THE LITTLE COWARD, CONTINUED.
The two boys were going in to breakfast when they met the old nurse, who told them to come along with her, and they should have their breakfast out of doors. When they got there, they found the dairy-maid, who had finished feeding the poultry, and was now milking the cows.
"Well, Master Tommy," said she, "have you got over your fright of the turkey-cock? I think," added she, "that you are apt to be afraid when there is no danger, and not when there is; for you are standing now close by the hind legs of my cow, and if she gave you a kick, she would hurt you much more than any turkey-cock could ever do." Tommy jumped away in an instant, and placed himself close beside the dairy-maid, as if for protection. She then went on milking and filled two jugs, the milk frothing up above the brim; and nurse said, the boys had better drink it there, while it was warm from the cow, than take it home across the farmyard to the nursery; and she gave them each a thick slice of bread and butter to eat with the milk. They sat down on two low milking stools, and ate their breakfasts with great appetite; but just as Tommy held the jug up to his mouth, while his nose dipped into the froth, a donkey who was in one of the stalls began to bray. He had never heard an ass bray in his life, and certainly it is as ugly and disagreeable a noise as can be made by any animal, so it is no wonder that he was frightened. Down fell the jug on the ground, the milk was all spilt, but luckily the mug was not broken. Tommy was going to run away, but the nurse, and the dairy-maid, and Willy, all laughed so much at him, that he stood still, as pale as a sheet, and trembling with fear. "Why, what is it? and where is it? or who is it? Won't it hurt us?"
"You goose," said Willy, "it is nothing but the donkey, the nice little donkey that you are to ride upon after breakfast."
"Oh no, no," cried Tommy, "I will not ride upon it, indeed I will not."
Nurse then took the boys indoors. They each learnt their lessons very well, and then two donkeys were brought to the door for them to ride; but Tommy would not go near them. Willy was much vexed at this, and tried all he could to persuade him to mount one of the donkeys. "See how quiet and gentle they look," said he, "and then the boy who goes with us can lead yours, if you like it." But Tommy could not be persuaded, saying, that if it began braying again he should be so much frightened that he was sure he should fall off. "Then you must go alone, Willy," said his grandmamma; so Willy jumped up, and trotted away. "See what a pleasure you lose," said his mother to Tommy, "from being such a coward."
His mother's observation was very true; he was obliged to take a walk all alone; and as he did not like to go into the lanes, or high roads, for fear of meeting with something that would frighten him, he rambled about the fields, where he unfortunately met with a drove of cows. Some of them were a little skittish, and one of them was running up towards Tommy, who in his fright, in order to avoid her, scrambled up a small tree which stood close by. The drover called to him to come down, telling him the cows would do him no harm, but he said he would rather stay where he was till they were gone by. The drover only laughed at him; but while the cows were passing underneath the tree, the branch on which Tommy sat, so safely as he supposed, gave way, and Tommy, and branch and all, came tumbling down amidst the drove of cows. The cows were now frightened in their turn, and went kicking and scampering about. The hoof of one of them struck poor Tommy, as he lay on the ground, and hurt him sadly. The drover took him up in his arms, and carried him home to the house, where he was put to bed, and the doctor sent for. His poor mother was sadly grieved at this accident, and the more so when she found that it was merely owing to her son's cowardice. Tommy suffered a great deal of pain from being bruised by the cattle, and having sprained his ankle in the fall, was obliged to keep his bed for some days. He had then a great deal of time to think, and he often thought how unlucky he was to meet with so many accidents; but as he was thinking, it came into his mind that there was more folly than ill-luck, and when he began to count over his misfortunes, he found that, excepting the thorn in his finger, they all arose from his cowardice. Oh, how he longed to get rid of his cowardice! But still he felt that he had not the courage to do so.
One day as he was lying in bed with his eyes shut, his mamma, who was sitting in the room at work with his grandmamma, thinking that Tommy was asleep, said,—
"What would I give, if my poor child could get rid of that sad fault. It makes his life unhappy, and mine too, I am sure; for I am always afraid of some accident happening to him, and then it grieves me to the heart that he should be so weak and foolish."
Grandmamma tried to comfort her, and said that she hoped, as he grew older, he would get more courage.
Tommy peeped through his eye-lashes, and saw his mother's eyes full of tears. This made him feel very unhappy. He had always thought that nobody suffered from his cowardice but himself; and he could not bear the idea of making his mother unhappy. When she heard him move in the bed, she said, "Now I must go and give him his medicine, and even that is a painful task for me. I am obliged both to scold and coax in order to make him take it." What was her surprise when, on offering him the dose, he swallowed it at one draught, without even making a wry face, and then flung his arms round his mother's neck, saying, "Dear Mamma, does that make you happy?"
"Yes, my love, indeed it does," said she; "but how is it that you have all at once become so courageous?"
"It is from hearing what you said just now to grandmamma," replied he. "I am so very sorry to have made you unhappy, that I do not think that I shall ever be a coward again. I can't be sure, but I hope so. I will try all I can."
And Tommy kept his word. I do not mean to say that he never shrunk back, or that he did not suffer a great deal from fright; but the idea of his mother's unhappiness always kept up his courage, and after some time he got completely rid of this fault.