Last Words: A Final Collection of StoriesEwing, Juliana Horatia
General
Last Words: A Final Collection of Stories
Ewing, Juliana Horatia
Children's stories; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
One day the Mayor's little son came down the road, and by the hand he
held his playmate Aldegunda.
"Give the poor blind man a penny," said she.
"You are always wanting me to give away my money," replied the boy
peevishly. "It is well that my father is the richest man in the town,
and that I have a whole silver crown yet in my pocket."
But he put the penny into the hat which the Dog held out, and the Dog
gave it to his master.
"Heaven bless you," said the Blind Man.
"Amen," said the Dog.
"Aldegunda! Aldegunda!" cried the boy, dancing with delight "Here's a
dog who can talk. I would give my silver crown for him. Old man, I
say, old man! Will you sell me your dog for a silver crown?"
"My master is deaf as well as blind," said the Dog.
"What a miserable old creature he must be," said the boy
compassionately.
"Men do not smile when they are miserable, do they?" said the Dog;
"and my master smiles sometimes--when the sun warms right through our
coats to our bones; when he feels the hat shake against his knee as
the pennies drop in; and when I lick his hand."
"But for all that, he is a poor wretched old beggar, in want of
everything," persisted the boy. "Now I am the Mayor's only son, and he
is the richest man in the town. Come and live with me, and I will give
the Blind Man my silver crown. I should be perfectly happy if I had a
talking dog of my own."
"It is worth thinking of," said the Dog. "I should certainly like a
master who was perfectly happy. You are sure that there is nothing
else that you wish for?"
"I wish I were a man," replied the boy. "To do exactly as I chose, and
have plenty of money to spend, and holidays all the year round."
"That sounds well," said the Dog. "Perhaps I had better wait till you
grow up. There is nothing else that you want, I suppose?"
"I want a horse," said the boy, "a real black charger. My father ought
to know that I am too old for a hobby-horse. It vexes me to look at
it."
"I must wait for the charger, I see," said the Dog. "Nothing vexes you
but the hobby-horse, I hope?"
"Aldegunda vexes me more than anything," answered the boy, with an
aggrieved air; "and it's very hard when I am so fond of her. She
always tumbles down when we run races, her legs are so short. It's her
birthday to-day, but she toddles as badly as she did yesterday, though
she's a year older."
"She will have learned to run by the time that you are a man," said
the Dog. "So nice a little lady can give you no other cause of
annoyance, I am sure?"
The boy frowned.
"She is always wanting something; She wants something now, I see. What
do you want, Aldegunda?"
"I wish--" said Aldegunda, timidly, "I should like--the blind man to
have the silver crown, and for us to keep the penny, if you can get it
back out of the hat."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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