After some days, the gentleman intended to go to London, and take little Tommy with him. The parting between these two little children was very affecting. They both cried, and they kissed each other a hundred times. At last Tommy wiped off her tears with the end of his jacket, and bid her cry no more, for that he would come to her again when he returned from sea.

Nothing could have supported little Margery under the affliction she was in for the loss of her brother but the pleasure she took in her two shoes. She ran to Mrs. Smith as soon as they were put on, and stroking down her ragged apron, cried out: "Two Shoes, Ma'am! see Two Shoes!" And so she behaved to all the people she met, and by that means obtained the name of Little Goody Two-Shoes.

Little Margery saw how good and how wise Mr. Smith was, and concluded that this was owing to his great learning; therefore she wanted of all things to learn to read. For this purpose, she used to meet the little boys and girls as they came from school, borrow their books, and sit down and read till they returned. By this means she soon got more learning than any of her playmates, and laid the following plan for instructing those who were more ignorant than herself. She found that only twenty-six letters were required to spell all the words; but as some of these letters are large, and some small, she with her knife cut out of several pieces of wood ten sets of each. And having got an old spelling-book, she made her companions set up the words they wanted to spell.

The usual manner of spelling, or carrying on the game, as they called it, was this: suppose the word to be spelt was plum-pudding (and who can suppose a better?), the children were placed in a circle, and the first brought the letter p, the next l, the next u, the next m, and so on till the whole was spelt; and if any one brought a wrong letter, he was to pay a fine or play no more. This was their play; and every morning she used to go round to teach the children. I once went her rounds with her, and was highly diverted.



It was about seven o'clock in the morning, when we set on this important business, and the first house we came to was Farmer Wilson's. Here Margery stopped, and ran up to the door,—tap, tap, tap! "Who's there?" "Only little Goody Two-Shoes," answered Margery, "come to teach Billy." "Oh, little Goody," says Mrs. Wilson, with pleasure in her face. "I am glad to see you! Billy waits you sadly, for he has learned his lesson." Then out came the little boy. "How do, Doody Two-Shoes?" says he, not able to speak plain. Yet this little boy had learned all his letters; for she threw down the small alphabet mixed together, and he picked them up, called them by their right names, and put them all in order. She then threw down the alphabet of capital letters, and he picked them all up, and having told their names, placed them rightly.

The next place we came to was Farmer Simpson's. "Bow, wow, wow!" says the dog at the door. "Sir-rah!" says his Mistress, "why do you bark at little Two-Shoes? Come in, Madge; here's Sally wants you sadly, she has learned all her lesson." "Yes, that's what I have," replied the little one, in the country manner; and immediately taking the letters, she set up these syllables:—

ba be bi bo bu

da de di do du

ma me mi mo mu

sa se si so su

and gave them their exact sounds as she composed them; after which she set up many more, and pronounced them likewise.



After this, little Two-Shoes taught Sally to spell words of one syllable, and she soon set up pear, plum, top, ball, pin, puss, dog, hog, doe, lamb, sheep, rat, cow, bull, cock, hen, and many more.

The next place we came to was Gaffer Cook's cottage. Here a number of poor children were met to learn, and all came round little Margery at once; who, having pulled out her letters, asked the little boy next to her what he had for dinner. He answered "Bread." "Well, then," says she, "set up the first letter." He put up the B, to which, the next added r, and the next e, the next a, the next d, and it stood thus, Bread.

"And what had you, Polly Comb, for your dinner?" "Apple-Pie," answered the little girl. Upon which the next in turn set up a great A, the two next a p, each, and so on till the two words Apple and Pie were united, and stood thus, Apple-Pie. The next had potatoes, the next beef and turnips, which were spelt, with many others, till the game was finished. She then set them another task, and after the lessons were done we returned home.

* * * * *

Who does not know Lady Ducklington, or who does not know that she was buried in this parish? Well, I never saw so grand a funeral. All the country round came to see the burying, and it was late before it was over; after which, in the night, or rather very early in the morning, the bells were heard to jingle in the steeple, which frightened the people prodigiously. They flocked to Will Dobbins, the clerk, and wanted him to go and see what it was; but William would not open the door. At length Mr. Long, the rector, hearing such an uproar in the village, went to the clerk to know why he did not go into the church, and see who was there. "I go, sir!" says William; "why, I would be frightened out of my wits." "Give me the key of the church," says Mr. Long. Then he went to the church, all the people following him. As soon as he had opened the door, who do you think appeared? Why, little Two-Shoes, who, being weary, had fallen asleep in one of the pews during the funeral service, and was shut in all night. She immediately asked Mr. Long's pardon for the trouble she had given him, and said she should not have rung the bells, but that she was very cold, and hearing Farmer Boult's man go whistling by, she was in hopes he would have gone for the key to let her out.



The people were ashamed to ask little Madge any questions before Mr. Long, but as soon as he was gone they all got round her to satisfy their curiosity, and desired she would give them a particular account of all that she had heard or seen.

"I went to the church," said Goody Two-Shoes, "as most of you did last night, to see the funeral, and being very weary, I sat down in Mr. Jones's pew, and fell fast asleep. At eleven o'clock I awoke; I started up, and could not at first tell where I was, but after some time I recollected the funeral, and soon found that I was shut up in the church. It was dismally dark, and I could see nothing; but while I was standing in the pew something jumped upon me behind, and laid, as I thought, its hands over my shoulders. Then I walked down the church aisle, when I heard something pit pat, pit pat, pit pat, come after me, and something touched my hand that seemed as cold as a marble monument. I could not think what it was, yet I knew it could not hurt me, and therefore I made myself easy; but being very cold, and the church being paved with stones, which were very damp, I felt my way as well as I could to the pulpit, in doing which something rushed by me, and almost threw me down. At last I found out the pulpit, and having shut the door, I laid down on the mat and cushion to sleep, when something pulled the door, as I thought, for admittance, which prevented my going to sleep. At last it cried: 'Bow, wow, wow!' and I knew it must be Mr. Sanderson's dog, which had followed me from their house to the church; so I opened the door and called,' Snip! Snip!' and the dog jumped upon me immediately. After this, Snip and I lay down together, and had a comfortable nap; for when I awoke it was almost light. I then walked up and down all the aisles of the church to keep myself warm; and then I went to Lord Ducklington's tomb, and I stood looking at his cold marble face and his hands clasped together, till hearing Farmer Boult's man go by, I went to the bells and rung them."

* * * * *

There was in the same parish a Mrs. Williams, who kept a college for instructing little gentlemen and ladies in the science of A B C, who was at this time very old and infirm, and wanted to decline this important trust. This being told to Sir William Dove, he sent for Mrs. Williams, and desired she would examine little Two-Shoes, and see whether she was qualified for the office. This was done, and Mrs. Williams made the following report in her favour: namely, that little Margery was the best scholar, and had the best head and the best heart of any one she had examined. All the country had a great opinion of Mrs. Williams, and this character gave them also a great opinion of Mrs. Margery, for so we must now call her.

The room in which Mrs. Margery taught her scholars was very large and spacious, and as she knew that nature intended children should be always in action she placed her different letters of alphabets all round the school, so that every one was obliged to get up and fetch a letter, for to spell a word, when it came to their turn; which not only kept them in health, but fixed the letters firmly in their minds.



One day as Mrs. Margery was going through the next village, she met with some wicked boys who had taken a young raven, which they were going to throw at. She wanted to get the poor creature out of their cruel hands, and therefore gave them a penny for him, and brought him home. She called him by the name of Ralph, and a fine bird he was.

Now this bird she taught to speak, to spell, and to read; and as he was fond of playing with the large letters, the children used to call them Ralph's Alphabet.

Some days after she had met with the raven, as she was walking in the fields, she saw some naughty boys who had taken a pigeon and tied a string to its legs, in order to let it fly and draw it back again when they pleased; and by this means they tortured the poor bird with the hopes of liberty and repeated disappointment. This pigeon she also bought, and taught him how to spell and read, though not to talk. He was a very pretty fellow, and she called him Tom. And as the raven Ralph was fond of the large letters, Tom the pigeon took care of the small ones.

The neighbours knowing that Mrs. Two-Shoes was very good, as, to be sure, nobody was better, made her a present of a little skylark. She thought the lark might be of use to her and her pupils, and tell them when it was time to get up. "For he that is fond of his bed, and lies till noon, lives but half his days, the rest being lost in sleep, which is a kind of death."

Some time after this a poor lamb had lost its dam, and the farmer being about to kill it, she bought it of him, and brought him home with her to play with the children, and teach them when to go to bed; for it was a rule with the wise men of that age (and a very good one, let me tell you) to "Rise with the lark, and lie down with the lamb." This lamb she called Will, and a pretty fellow he was.

No sooner was Tippy, the lark, and Will, the ba-lamb, brought into the school, than that sensible rogue Ralph, the raven, composed the following verse, which every good little boy and girl should get by heart:—

"Early to bed, and early to rise, Is the way to be healthy, wealthy, and wise."

Soon after this, a present was made to Mrs. Margery of a little dog, whom she called Jumper. He was always in a good humour, and playing and jumping about, and therefore he was called Jumper. The place assigned for Jumper was that of keeping the door, so that he might have been called the porter of a college, for he would let nobody go out nor any one come in, without leave of his mistress.

Billy, the ba-lamb, was a cheerful fellow, and all the children were fond of him; wherefore Mrs. Two-Shoes made it a rule that those who behaved best should have Will home with them at night, to carry their satchel on his back, and bring it in the morning. Mrs. Margery, as we have frequently observed, was always doing good, and thought she could never sufficiently gratify those who had done anything to serve her. These generous sentiments naturally led her to consult the interest of her neighbours; and as most of their lands were meadow, and they depended much on their hay, which had been for many years greatly damaged by the wet weather, she contrived an instrument to direct them when to mow their grass with safety, and prevent their hay being spoiled. They all came to her for advice, and by that means got in their hay without damage, while most of that in the neighbouring village was spoiled. This occasioned very great noise in the country, and so greatly provoked were the people who resided in the other parishes that they absolutely accused her of being a witch, and sent old Gaffer Goosecap, a busy fellow in other people's concerns, to find out evidence against her. The wiseacre happened to come to her school when she was walking about with the raven on one shoulder, the pigeon on the other, the lark on her hand, and the lamb and the dog by her side; which indeed made a droll figure, and so surprised the man, that he cried out: "A witch! a witch! a witch!"

Upon this, she laughingly answered: "A conjuror! a conjuror!" and so they parted. But it did not end thus, for a warrant was issued out against Mrs. Margery, and she was carried to a meeting of the justices, whither all the neighbours followed her.

At the meeting, one of the justices, who knew little of life and less of the law, behaved very badly, and though nobody was able to prove anything against her, asked who she could bring to her character. "Who can you bring against my character, sir," says she. "There are people enough who would appear in my defence, were it necessary; but I never supposed that any one here could be so weak as to believe there was any such thing as a witch. If I am a witch, this is my charm, and (laying a barometer upon the table) it is with this," says she, "that I have taught my neighbours to know the state of the weather."



All the company laughed; and Sir William Dove, who was on the bench, asked her accusers how they could be such fools as to think there was any such thing as a witch. And then he gave such an account of Mrs. Margery and her virtue, good sense, and prudent behaviour, that the gentlemen present returned her public thanks for the great service she had done the country. One gentleman in particular, Sir Charles Jones, had conceived such a high opinion of her, that he offered her a considerable sum to take the care of his family, and the education of his daughter, which, however, she refused but this gentleman sending for her afterwards, when he had a dangerous fit of illness, she went, and behaved so prudently in the family and so tenderly to him and his daughter, that he would not permit her to leave his house, but soon after made her proposals of marriage. She was truly sensible of the honour he intended her, but would not consent to be made a lady till he had provided for his daughter. All things being settled, and the day fixed, the neighbours came in crowds to see the wedding; for they were all glad that one who had been such a good little girl, and was become such a virtuous and good woman, was going to be made a lady. But just as the clergyman had opened his book, a gentleman richly dressed ran into the church, and cried: "Stop! stop!" This greatly alarmed the congregation, and particularly the intended bride and bridegroom, whom he first accosted, desiring to speak with them apart. After they had been talking a few moments, the people were greatly surprised to see Sir Charles stand motionless, and his bride cry and faint away in the stranger's arms. This seeming grief, however, was only a prelude to a flood of joy, which immediately succeeded; for you must know that this gentleman so richly dressed was little Tommy Meanwell, Mrs. Margery's brother, who was just come from sea, where he had made a large fortune, and hearing, as soon as he landed, of his sister's intended wedding, had ridden post to see that a proper settlement was made on her, which he thought she was now entitled to, as he himself was able to give her an ample fortune. They soon returned to the communion-table, and were married in tears, but they were tears of joy.

Sir Charles and Lady Jones lived happily for many years. Her ladyship continued to visit the school in which she had passed so many happy days, and always gave the prizes to the best scholars with her own hands. She also gave to the parish several acres of land to be planted yearly with potatoes, for all the poor who would come and fetch them for the use of their families; but if any took them to sell, they were deprived of that privilege ever after. And these roots were planted and raised from the rent arising from a farm which she had assigned over for that purpose. In short, she was a mother to the poor, a physician to the sick, and a friend to those in distress. Her life was the greatest blessing, and her death the greatest calamity that ever was felt in the neighbourhood.



THE STORY

OF

The House that Jack Built.



Edited by Madame de Chatelain.



This is the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the man all tatter'd and torn, That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter'd and torn, That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the cock that crow'd in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter'd and torn, That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the farmer who sow'd the corn, That kept the cock that crow'd in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter'd and torn, That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



This is the horse, and the hound, and the horn, That belong'd to the farmer who sow'd the corn, That kept the cock that crow'd in the morn, That waked the priest all shaven and shorn, That married the man all tatter'd and torn, That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn, That milk'd the cow with the crumpled horn, That toss'd the dog, That worried the cat, That kill'd the rat, That ate the malt, That lay in the house that Jack built.



THE STORY

OF THE

Death & Burial of Cock Robin.



Edited by Madame de Chatelain.



THE STORY

OF THE

Death and Burial of Cock Robin.

Who kill'd Cock robin? I, said the Sparrow, With my bow and arrow, I kill'd Cock Robin.



Who saw him die? I, said the Fly, With my little eye, I saw him die.



Who caught his blood? I, said the Fish, With my little dish, I caught his blood.



Who'll make his shroud? I, said the Beetle, With my little needle, I'll make his shroud.



Who'll dig his grave? I, said the Owl, With my spade and showl, I'll dig his grave.



Who'll be the parson? I, said the Rook, With my little book, I'll be the parson.



Who'll be the clerk? I, said the Lark, If it's not in the dark, I'll be the clerk.



Who'll carry him to the grave? I, said the Kite, If it's not in the night, I'll carry him to the grave.



Who'll carry the link? I, said the Linnet, I'll fetch it in a minute, I'll carry the link.



Who'll be chief mourner? I, said the Dove, For I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner.



Who'll sing a psalm? I, said the Thrush, As I sit in a bush, I'll sing a psalm.



Who'll toll the bell? I, said the Bull, Because I can pull, So, Cock Robin, farewell.

All the birds of the air Fell a sighing and sobbing, When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin.

THE END