The children's friend. Translated from the French of Mr. Berquin.

ARABELLA and PEGGY.

BEFORE the sun was risen above the hori|son, to give light to the most beautiful morning of the spring, the young Arabella was already in her father's garden, intending to make her breakfast a greater regale to her, by first strolling up and down the long alleys. What|ever could add to the charms of these earliest hours of the day, seemed now united to delight her. The purity and freshness of the air, gave a calm to all her senses. Her taste was gratified by the delicacy of the sweet-meats she was eat|ing; her eye, by the soft lustre of the new-born green; her smell, by the sweet perfume of a thousand flowers; and, lest her ear alone should

remain unsoothed, two nightingales perched themselves upon the summit of an arbour just by, as if purposely to rejoice her with their morning songs. Arabella was so enchanted with the loveliness of the scene around her, that tears of pleasure started into her eyes, though they escaped not down her cheeks. Her heart, beating with the softest feelings, was filled with tenderness and benevolence: when, all at once, her pleasing thoughtfulness was interrupted by the sound of the feet of a little girl, who was coming into the same alley, and devouring with great greediness a thick slice of brown bread.

AS she, also, was walking in the garden only to divert herself, she looked all round her, with|out noticing any particular object, and advanced close up to Arabella, without perceiving her. The moment she saw her, she stopped short, and cast her eyes on the ground; and then, with the swiftness of a terrified young deer, she hastily turned back the same way she came.

STOP, stop, cried Arabella, stay for me, lit|tle girl, stay for me! What do you run so for? But these words only made the little rustic fly the quicker.

ARABELLA began to follow her; but being less practised in such races, found it impossible 〈◊〉〈◊〉 overtake her. Fortunately, however, she had run into a winding path, in order to get out of the garden; and the alley in which she had escaped from Arabella, led directly to the garden-gate. Arabella, who was no less sensible than pretty, crept, therefore, softly along the side of a thick hedge, which bordered the walk; and arrived at the last bush, at the very instant the

little girl was obliged to pass it in her way out.

SHE now suddenly seized her, calling out: Ah ha! you are my prisoner! I have you safe, you cannot run away any more.

THE little girl struggled to get out of her hands. Don't be so naughty, cried Arabella; if you knew the good I mean to do you, you would not be so fierce. Come, there's a good girl, come with me for a little while.

THESE friendly words, and still more the soothing voice in which they were spoken, gave the little girl some courage, and she followed Arabella into a summer-house.

HAVE you ever a father? said Arabella, mak|ing her seat herself next to her.

Peggy.

Yes, Miss.

Arabella.

And what does he do?

Peggy.

Any thing he can, to get his living. He is come to-day to work in your garden, and he brought me with him.

Arabella.

O, I see him down there, in the kitchen-garden. 'Tis that great fat man. But what are you eating for your breakfast? Let me taste a bit of your bread. O goodness! how it hurts my throat! Why does not your father give you better bread than this?

Peggy.

Because he has not so much money as your papa has: so he can't let us have nice things.

Arabella.

But he gets some money by his work; and I think he might at least give you a little white bread, or else something sweet to make you get this down.

Peggy.

Yes, if I was his only child; but we are five of us, and we have all good appe|tites at our meals. Besides, one is wanting a waistcoat, and another a jacket, and another a gown: and all that makes daddy almost out of his head; and he says, sometimes, I may work and work, all day long; but I shall never get enough to feed and clothe all these brats.

Arabella.

You never eat any sweet-meats, then, I suppose?

Peggy.

Sweet-meats! What's that?

Arabella.

Look! such as I have here, spread upon my bread.

Peggy.

I never saw any in my life.

Arabella.

Taste a little bit. Don't be afraid; only see how I eat them myself.

Peggy.

(with great delight.)

O Miss! how nice and sweet!

Arabella.

I thought so! Pray what is your name, little girl?

Peggy

(rising and curtsying.)

Peggy, Miss, at your service.

Arabella.

Very well, my good Peggy, wait here a minute or two, and I'll go and beg something for you of my governess, and come back presently. Now pray don't run away in the mean time.

Peggy.

O no, Miss, I a'n't afraid now.

ARABELLA flew to her governess, and en|treated she would give her some sweet cakes, that she might let a poor little girl have some, who had nothing but dry bread for her break|fast. The governess was charmed with the be|nevolence of her amiable pupil: she gave her some in a saucer, with a new-baked roll; and

Arabella then, with all the speed in her power, ran back to carry them to Peggy for her break|fast.

WELL, cried she, when she came up to her, did I tire your patience with waiting? Here, then, see what I have brought you! Come, take some; never mind that stale bread; you can eat enough of that at any time.

Peggy

(eating the cakes.)

They are just like sugar! I never tasted any thing so nice before.

Arabella.

I am very glad you like them; I was sure they would please you.

Peggy.

What! do you eat these nice things every day? Ah! we poor folks have nothing of that sort!

Arabella.

I am sorry for that. However, come and see me every now and then, and I'll give you some. But what a healthy look you have! Are you never ill?

Peggy.

I! what I! No, never.

Arabella.

Have not you ever a cough, then, nor a cold in your head?

Peggy.

A cold in my head! What sort of illness is that?

Arabella.

Why, it makes you want t•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sneezing, and blowing your nose, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉, all day long.

Peggy.

O yes, that happens to me some|times; but I don't call that illness.

Arabella.

And then don't they bid you lie in bed?

Peggy.

In bed? O, to be sure! My mother would make a fine noise at me, if I took it in my head to be so lazy as that!

Arabella.

Why, what have you to do, such a little thing as you?

Peggy.

Why, in the winter, I have to go and fetch in thistles for the ass, and dry wood to boil the pot; and in the summer, I have enough to do with weeding and leasing; and in the autumn, with gathering grapes, and apples, and pears, and plumbs. O, Miss, we never want for work.

Arabella.

And are your sisters all as healthy as you are?

Peggy.

Yes, they are all as brisk as the little field-mice.

Arabella.

I am very glad to hear that: I was afraid at first that God had not taken good care of you; but as you are all so strong and hearty, I see he has not forgot you. I am very well too, myself, though, to be sure, not so stout as you are. But how come you to be bare-footed? Why don't you wear some shoes and stockings?

Peggy.

Because it would cost daddy too much money to give them to all of us; and so he gives them to none.

Arabella.

And are not you afraid of hurting yourself?

Peggy.

O, I never think of that. God has given me very good soles to my feet; they are as hard as any of your shoes.

Arabella.

I should not like to change with you, though. But why don't you eat some more?

Peggy.

Why, because I must go and get the herbs, and things, and not stand prating here. It's almost eight o'clock, and our ass will be wanting his breakfast.

Arabella.

Well, then, you shall take the rest of your roll with you: but stay a little, and I'll pull out all the crumb, and then put the sweet-meats into the hollow.

Peggy.

I shall go and carry it to my little sister. O, I warrant she won't make faces at this! She won't leave one morsel when once she has tasted it.

Arabella.

I shall love you the better, now, for thinking of your little sister.

Peggy.

O, I never have any thing nice, without giving her some. Good bye, Miss.

Arabella.

Good bye, Peggy. Don't forget to come here again to-morrow, at the same time.

Peggy.

O, I shall take care of that, if my mama does not send me some where else.

ARABELLA had now enjoyed the happiness of doing good. She still stayed sometime walk|ing in the garden, thinking over the pleasure which she had given to Peggy, and the gratitude which Peggy had shewn her in return, and the delight of her little sister in eating the sweet cakes.

BUT what will be her joy, thought she, when I give her two new ribbons, and a neck|lace? I am quite tired, myself, of those mama made me a present of the other day, for all they are so pretty. I'll go and look in my drawers, and see what else I can spare her. We are just of a size, and my things will fit her charmingly. O how I long to dress her, and see how she will look!

THE next morning, Peggy again slipped in|to the garden; and Arabella gave her some sweet-meats which she had bought for her.

PEGGY now failed not to come every morn|ing; and Arabella thought of nothing but what new dainties she could procure for her. When her own pocket-money was insufficient to buy all she wanted, she begged her mama's leave to take sweet-meats and preserves out of the house-keeper's room: and her mama consented with pleasure.

ONE day, however, Arabella had the mor|tification of a refusal. She asked her mama to advance her weekly allowance, that she might buy shoes and stockings for Peggy, and not let her go about bare-footed any more.

NO, I cannot, my dear Arabella, answered her mama.

AND why not, mama?

I will tell you at table, by and by, she repli|ed, the reason that makes me wish you to be a little less extravagant for your favourite.

ARABELLA was much surprised at this denial; and never before so eagerly waited for dinner|time. At length it arrived, and all the family seated themselves at table.

THE dinner, however, was almost over, and still not a word was said that led to the subject of Peggy's shoes and stockings. But, at last, a plate of shrimps was set on the table, and Mrs. Allison began the following conversation.

Mrs. Allison.

O, here comes my Arabella's favourite dish; is it not? I am very glad we happened to have it to-day.

Arabella.

Yes, mama, I love shrimps very much, and this is the season when they are best.

Mrs. Allison.

And Peggy, I dare say, would like them still better than you do.

Arabella.

O, poor little Peggy, I dare say she never saw any in her life. If I was only to shew her these long whiskers, she would be as frightened—O, how frightened she would be! I think I see her now, running away with all her might. Mama, if you would give me leave, I should like vastly to see what faces she would make at them. Two will be enough for her, if they are the two least in the dish.

Mrs. Allison.

This is a request, my dear, that I know not how to grant.

Arabella.

And why, mama, why not? You, that always do so many good things for every body? And when I asked you for some money this morning, to buy Peggy shoes and stockings, you refused it me: so I suppose poor Peggy has made you angry. Has she taken any fruit, or any thing out of the garden, mama? O, I will scold her well for it, if she has.

Mrs. Allison.

No, my dear Arabella, Peggy has not made me angry at all: but do you mean, by the things you do for her, to make her hap|py or miserable?

Arabella.

Happy, mama; God forbid I should make her miserable!

Mrs. Allison.

And I too, my love, heartily wish her better fortune, since you think she me|rits your regard. But is it certainly true, Ara|bella, that she has nothing but dry bread for her breakfast?

Arabella.

Very true, really, mama; for I am sure I would not deceive you.

Mrs. Allison.

Indeed! and has that satisfied her quite till now?

Arabella.

O dear, yes, mama: and if I was to have the nicest Savoy biscuits, I could not eat them with more pleasure than she eats her dry brown bread.

Mrs. Allison.

It seems, then, she has a very good appetite. But I don't know how to sup|pose she goes always bare-footed.

Arabella.

Indeed she has always been bare-footed whenever I have seen her; only ask the gardener else.

Mrs. Allison.

I dare say, then, her feet are all covered with blood, when she has been walking upon sand, or stones.

Arabella.

No, not at all. She runs about the garden like a fawn; and she laughs, and says that God himself has sewed a pair of hard soles upon the bottom of her feet.

Mrs. Allison.

I know very well that my Arabella is no story-teller; but yet, I must own I have some difficulty in believing all this. O, what wry faces would you make, if we were to give you dry brown bread, without any but|ter, or sweet-meats!

Arabella.

O indeed, mama, I know very well it would stop in my throat.

Mrs. Allison.

And I should like, also, to see how you would manage if we let you go bare-foot.

Arabella.

Why, mama, now don't be angry, but yesterday I had a mind to try. When I was alone in the garden, I took off my shoes and stockings, on purpose to walk about like Peggy: but I found my feet sadly cut.—How|ever, I resolved to trot on: but at last, I came plump on a sharp flint! O, it hurt me so!—

I hurried back as fast as possible, though I pick|ed all the best way I could; and indeed, mama, I'll give you my word, I'll never go about bare-foot any more. Poor little Peggy! do you know she walks so, mama, all summer long?

Mrs. Allison.

But what is the reason, then, that you can't eat dry bread, and go bare-foot, as well as she?

Arabella.

I suppose, mama, it's because I am not used to it.

Mrs. Allison.

But if you should accustom her to the same delicacies you love yourself, and to wear shoes and stockings, and then the dry bread should be distasteful to her, and walking barefoot should hurt her, do you think you would have done her any kindness?

Arabella.

No, mama; but I want to serve her in such a manner, that she shall never be in that bad way any more.

Mrs. Allison.

That's a very generous wish; but can you save enough of your pocket-money to answer such a purpose?

Arabella.

Yes, very well, mama, if you'll only help me a little.

Mrs. Allison.

You know well that I never refuse to assist the poor or distressed, when a proper occasion offers: but is Peggy the only little girl you know that wants help?

Arabella.

No, mama, I know a great many others besides; and especially two that live here by the village, that have neither father nor mo|ther.

Mrs. Allison.

Doubtless, then, they are in want of many things.

Arabella.

Yes, indeed, mama, they are.

Mrs. Allison.

But if you give every thing to Peggy, and feed her with biscuits and sweet-meats, while the other poor things are left to starve with hunger; do you think you are act|ing either with justice or humanity?

Arabella.

But I can give them something too, from time to time, mama; only I love Peggy the best of any of them.

Mrs. Allison.

And if you should die, after using Peggy to all these luxuries—

Arabella.

I am sure, if I did, mama, she would cry.

Mrs. Allison.

I can easily believe it. But she must then again sink into indigence, or else, perhaps, commit bad actions, in order still to eat what she liked, and dress herself as you had dressed her. Who then would be guilty of her ruin?

Arabella

(with sadness.)

I, mama! So then, I suppose, I must give her nothing more?

Mrs. Allison.

That is not my intention. I think, however, that you will do well to buy her fewer good things to eat, and rather bestow your money in purchasing her plain and tidy clothes.

Arabella.

I was thinking of that, mama, myself. Suppose I give her one of my own robes?

Mrs. Allison.

I think your rose-colour sattin will suit her admirably, especially when she runs about bare-foot.

Arabella.

O no! every body will point at her with their fingers! What can I do, mama?

Mrs. Allison.

If I were in your place, I should be very saving, for some time, in my pleasures,

till I had got together a little sum of money; and then I would employ it in buying for her whatever I found she most wanted. The things that serve for clothes to the children of the poor, are not very expensive.

ARABELLA followed her mama's advice. She called Peggy but seldom to partake of her break|fast; but she frequently made her other, and far more useful presents. Sometimes she gave her an apron, sometimes a petticoat, and some|times a cap: and she paid herself for her school|ing, that she might be properly taught to read.

PEGGY was so much delighted by these bene|factions, that she every day attached herself more and more tenderly to Arabella. She would fre|quently run after her, to say: Have you any thing I can do for you, Miss Arabella? Can I go of any errand? And, whenever Arabella found her some employment, nothing could equal the joy with which Peggy hastened to oblige her.

SHE went one day to the garden-gate, to wait for Arabella's coming; but after staying far beyond the usual time, Arabella appeared not. Peggy was forced to go home, but soon returned to watch again; but again she saw no|thing of Arabella. Two days following, she continued to come at the accustomed hours; but no Arabella was ready to receive her.

POOR Peggy was now in the utmost distress, that her benefactress seemed thus to have for|saken her.

AH! cried she, does not she love me any longer? May be I have made her angry without know|ing it. I am sure if I could tell what it was,

I would beg her pardon again and again; for I shall die, now, if she will not love me always!

AT this moment, Mrs. Allison's maid hap|pened to come out of the garden. Peggy ran after her. Pray tell me, cried she, where Miss Arabella is?

MISS Arabella? said the maid, she is very ill; she has not perhaps, many hours to live. I think her quite at the last moment; she has got the small-pox.

O good God! exclaimed Peggy, she must not die! I can't let her die!

SHE then flew into the house, and ran up stairs into Mrs. Allison's room. O good Lady, she cried, for pity's sake tell me where is Miss Arabella, and let me go to her!

MRS. Allison would have stopped her, but she had seen, through the door, which was half open, Arabella's bed: and she was already at its side.

ARABELLA was in all the restless pain of a violent fever. She was alone, and very melan|choly; for all her young friends had been taken from her.

PEGGY, crying bitterly, caught hold of her hand, pressed it between her own, kissed it a hundred times, and said: Ah! good God! what a way do I see you in! O, don't die, I beg you! What must I do if I should lose you? I will stay with you both day and night; I will watch over you, and wait upon you.—May I, Miss Arabella? will you let me?

ARABELLA pressed her hand, and easily made her understand that she consented with pleasure to her offer.

PEGGY now, with the permission of Mrs. Allison, became the constant attendant of Ara|bella; and whatever she was suffered to do for her, she was careful should be done as well as possible. They made up a bed for her upon the floor, by the side of the little invalid; and she never for an instant quitted her. When Arabella only made the slightest murmur, Peg|gy jumped up to enquire what was the matter. She gave her all her physic herself. Sometimes she gathered rushes, in order to amuse her by shewing her how she could make pretty baskets; at other times, she hunted over Mrs. Allison's library, to find out prints for her to look at. Her mind was always employed in thinking of something to entertain her, and make her for|get her sufferings. During one week of the time, Arabella lost her eye-sight by her disorder; and this week seemed very long indeed: yet Peggy assisted her to bear it, by diverting her with the history of all the village; and, as she had improved very much by her lessons of read|ing, she picked out for her all the books she thought she would like to hear; and frequently, in a very tender manner, she would endeavour to give her comfort: Only have a little patience, she would say, and God will take pity on you, as you used to take pity on me. At this re|membrance, she would cry; but, soon drying her eyes, say more chearfully: Come, Miss Arabella, shall I sing you a pretty song to divert you? Arabella had but to give a nod, and Peg|gy immediately sung to her all the little songs she had learnt from the shepherds' boys in the neighborhood. And thus the time passed away, and Arabella hardly ever was tired.

AT length, though by slow degrees, her health was perfectly re-established. Her eyes again opened, her strength returned, her complexion lost its redness, and her appetite was restored.

HER face, however, was still marked with her late disorder. But Peggy only looked at her with the greatest pleasure, from thinking of the danger she had been in of losing her. Nei|ther could Arabella, in return, ever see her without tenderness.

HOW can I pay you as I wish to do, cried she, for all that you have done for me? She then applied to her mama, to know in what manner she could possibly reward her constant and faithful little nurse. Mrs. Allison, who almost lost her senses with the excess of her joy, in seeing her beloved daughter restored to life, after so dangerous an illness, answered: Leave that to me; I will take care that she shall be properly recompensed for what we both owe to her diligence and fondness.

SHE then gave orders to have a complete dress made for Peggy, including one thing of every sort that she could wear. Arabella undertook to equip her in it herself, the first day that she should be thought well enough to go again into the garden. This day proved a festival to the whole house. Not only Mrs. Allison, but all the domestics, were transported with joy to see Arabella again down stairs; while Arabella was equally delighted, from the pleasure of having so useful a present for her good Peggy. Peggy herself was half crazy with her own happiness, to meet again her little benefactress where she

had first known her, and to be dressed in new things from head to foot by her own hands.