MARIA AND THE CARAVAN.
Maria Wilton lives in the pretty white house which stands just at theentrance of the wood, where the children find the blackberries so thickin the berrying season. It is not as large or elegant a house as manythat we pass on a walk through the village; but yet, with itsneatly-painted front and blooming little garden, its appearance is quiteas inviting as that of many a more splendid mansion. Certain it is, atleast, that there is not a more pleasant or happy dwelling in the town.Neatness and good order regulate all the arrangements of the family, andwhere such is the case, it is almost needless to add that peace andharmony characterize the intercourse of the inmates. It is seldom thatconfusion or uproar, or disputes or contentions, are known among theWiltons.
But it was of Maria that I was intending to speak moreparticularly,--her kind, and yielding, and conciliating manners towardsher brothers and sisters. Maria was not the oldest of the children; shewas not quite nine, and her sister Harriet was as much as eleven, andher brother George still older. And yet her influence did more tomaintain peace and good feeling in the family group, than would havebeen believed by a person who had not observed her. In every case whereonly her own wishes or inclinations were concerned, Maria was ready togive up to George or Harriet; because, as she said, they were older thanherself; and again, she was quite as ready to yield to little Susan andWilly, because they were younger. Her brothers and sisters, in theirturn, were far less apt to contend for any privilege or advantage, thanthey would have been, if she had shown herself more tenacious of her ownrights.
Mr. Wilton used occasionally to go into the city, a few miles distant,upon business. He usually went in a chaise, taking one of the childrenwith him. The excursion was to them a very pleasant one, and allanticipated, with a great deal of pleasure, their respective turns toride with their father. It happened that the day when it fell to Maria'sturn, was to be the close of an exhibition of animals, which had beenfor a short time in the city. Maria's eye brightened with pleasure asher father mentioned this circumstance at the dinner table, and inquiredif she would like to visit the caravan.
"O, father!" exclaimed George, eagerly, as he laid down his knife andfork; "a caravan!--Mayn't I go?"
"You cannot both go," replied his father; "and I believe it is Maria'sturn to go into town with me."
"Well," said George, "but I don't believe Maria would care any thingabout seeing it;" and his eye glanced eagerly from his father to Maria,and then from Maria to his father again.
"How is it, Maria?" said Mr. Wilton; "have you no wish to visit thecaravan?"
Maria did not answer directly, while yet her countenance showed veryplainly what her wishes really were. "Is there an _elephant_ there,father?" she, at length, rather hesitatingly inquired.
"There probably is," replied her father.
"An _elephant_!" repeated George with something of a sneer; "who has notseen an elephant? I would not give a farthing to go, if there wasnothing better than an elephant to be seen."
"What _should_ you care so much to see?" inquired Mr. Wilton.
"Why, I would give any thing to see a leopard or a camel."
"A leopard or a camel!" repeated his father in the same tone in whichGeorge had made his rude speech; "I am sure I wouldn't give a farthingto see either a camel or a leopard."
"No," said George, "because you have seen them both; but _I_ never did."
"Neither has Maria seen an elephant," returned Mr. Wilton; "so what isthe difference?"
George looked a little mortified at the overthrow of his argument. Butstill his eagerness for the gratification was not to be repressed.--"Ishouldn't think a _girl_ need to care about going to see a parcel ofwild beasts," he remarked, rather petulantly, as he gave his chair apush, upon rising from the table.
"O, George, George." expostulated his father, "I did not think you wereeither a selfish or a sullen boy."
"No, father, and he is not," said Maria, approaching her father, andtaking his hand; "but he wants to go very much, and I do not care so_much_ about it; so he may go, and I will stay at home."
"You are a good girl," said her father; "but I shall not consent to anysuch injustice; so go and get ready as quick as possible."
"But, father, I had really a great deal rather that George should go,"insisted Maria.
"But I cannot think that George would really, on the whole, prefer totake your place," said Mr. Wilton, turning to George.
"No, sir." replied George, who--restored by this time to a sense ofpropriety and justice--was standing ready to speak for himself. "No,sir; Maria is very kind; but I do not wish to take her place; I am verysorry indeed that I said any thing about it. I certainly shall notconsent to hike your place, Maria," he said, perceiving that she wasready to entreat still further.
"O! but I do wish you would," said Maria. But just here her motherinterposed. "If Maria would really prefer to give up her place to herbrother," said Mrs. Wilton, "I certainly shall like the arrangement verymuch, for I am to be particularly engaged this afternoon, and, asHarriet is to be absent, I shall be very glad of some of Maria'sassistance in taking care of the baby."
"O! well," said Maria, brightening up, "then I am sure I will not go: sorun, George, for father is almost ready to start."
Thus the matter was amicably settled. George went with his father, andMaria remained at home to help take care of little Willy.
Maria loved her little brother very much, and she never seemed tired oftaking care of him, even when he was ever so fretful or restless. Shewould leave her play, at any moment, to run and rock the baby, or tohold him in her lap; for, even if she felt inclined, at any time, to bea little out of patience for a moment, she would recollect how manyhours she had herself been nursed, by night and by day, and she was gladof an opportunity to relieve her mother of some of her care and fatigue.Her cousin, Ellen Weston, called, one afternoon, to ask her toaccompany a party of little girls, who were going to gather berries inthe wood near Maria's house. It happened that Maria had been left withthe care of Willy, just as her cousin called; and it happened, too, thatWilly was that afternoon unusually fretful and difficult to please. IfMaria left him for a moment, or if she did not hold him exactly in theposture which suited him, or if she had not precisely the thing readywhich he wanted at the moment, he would act just as all babies of nineor ten months sometimes take it into their heads to act. With all herpatience and good-humor, she hardly knew how to manage him; andespecially after having been obliged to reject so agreeable aninvitation as the one her cousin brought, she found her task a littleirksome.
She could hardly repress an occasional expression of impatience, as shetried in vain to please the wayward little fellow. But her patience andgood-humor were very soon restored; and as she reflected that she wasdoing her mother a great deal of good, by staying at home with Willy,she felt quite willing to dismiss all thoughts of the berryingexpedition. The girls, however, did not forget her. It was proposed byone of the party, when Ellen had stated the reason why Maria could notjoin them, that each should contribute some portion of her berries to becarried to her on their way home. All agreed very readily to the plan,and each took pains to select the largest and the ripest of her berriesfor Maria's basket. The gratification afforded Maria by this littletoken of kind remembrance, more than compensated for the self-denialwhich she had practised. It is almost always the case when personscheerfully submit to any privation, for the sake of other persons, orbecause it is duty, that they are amply rewarded for it. They enjoy, atleast, the consciousness of doing right, which is one of the veryhighest sources of pleasure. Maria would, at any time, have beensatisfied with only this reward; but it very often happened, veryunexpectedly, that something more was in store for her. This was thecase upon the time when she gave up her ride, and her visit to thecaravan, for the sake of her brother. I have not said that it wasabsolutely Maria's duty to yield to her brother, in this case: perhapsit would have been perfectly right for her to have maintained her ownclaims; and yet the
re is no doubt that she felt a great deal happier forthe sacrifice she had made.
But we were going to speak of some further reward that her amiablebehavior, in this instance, procured her. As her father opened a packagewhich he had brought on his return, he silently placed in her hands abeautiful copy of a newly-published work, upon the fly-leaf of which shefound written--"Maria Wilton--a reward for her kind and obliging mannerstowards her brothers and sisters."