The Caxtons | Page 8

usually afraid of very silent
shy ones. She cast a hasty glance at her master, who was beginning to
evince signs of attention, and cried promptly, "No, ma'am, it was not
the dear boy, bless his flesh, it was I!"
"You? How could you be so careless? and you knew how I prized them
both. Oh, Primmins!" Primmins began to sob.
"Don't tell fibs, nursey," said a small, shrill voice; and Master Sisty,
coming out of the house as bold as brass, continued rapidly--"don't
scold Primmins, mamma: it was I who pushed out the flower-pot."
"Hush!" said nurse, more frightened than ever, and looking aghast
towards my father, who had very deliberately taken off his hat, and was
regarding the scene with serious eyes wide awake. "Hush! And if he
did break it, ma'am, it was quite an accident; he was standing so, and he
never meant it. Did you, Master Sisty? Speak!" this in a whisper, "or Pa
will be so angry."
"Well," said my mother, "I suppose it was an accident; take care in
future, my child. You are sorry, I see, to have grieved me. There's a

kiss; don't fret."
"No, mamma, you must not kiss me; I don't deserve it. I pushed out the
flower-pot on purpose."
"Ha! and why?" said my father, walking up.
Mrs. Primmins trembled like a leaf.
"For fun!" said I, hanging my head,--"just to see how you'd look, papa;
and that's the truth of it. Now beat me, do beat me!"
My father threw his book fifty yards off, stooped down, and caught me
to his breast. "Boy," he said, "you have done wrong: you shall repair it
by remembering all your life that your father blessed God for giving
him a son who spoke truth in spite of fear! Oh! Mrs. Primmins, the next
fable of this kind you try to teach him, and we part forever!"
From that time I first date the hour when I felt that I loved my father,
and knew that he loved me; from that time, too, he began to converse
with me. He would no longer, if he met me in the garden, pass by with
a smile and nod; he would stop, put his book in his pocket, and though
his talk was often above my comprehension, still somehow I felt
happier and better, and less of an infant, when I thought over it, and
tried to puzzle out the meaning; for he had away of suggesting, not
teaching, putting things into my head, and then leaving them to work
out their own problems. I remember a special instance with respect to
that same flower-pot and geranium. Mr. Squills, who was a bachelor,
and well-to- do in the world, often made me little presents. Not long
after the event I have narrated, he gave me one far exceeding in value
those usually bestowed on children,--it was a beautiful large
domino-box in cut ivory, painted and gilt. This domino-box was my
delight. I was never weary of playing, at dominos with Mrs. Primmins,
and I slept with the box under my pillow.
"Ah!" said my father one day, when he found me ranging the ivory
parallelograms in the parlor, "ah! you like that better than all your
playthings, eh?"

"Oh, yes, papa!"
"You would be very sorry if your mamma were to throw that box out of
the window and break it for fun." I looked beseechingly at my father,
and made no answer.
"But perhaps you would be very glad," he resumed, "if suddenly one of
those good fairies you read of could change the domino-box into a
beautiful geranium in a beautiful blue-and-white flower-pot, and you
could have the pleasure of putting it on your mamma's window-sill."
"Indeed I would!" said I, half-crying.
"My dear boy, I believe you; but good wishes don't mend bad actions:
good actions mend bad actions."
So saying, he shut the door and went out. I cannot tell you how puzzled
I was to make out what my father meant by his aphorism. But I know
that I played at dominos no more that day. The next morning my father
found me seated by myself under a tree in the garden; he paused, and
looked at me with his grave bright eyes very steadily.
"My boy," said he, "I am going to walk to--,"a town about two miles
off: "will you come? And, by the by, fetch your domino-box. I should
like to show it to a person there." I ran in for the box, and, not a little
proud of walking with my father upon the high-road, we set out.
"Papa," said I by the way, "there are no fairies now."
"What then, my child?"
"Why, how then can my domino-box be changed into a geranium and