Part 3

“One day when her sister was better, her mother desired them both to run the seams of a bed curtain, which she was making; and begged them to make haste, as she wanted to finish it before night.” They both looked sullen at her request. _Nancy_ said, “it was not her _business_; and her father might sleep without curtains:” and _Susan_ replied, “that though her leg was mended she would not do all the _drudgery_ indeed.” While little _Kate_, who was much younger, threaded a needle, and began to take one of them into her lap, though it was so large she could hardly manage it. Mrs. _Active_ told them to consider their father had a bad cold; and as it was a very severe frost, and a windy night, it would certainly make him worse. So after she had insisted upon it, they snatched up the work, and pulled out their needles with such passion and ill-humour as to break the thread at every stitch. _Susan_, who had got a book to amuse her, and who sat with her back to her mother, put it into her lap, and kept reading the whole time, without paying any regard to what she said; and long before the usual hour of going to-bed, both sisters pretended they were so sleepy they could not keep awake, left their work unfinished, put on their night caps, and went away.

“As _Susan_’s book was very entertaining, they sat up in their own room to finish reading it; but thinking they heard Mrs. _Active_ upon the stairs, they hastily popped the candle into the closet, and with their cloaths on jumped into bed. As they heedlessly put it upon an under shelf, it burnt a hole through the one which was over it, where catching to some linen, it soon set the closet in a blaze. This did not happen for some hours after they had left it, they having laid still for fear of being found but, and not thinking of the danger, fell asleep, while the flames burnt through to Mr. _Active_’s room, which was adjoining to theirs; and it was with the greatest difficulty that they were saved, he having but just time to rush in at the hazard of his own life, and carry them down stairs in his arms. But the house for want of water, as it was in a country place, was entirely consumed; nor did they save any thing, not even so much as cloaths to cover them.”

When _Fanny_ had read thus far, her audience were obliged to seperate upon a summons to tea. They were all extremely sorry, as they wished to hear a conclusion to her story; and _William_ begged her to lend him the book that he might finish it at home. This proposal _Fanny_ did not much approve, but at length, upon a promise of his returning it by Master _Rich_ before he went to school, she entrusted it to his care, charging him to keep it clean, and not take the paper off the cover.

In their way home, the young folk entertained Mr. _Graves_ with an account of their days amusement, and bestowed great praise on _Fanny_’s good-nature, at the same time that they blamed the haughty manners of Miss _Lofty_ and her companions. “Your observations, my dear children,” replied their grandfather, “give me the highest pleasure, as there is nothing more truly contemptable than that pride which arises from the possession of wealth and finery. The poor are a more useful set of people than the rich; since to their industry we must owe all those distinctions that bestow the conveniences and luxuries of life. And though the difference of station was appointed for the wisest ends; yet, it is our duty to behave with kindness to our inferiors, and not subject them to unnecessary mortifications. A prudent person will always endeavour to keep such company as may suit his rank, because it is an error to associate only with those beneath us, as we cannot learn from them such qualifications which are essential to be known; but a _good_ mind will at all times pay a tender regard to the feelings of those in poverty and distress, because it is an act of cruelty and oppression to insult any who are in circumstances less happy than ourselves. Instead, therefore, of being _proud_ on account of your family and fortune, you should be thankful to Providence that you will have it in your power to assist others; and remember, that the higher your rank, and the greater share of wealth you may possess, so much the more it is necessary to set a good example; as God will expect more from you in consequence of such advantages, than from those who by having fewer opportunities of instruction, are not so well acquainted with their duty. Every incident, my dears, may afford you some useful lesson, if you accustom yourselves to reflect seriously; and this afternoon has taught you by experience, that the benefit of a good education, the finery of dress, and the distinction of noble connections, are altogether insufficient to engage your love or respect; while the superior charms of good-nature and good sense have in the humble _Fanny_ found means to win your regard. Remember then, for the future to cultivate in yourselves the internal graces of a generous disposition; and let the pride and folly of Miss _Lofty_ and Master _Tradewell_, be a warning to you to shun their errors. Every degree of grandeur and ostentation can be but comparative. If _you_ despise the poverty of _Fanny_, or the inferior fortune of your acquaintance _Sam Ivy_; Sir _Thomas Young_, or your school-fellow Lord _Newson_, may look down upon _you_ with equal contempt; because they have already each a title to boast, and have larger estates to expect than yourself: and as you would dislike to be treated with disdain by _them_, remember others have equal sensibility: and always judge by your own feelings, what is the course of action you should pursue; since, to _do_ as we would be _done_ by, is a rule of the greatest importance in life. Master _Tradewell_ could but ill bear the scorn with which Miss _Lofty_ treated a mercantile employment, though he had joined in her haughty behaviour to _Fanny Mopwell_. And those who are most ready to give offence to others, can in general the least submit to such insolence themselves; because, knowing their own want of more valuable endowments, and thinking such a vain superiority of the highest consequence, they are mortified in proportion to their pride, and suffer the just punishment of their arrogance in the folly which causes their distress.” _William_ thanked his grandfather for his good advice, to which they had all listened with great attention; and then retired to bed, with the satisfaction of having behaved well during the course of the day. As soon as he conveniently could the next morning, he went into his sister’s room, and taking _Fanny_’s book from his pocket, they both sat down in one chair, with his arm round her neck; and began to read the continuation of the story as follows:

“Mr. _Active_ and his family were now left exposed to the greatest distress. One of his legs had been terribly burnt in getting his daughters down stairs; and the loss of their house and furniture it was out of their power ever to repair. Several of the neighbours were so kind as to give them a few cloaths for the present; and the gentlemen of the parish, out of regard to his merit, made a subscription for him, and gave him some money for his immediate relief. With this assistance they took as cheap a lodging as they could procure; but were obliged to live very differently from their usual manner. The poor man, though he went out to work, could earn but little, his leg growing worse for want of proper assistance; and the fright of the fire had had such an effect on his wife, that she never was well after. In this state of poverty the money which had been given them was soon spent; and though many persons had pitied them at the time, yet their sufferings were now forgot, and nobody thought any more about them. _Nanny_ and _Susan_, though their undutiful behaviour had been the cause of all the misfortunes which they suffered, still continued to be ill-tempered and untractable. They were discontented with their situation, and grumbled at the hardship to which they were reduced; and though their mother had got some work to employ them, yet they were so idle that they neglected to do it, notwithstanding they were starving for want. Poor _Kate_, indeed, did what she could; and though she was but young, proved of great assistance to her mother. “I will do all I am able,” she would say, “and do not grieve, for in time we shall have more money I hope.” And when she saw there was but little for dinner, she would not eat what she wanted, in order to leave it for her parents. Sometimes she would talk to her sisters, and advise them to behave better. “I am sure,” she has said, “we owe a great deal to our father and mother for their care; and as they have worked hard for _us_, it is but reasonable that we in our turn should try to support _them_.” The two elder sisters were at length provided for, by getting into place, and going to service. _Nanny_ was taken by a grocer’s wife to nurse a young child and go of her errands, and whatever else she was capable of doing: and _Susan_ went to a farmers in the neighbourhood as an assistant in the family. It fell to her lot to carry milk every morning to a gentleman who lived near the place where her sister was settled; and she used frequently to meet her there, and stay and talk to her a little. They pursued this custom for some time without any bad intention; but one day, as the place where they stood happened to be close to a pastry-cook’s shop, they were tempted by the sight of some hot buns to go in and buy one between them. They found the taste so delicious, that they would gladly have eaten more; but considering the cost would be what they could not well afford, they parted for that time, with a mutual agreement to meet the next day at the same house, and renew their treat.

“_Nanny_’s business would not permit her to be there so early as her sister, who after having waited at the door for some time, entered the shop by herself, and bought a penny custard, which she had just finished eating, when _Susan_ arrived, and with much pleasure informed her, that a gentleman had given her a shilling for her trouble in waiting upon him during his stay at her Master’s; and she wanted to consult her in what manner she should lay it out. “Suppose,” added she, “I should carry it to my mother, it is the first money I have had, and she is in great distress?” “Why, yes,” replied _Susan_, “they do want money at home; and so after you have eaten one of these plum-cakes let us go: I would have bought one before had I been able to pay for it.” “Well! but,” returned _Nanny_, “then I must change the shilling, and that will be a pity: to carry only eleven-pence will not look half so well, and we had better go without our cakes: we have both had a good dinner, and perhaps they have not fared so well: I think it would be kinder to let them have it.” So saying, she was going to leave the shop, when the pastry-cook’s boy passed by her with a tray full of hot cheesecakes. They smelt so delicious, that _Nanny_ wished very much to taste them; and her sister joining in the same inclination, added, “we shall often have a _shilling_ given us now we are in service: it is but a trifle! what would a shilling buy? My mother will not _expect_ it; and therefore will not be hurt, or vexed about it: come, come, do not stand thinking any longer.” “To be sure they are very nice,” said _Nanny_, and took up one in her hand.—It broke!—What was to be done? It must be paid for; and when the shilling was once changed, she argued that it would look unhandsome to carry such a trifle to her parents.—Weak, silly girls! They spent the whole of it before they left the shop.

“_Kate_, in the mean time, continued with her parents, whose misfortunes encreased every day. Mr. _Active_ fell from a ladder and broke one of his arms, and was by this accident reduced to a starving condition. His wife was attacked by a violent fever, of which she would not inform her daughters, for fear they should take the infection. These distresses in a few weeks, as they were both unable to work, reduced them to the most wretched state of poverty; and on the day that their two daughters were feasting, as has been related, they were almost expiring with hunger. Poor _Kate_, with weeping eyes, beheld them both. She had _nothing_ to give them, and had exhausted her strength in nursing and attending them. Her mother lay on her wretched bed, and her melancholy father with his right arm in a sling sat beside her. “I will get them something!” said _Kate_ to herself. Her father told her it was dinner time. “Bring what there is, my good child, for your mother.” She went to their little cupboard.—Alas, it was empty! Not a crumb remained! She had wiped it clean in the morning, and those scraps had been her only breakfast. “Is there _nothing_, my child?” added he, and he looked at his wife, stroaked his left hand across his eyes, but not quick enough to prevent the tears which dropped upon the sling that supported his right. “I will fetch something,” said _Kate_; and was hastening to the door. “Alas!” replied he, sobbing with distress, “my _last_ farthing was spent yesterday.” She went out, however. “I will _beg_,” said she to herself, but I will procure them something.” She stood in the street a few moments, not knowing what to do. At last she ran as fast as her weakness would permit (for she was beginning to be ill with the same fever which had attacked her mother.) She ran till she reached the grocer’s. She enquired for her sister, but she was not at home. She begged them to give her a bit of bread; but the men in the shop who did not know her, accused her with being a beggar and a thief; and would not believe that _Nanny_ was her relation. They threatened to send her to the house of correction, and turned her disgracefully out of doors.

Poor _Kate_ wept most bitterly at this treatment. She was very timid and had not courage to reply, but wandered back again in deeper affliction than before. As she drew near home, she felt rather sick; and as she had scarcely eaten any thing for several days, she much wished for something to appease her hunger. A baker’s shop was at hand, and she determined to go in and beg them to give her a roll. But she saw nobody to apply to. She called several times, but no one answered. Loaves of bread, of all sizes, stood on the counter before her. “Shall I take one?” said she: “I am quite unobserved.” “But is it _right_?” said she again to herself. “Shall I do a _wrong_ thing only because I am not _seen_?”—She walked away. “Shall I go back,” once more she added, “to my poor father and mother, and have _nothing_ for them?”—She sat down upon the threshold and wept. “It is better to _starve_,” at length she exclaimed, “it is better to _starve_ than be _wicked_!” and she walked away. A gentleman was riding by in a chaise, and the wind blew off his hat. She ran, picked it up, and gave it to him; and he tossed her a half-penny for her trouble. She took it up with gratitude; and as she ran back to the bakers, she repeated aloud to herself, “It is better to be _honest than to steal_.” The owner of the shop was now returned. She told her distressful tale, and he gave her a stale penny loaf for her money. With what joy did the poor girl return to her parents.—“Was she not happier than if she had eaten an _hundred cheesecakes_?—In the afternoon _Nanny_ had leave to visit her mother. She blushed when she saw them, and recollected how she had spent her shilling.”—

So far went the story, when _William_, to his great disappointment, perceived he had left the rest behind him. The cover of the little book was torn, and the leaves were fastened together with a pin, which had dropped out; and _Fanny_ in giving it him when they were called to tea, had, without knowing it, kept back the rest.

He communicated the accident to his grandfather; and gave him an account of what he had been reading; and concluded with hoping, that _Nanny_ and _Susan_ would in the end meet with the punishment which their neglect of their parents deserved; that he should rejoice to hear they were _starved_ for their barbarity. “You see, my dear,” returned Mr. _Graves_, “that the appearance of ingratitude is so odious, that it fills you with abhorrence only to read an imperfect account of it, and yet I doubt whether you who are so warm in your detestation of the crime, are not sometimes tempted to commit it.” “What _I_?” said _William_ rather warmly, “I disobey my parents, and forget them in their distress! If I had but a mouthful of bread they should have it between them; and I am sure I always do as they desire me.” “You are a good boy,” replied the old gentleman; “but you have never yet been put to such a trial. Few persons _know themselves_, or are sensible _how_ they should act in situations which they have not experienced. The only way you can prove your affection to your friends, is by rendering yourself worthy their regard. Only remember, that to do a _wrong thing_ will give them more uneasiness than you can imagine; and that their concern for your welfare is so great, it would be the heaviest affliction they could experience to have you behave improperly; and, therefore, to merit their confidence, you must act with the same attention to their commands when they are absent as when they are present to observe you.”

_William_ was vexed at his grandfather’s observation, and told him, “it seemed to imply a doubt of his conduct,” Mr. _Graves_ commended him tenderly; but said, “he had observed, that he was often severe in his judgment; and when he saw a fault in others, or read of any blameable character, he was apt to condemn it without any regard to that mercy which was a most amiable attribute, and peculiarly necessary in creatures, who were every moment in danger of falling themselves. Young persons,” continued he, “are apt to look upon every crime of which they have not been guilty as _impossible_ for them to commit: but that confidence in their own strength is sometimes a most dangerous snare to them in future life. I will give you an instance of this sort which fell under my own observation. When I first went ’prentice, there was a young man about sixteen, with whom I had been always intimate, and who was bound about the same time to an uncle who lived next door to my master’s. This circumstance was a great addition to our happiness, and the more I saw of him the more I had reason to esteem him. But there was one thing I wished had been otherwise in his disposition. His principles were so rigid, that I was sometimes afraid to tell him of any inadvertence I had been guilty of, though he was about my own age; for he declared such an abhorrence of every thing that was mean or deceitful, as to confess, if one of _his_ friends should do a dishonorable action, he would cast him off for ever.—But the best hearts may be tempted to evil before they are aware, if they depend so much upon themselves as to be off their guard. He had leave one evening to visit an acquaintance, and upon his arrival found that the family were engaged to go to the play. They gave him an invitation to accompany them, which for some time he declined, thinking it not quite right to do this without his uncle’s knowledge. At length, however, as it was an entertainment which (as he had been but a short time in _London_) he had never seen, he determined to accept their offer. He felt a secret uneasiness upon his mind, as he thought his conduct not strictly right, and had great reason to suppose the proposal would by no means have met with his uncle’s approbation. His regret was however forgotten during the representation; and he would have been quite happy had his consent been obtained. The time however, went faster than he imagined, and when he returned home it was eleven o’clock. He had unfortunately broken his watch, and his companions assuring him it was early, he sat down with them to supper. The clock at length struck twelve; and the hours had passed so agreeably, that he thought it had been but eleven. He rose immediately, and hastened home, afraid of his uncle’s displeasure, and angry with himself for a conduct which his conscience disapproved.