper, 'BOY-GIRL;' on another slip, he wrote, 'GIRL-BOY,' and giving Harry the one he had first written, he told him to pin it on to Fanny's back, when they stopped in the entry, to get their bonnets and caps. At the same time, he slily pinned the other on Frank's roundabout. So when Frank and Fanny went along out of school, as usual, the little children, amused by the slips of paper, ran after them, some calling, 'boy-girl,' and others, 'girl-boy,'

Frank did not know what all this meant; but he kept on without looking back.

"Look behind you," cried Harry Day, as he ran up to Fanny. Jack kept some distance behind, and said nothing.

"Look behind you, I say," shouted Harry again.

Fanny was turning to look, when Frank said to her in a low tone, without moving his head,

"Don't look around, Fanny, and don't mind what they call us, for I don't care."

So they kept on, side by side, the children still calling after them, and when they got away from the school house, Jack's voice was heard among the rest, shouting, 'tell-tale,' 'girl-baby,' and other provoking nicknames.

Frank took no notice of them, until his sister stooped down to pick a flower, and as she did so, he saw the paper on her back.

"Who did this?" he said, and as he turned toward the children, he saw Jack throwing a stone. The stone flew past him, hitting his sister in the face. Fanny screamed, and the blood started from her nose.

Jack ran, and Frank's first impulse was to spring after him; but he did not know how badly his sister might be hurt, and so he staid with her, and wiped the blood from her face. The children crowded around, and Harry Day unpinned the pieces of paper, for he felt ashamed, for the part he had taken.

All the while, Frank's heart was full of angry feeling toward Jack, and he could not have kept them down, if he had not had his sister to take care of. He was very glad to find that she was not seriously hurt; for the stone had not hit her with its full force, only grazing her nose, between the eyes.

When they got home, Fanny told her grandmother all about it; but Frank did not say a word. It was plain to be seen by the way in which his head moved, as he walked the floor, that he was striving to obtain a mastery over his passions. After a while he said,

"I wish I could fight Jack Mills, grandmother."

"My dear Frank," she answered, "you have forgotten the golden rule."

"No, I haven't forgotten it, grandmother; for if Jack Mills had a sister, and I had thrown a stone at her, he might have fought me, and welcome."

"But now that Jack has thrown the stone, cannot you set him the example of overcoming evil with good?"

"I don't know, grandmother; I think it would be very hard."

At dinner, Frank asked his grandfather, why kings went to war with each other. He told him, that it was generally to defend their rights.

"Well, grandfather," said he, "if it isn't wrong for them to fight, then I don't see why it wouldn't be right for me to fight Jack Mills, and I know I should feel a great deal happier after I had done it."

His grandfather told him, that it would be very wrong for him to fight with Jack, and that it would make him no happier. He also told him, that Jack had not had the same influences around him, which he had always had, and that if he retaliated, he would be even worse than Jack, who had never been instructed so faithfully in what was right and wrong. Frank listened without appearing to be convinced.

Then his grandmother read him the last eleven verses of the fifth chapter of Matthew; but Frank still said, that he was afraid he could not pray for Jack, and he knew he could not love him.

Mrs. Mills was very poor. She took in washing when she could get it, and when she could not, she went around from house to house, to wash by the day, where she was wanted. Mrs. Hamilton often sent the children to her, with vegetables, or a loaf of fresh bread, or some warm cakes; and sometimes a pie, or a piece of meat, and many other little niceties. That afternoon, she prepared a basket, with a paper of tea, and some eggs, and when the children came from school, she told them that they might go and carry it to Mrs. Mills.

Frank did not look very much pleased at first, but when he saw Fanny lift the basket so willingly, he took it from her, and said,

"You do right, grandmother, to send me to do good for evil, and I will try not to say any thing naughty to Jack."

His grandmother told him, that she was not afraid to trust him. So the children went along through the orchard, and when they came in sight of the low, brown house, they saw, that the door which generally stood open, was closed. Frank opened it, and looked in. There was a bed in the room, and Mrs. Mills was lying down. She looked very pale and tired; but when she saw the children, she welcomed them, and asked them to come in.

She tried to sit up in bed, but her head ached so, that she was obliged to lie down again, and give up the attempt. She was really quite ill.

When Fanny found Mrs. Mills was sick, she said,

"Do let me make a nice cup of tea for you. Sally says it is so good for a head ache."

"I haven't any tea, my child," she answered, "or I should have made some when I finished my washing."

"But grandmother has sent you some, and here it is, just the very thing you want; now, do lie down, and let us fix it for you, it would make me so happy."

Mrs. Mills thought Fanny was too young; but she could not resist her pleading tones, and so Frank raked the embers of the fire together, picked up some chips, and heaped them on, and then filled the little tea kettle, which was soon singing away merrily.

Fanny took down a cup and saucer from the dresser, and drawing a little stand near the bed, she placed them on it, then measured out her tea into an earthern tea pot, as she had often seen her grandmother do; and the water boiled, Frank poured it on for her, and they put it down to draw, as Mrs. Mills told them.

After a while, Jack came whistling into the house; but when he saw Frank and Fanny there, he looked as though he wished he was any where else.

Fanny went towards him, holding one little finger up.

"Hush, Jack, don't whistle so," she said, "your mother has the sick head ache, and we are making a cup of tea to cure her."

Jack looked at her in surprise. He did not know what to make of it all. There was the mark on her face, where the stone which he had thrown that noon, had grazed the skin, and yet, here she was, making tea for his sick mother.

He did not say a word, but turned and went out of the house. Frank thought he saw something very like tears glistening in his eyes, and he acknowledged to himself, that his grandmother was right, when she had told him that he would be happier if he returned good for evil.

Mrs. Mills sat up, and drank her tea, and then Fanny washed the cup and saucer, and she felt very large to think she was able to do it. Then she put her bonnet on, and Mrs. Mills told her that she should tell her grandmother what a kind little girl she was, and how much good she had done her, and Fanny and Frank both felt very happy.

As they went out of the door, Fanny bent her head down to smell of a beautiful damask rose that was blooming on a bush near the house. They walked along without seeing Jack, but he saw them. When they were half way through the orchard, he came running up behind them, and reaching out his hand, and touching Fanny, said:

"Won't you take this rose." She turned around, and saw that he had picked for her the very rose that she had admired so much, and as she took it from him, he whispered,

"I hope you don't think that I meant to hurt you this noon, when I threw that stone--I wouldn't hurt you for the world. I only threw it to make you look around."

Fanny answered him very pleasantly, and then he bade them good night, and went back to his mother.

When the children reached home, they told their grandmother what a happy time they had had, and Fanny said if she was a king, and another king wanted to fight with her, she would send some eggs and tea, and see if that wouldn't make them good, just like it made Jack Mills.

One Saturday afternoon, Frank and his sister went into the woods, provided with little baskets and bags, to gather walnuts. As they left the village, they were regaled with a song from the Golden Crested Wren, who was perched on the branch of an apple tree, and seemed to be lamenting the rapid approach of winter.

Scarcely had they got into the thick part of the woods, where the walnuts were abundant, when they found that they were not the only nut gatherers on the ground. The grey squirrels were on the alert, scampering about upon the tall trees, where they were quite at home. Their nests are in hollow trees, high up from the ground, and here they delight to store up the sweet nuts, and acorns, for their subsistence. Frank told Fanny some wonderful stories about these squirrels, which he had heard from Farmer Baldwin: how some thousands of them once set out in company, on an expedition from New York State, to Vermont, and swam across the Hudson; and how they were so fatigued and wet, after crossing the river, that many of those who escaped drowning, were killed with clubs by the people, on the eastern shore of the river.

Fanny also knew some stories about the grey squirrel, which she had read in a book, which she got out of the school library--how they sometimes crossed rivers on chips, and bits of bark, using their large bushy tails for sails. Frank doubted this; but they both agreed to believe what is really the fact, that these animals sometimes migrate from one part of the country to another, in very large numbers.

When the children had half filled their baskets and bags, they sat down under the shade of a walnut tree, to eat some dinner, which they had brought along in one of the baskets. During this frugal repast they were entertained with the song of a Yellow Throat, one of the very sweetest of all the wild birds of the forest. He loves the thickest shades of the wood; and although the children were perfectly charmed with his music, he was so shy, that they could not get a single look at him.

After dinner, the children strolling further into the wood, came suddenly upon a party of their school fellows, who were in the woods for a day's sport. They were sitting under a tree, telling stories to each other.

Frank and Fanny were received by this lively party with loud shouts of welcome. They sat down and listened to one or two stories after which Fanny was invited by one of the little girls, to go and see a fine swing, which the party had put upon one of the trees of the forest. The two girls enjoyed themselves in swinging here for half an hour, while Frank remained with the party who were so much engrossed with the stories as not to miss the two little girls who were enjoying the swing.

When Fanny returned from the swinging expedition, the children took leave of their friends, and returned alone to the business of filling their bags and baskets with nuts. This they accomplished before sunset, and joyfully set forward for home. Leaving the skirts of this forest, they saw a little boy reclining under a tree with a dog by his side. The boy was leaning his head rather dejectedly on his hand, and seemed rather tired. On the children inquiring how he came there, he replied, that he had been spending the whole day with his dog, vainly endeavoring to catch a woodchuck, which he had seen running into the woods, in the morning. Frank kindly condoled with him on his disappointment; but, at the same time, advised him to seek some more profitable employment in future.

After they had left the boy, Frank and Fanny talked together very sagely on the importance of making a proper use of time, and the folly of spending it in the hunting of wild animals, like the woodchuck, which are very hard to catch.

Just before reaching the village, they met a party of boys playing at soldiers. They had their drum, and fife, colors, and wooden guns, and tin swords, and flourished away in all the "pride, pomp, and circumstance" of military display.

This sight afforded Frank another theme for remark. His conversations with Farmer Baldwin had inspired him with disgust for this kind of amusement. He hated war, and was not pleased with any thing which reminded him of it. Besides the nonsense of this soldier-playing, he said there was an objection to it, as inspiring a taste for real soldier life, and for amusing one's self with gun powder; and he told Fanny a story of a boy, who, in firing off a little brass cannon, which split in pieces, received one of the pieces in his neck, which cut off a large artery, and caused his death in a few minutes.

Before Frank had finished his comments on this sad affair, they reached home; and so ended the nutting expedition, which, Frank thought, was not quite so profitable as helping Farmer Baldwin to gather his apples.

Mary Day's father was rich. He lived in an elegant house, kept a carriage and fine horses, and Mary had beautiful dresses, and a great variety of play-things.

Now I suppose you think that all these things made Mary very happy. But it was not so. Mary was a discontented little girl. She was never satisfied with any thing that she had, but was always wishing for something new. Even the flock of beautiful tame rabbits, which her father had given, afforded her but little pleasure, because she was of a discontented disposition.

Now, it so happened, that Mary had been with Fanny several times to the little 'chick-a-dee's' grave, and she told her mother, that she wished she had a bird's grave of her own, like Fanny Lee's. Her mother told her that Fanny would much rather have a live bird, like Mary's Canary. But Mary persisted in saying, that a bird's grave was a great deal nicer than a bird, which had to be waited on so much as her Canary did, although it was Mary's mother who took care of her linnet.

But Mary's love was soon put to the test, for her Canary sickened and died; and then she found that she missed its cheerful chirrup, and the little spot where it was buried, was no source of pleasure to her, for it but served to remind her of her foolish wish.

It was about this time that their minister, Mr. Herbert, returned from a visit to New York, and he brought with him, for Fanny Lee, a beautiful bird, called a linnet.

Mr. Herbert had heard her when she spoke aloud in church, and said, "poor, dear, little birdie;" and he had inquired of Miss Norton about her, and she had told him what a good little girl she was, and how much the death of the bird had grieved her.

He carried the bird in a cage to Fanny, and she was so delighted, she could scarcely speak.

Mr. Herbert told her, that she need not fear that the bird would be unhappy, for it had been born in a cage, and had never been accustomed to any other kind of life. Then he told her where to put the seed, and the water, and the sugar, and how to clean the cage; and Fanny listened attentively, and thanked him so earnestly, while her dark, blue eyes sparkled with delight, that Mr. Herbert felt more than repaid for the trouble he had taken in getting the bird.

The next morning Mary Day stopped, in her way to school. When she saw the cage hanging amid the vines, and heard the clear, sweet notes of the linnet, her heart was stirred with envy. She was a very selfish little girl, or it would have pleased her to see Fanny so happy with her bird; but she looked very cross and sour, as she said,

"So you have got a bird, just because mine is dead."

"Oh, no," answered Fanny, "I never thought of having a bird; but dear, good Mr. Herbert, brought it to me yesterday. I am so sorry that yours is dead."

"You needn't be sorry for me," said the petulant Mary, "I've got plenty of things that you haven't got, and I'd be ashamed to wear such mean clothes as you do."

Poor Fanny looked down at her clean calico dress, and she saw that it was faded and patched. A bright rose color flitted over her cheeks, and when she looked up, tears stood in her eyes. Mary did not say any more; but she watched Fanny all the forenoon, and saw that she had made her feel very unhappy. When they went out to play, she went up to Fanny, and said,

"I will give you one of my fine dresses for your little linnet, and then you needn't wear that old patched calico any more."

"No, no," answered Fanny, "I would not sell my bird for all the dresses in the world."

This made the selfish, naughty Mary more angry than ever; and she went around whispering to all the girls to look at the patches in Fanny Lee's dress. Some of them laughed with Mary, and poor Fanny felt very much hurt and grieved.

After school, that noon, Frank found her crying alone in her room, and for the first time in her life, she refused to tell him what was the matter.

In the afternoon, after school was out, Fanny did not stay, as she sometimes did, to play on the green with the children; but she took her book, and turned down into the meadow path alone. Frank felt very sad when he saw that his sister avoided him; but he followed her into the woods, and found her sitting in her favorite spot.

It was autumn, and the weather was cooler. Fanny had spread her shawl down upon a log, and she was now sitting upon it, with her open book in her lap; but her eyes were bent upon the ground, thoughtfully. A merry little wren was flitting around and above her, but her cheerful notes were now unheeded.

Frank sat down beside her, and putting one arm about her neck, he clasped her hand tenderly. Resting his head upon his other hand, he looked into her face, and said,

"Why won't my dear sister tell me what has made her feel so badly." She did not want to converse, but when Frank told her that he should be very unhappy if he did not know the cause, she told him all about it. Frank felt very sorry for his sister, and at first bad feelings rose in his heart; but he had learned how to conquer them; so he talked to her, and told her how much happier they were than Mary Day, and how disagreeable she made herself, with her selfishness and her vanity; and then he told her that he had read in a book somewhere, that it was better to live in a mud hovel, with a kind heart, and a cheerful temper like hers, than to live in a palace without it.

When they went home, Fanny was as happy as ever again, for she found that her heart was very much lightened by sharing her troubles with her brother.

The next day when they went to school, Mary Day was not there, and during the forenoon, Miss Norton received a note from Mary's mother, saying, that she had been thrown from a carriage, and one of her limbs broken. Fanny felt so sorry for her, that she forgot all the unkind things which she had said the day before, and as soon as school was out, she hurried home, and taking down her cage, she started for Mr. Herbert's, without saying any thing to her grand-parents, or to Frank. She was almost breathless when she reached the parsonage. Mr. Herbert was gathering some grapes in the garden, and as soon as Fanny saw him, she said,

"Please, Mr. Herbert, let me give my linnet to Mary Day, her Canary is dead, and she has broken her leg, and she wants this very badly, and I can spare it, for I can go in the woods and hear the birds sing, while poor Mary has to lie in bed, and if I should get very home sick often, dear Linny, I can go and listen at her windows, and hear him sing."

Little Fanny chatted so fast, that Mr. Herbert could not help smiling, although he was very sorry to hear of poor Mary's misfortune. He told her that she might give it to Mary to keep while she was sick, if she thought it would cheer her any; but he said, that he should wish Fanny to have it again, after Mary should recover; for he felt more confidence in her, that she would take good care of the little bird. Then he put his hat on, and went to Mr. Day's house, and told them how she had wished to give the bird to Mary, but that he had only consented to her lending it. They all thought that she was a very good girl; and Mary told Fanny that she might take home any of her play things. But Fanny did not wish for them, and Mary thought it very strange that she should be willing to give her the bird, when she was so fond of it. It was great company to Mary, during her confinement to the house, and when she was able to go to school again, the bird was returned to Fanny willingly, for Mary had learned to love her very much, and she often felt sorry that she should ever have hurt the feelings of so good a girl.

Mr. Herbert always spoke of Frank and Fanny with a great deal of love, for he thought them the most affectionate and dutiful children that he had ever known.

He foretold that they would become useful and respectable when they should grow up; and in this respect he was perfectly right. Frank owns a very large farm, purchased with the wages of his own industry; and Fanny is the happy, busy, and industrious little wife of worthy Farmer Baldwin's only son.

Good children are always beloved, for they make every one happy around them, and they are happy themselves.

I hope those who read this little tale, will try to be kind and forgiving, like Frank and Fanny Lee. A kind, friendly disposition, and a willingness to forgive rather than resent injuries, is one which cannot fail to make us happy and beloved by our friends in this world; and without it we can not be happy in the world which is to come.