time to examine them: I must go with him, across the wet grass, to a remote, sequestered corner, the most important place in the grounds—because, it contained his garden. There were two round beds, stocked with a variety of plants. In one, there was a pretty little rose tree. I paused to admire its lovely blossoms.
“Oh, never mind that!” said he contemptuously. “That’s only Mary Ann’s garden: look, THIS is mine.”
After I had observed every flower, and listened to a disquisition on every plant, I was permitted to depart; but first, with great pomp, he plucked a polyanthus and presented it to me, as one conferring a prodigious favour. I observed, on the grass about his garden, certain apparatus of sticks and cord, and asked what they were.
“Traps for birds.”
“Why do you catch them?”
“Papa says they do harm.”
“And what do you do with them, when you catch them?”
“Different things. Sometimes I give them to the cat; sometimes I cut them in pieces with my penknife; but the next, I mean to roast alive.”
“And why do you mean to do such a horrible thing?”
“For two reasons; first, to see how long it will live—and then, to see what it will taste like.”
“But don’t you know it is extremely wicked to do such things? Remember, the birds can feel as well as you, and think, how would you like it yourself?”
“Oh, that’s nothing! I’m not a bird, and I can’t feel what I do to them.”
“But you will have to feel it sometime, Tom—you have heard where wicked people go to when they die; and if you don’t leave off torturing innocent birds, remember, you will have to go there, and suffer just what you have made them suffer.”
“Oh; pooh! I shan’t. Papa knows how I treat them, and he never blames me for it; he says it’s just what he used to do when he was a boy. Last Summer he gave me a nest full of young sparrows, and he saw me pulling off their legs and wings, and heads, and never said anything, except that they were nasty things, and I must not let them soil my trousers; and uncle Robson was there too, and he laughed, and said I was a fine boy.”
“But what would your mamma say?”
“Oh! she doesn’t care—she says it’s a pity to kill the pretty singing birds, but the naughty sparrows, and mice and rats I may do what I like with. So now, Miss Grey, you see it is not wicked.”
“I still think it is, Tom; and perhaps your papa and mamma would think so too, if they thought much about it. However,” I internally added, “they may say what they please, but I am determined you shall do nothing of the kind, as long as I have power to prevent it.” 3
He next took me across the lawn to see his mole-traps, and then into the stack-yard to see his weasel-traps, one of which, to his great joy, contained a dead weasel; and then into the stable to see, not the fine carriage horses, but a little rough colt, which he informed me had been bred on purpose for him, and he was to ride it as soon as it was properly trained.
I tried to amuse the little fellow, and listened to all his chatter as complacently h as I could; for I thought if he had any affections at all, I would endeavour to win them; and then, in time, I might be able to show him the error of his ways; but I looked in vain for that generous, noble spirit, his mother talked of; though I could see he was not without a certain degree of quickness and penetration, when he chose to exert it.
When we re-entered the house it was nearly tea-time. i Master Tom told me that, as papa was from home, he, and I, and Mary Ann were to have tea with mamma for a treat; for, on such occasions, she always dined at luncheon time with them, instead of at six o’clock. Soon after tea, Mary Ann went to bed, but Tom favoured us with his company and conversation till eight. After he was gone, Mrs. Bloomfield further enlightened me on the subject of her children’s dispositions and acquirements, and on what they were to learn, and how
“Oh, never mind that!” said he contemptuously. “That’s only Mary Ann’s garden: look, THIS is mine.”
After I had observed every flower, and listened to a disquisition on every plant, I was permitted to depart; but first, with great pomp, he plucked a polyanthus and presented it to me, as one conferring a prodigious favour. I observed, on the grass about his garden, certain apparatus of sticks and cord, and asked what they were.
“Traps for birds.”
“Why do you catch them?”
“Papa says they do harm.”
“And what do you do with them, when you catch them?”
“Different things. Sometimes I give them to the cat; sometimes I cut them in pieces with my penknife; but the next, I mean to roast alive.”
“And why do you mean to do such a horrible thing?”
“For two reasons; first, to see how long it will live—and then, to see what it will taste like.”
“But don’t you know it is extremely wicked to do such things? Remember, the birds can feel as well as you, and think, how would you like it yourself?”
“Oh, that’s nothing! I’m not a bird, and I can’t feel what I do to them.”
“But you will have to feel it sometime, Tom—you have heard where wicked people go to when they die; and if you don’t leave off torturing innocent birds, remember, you will have to go there, and suffer just what you have made them suffer.”
“Oh; pooh! I shan’t. Papa knows how I treat them, and he never blames me for it; he says it’s just what he used to do when he was a boy. Last Summer he gave me a nest full of young sparrows, and he saw me pulling off their legs and wings, and heads, and never said anything, except that they were nasty things, and I must not let them soil my trousers; and uncle Robson was there too, and he laughed, and said I was a fine boy.”
“But what would your mamma say?”
“Oh! she doesn’t care—she says it’s a pity to kill the pretty singing birds, but the naughty sparrows, and mice and rats I may do what I like with. So now, Miss Grey, you see it is not wicked.”
“I still think it is, Tom; and perhaps your papa and mamma would think so too, if they thought much about it. However,” I internally added, “they may say what they please, but I am determined you shall do nothing of the kind, as long as I have power to prevent it.” 3
He next took me across the lawn to see his mole-traps, and then into the stack-yard to see his weasel-traps, one of which, to his great joy, contained a dead weasel; and then into the stable to see, not the fine carriage horses, but a little rough colt, which he informed me had been bred on purpose for him, and he was to ride it as soon as it was properly trained.
I tried to amuse the little fellow, and listened to all his chatter as complacently h as I could; for I thought if he had any affections at all, I would endeavour to win them; and then, in time, I might be able to show him the error of his ways; but I looked in vain for that generous, noble spirit, his mother talked of; though I could see he was not without a certain degree of quickness and penetration, when he chose to exert it.
When we re-entered the house it was nearly tea-time. i Master Tom told me that, as papa was from home, he, and I, and Mary Ann were to have tea with mamma for a treat; for, on such occasions, she always dined at luncheon time with them, instead of at six o’clock. Soon after tea, Mary Ann went to bed, but Tom favoured us with his company and conversation till eight. After he was gone, Mrs. Bloomfield further enlightened me on the subject of her children’s dispositions and acquirements, and on what they were to learn, and how
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