“Now, father! a story—a story!” said Mr. Goodman’s children, as their father and mother drew up to the fire one winter evening, after the tea-service was removed—“A story! a story!”
There were two children; one a fine little girl, whose name was Mary, the other a little boy, whose name was Frank. He looked a little pale, as if he had been sick, and one of his arms was hung in a handkerchief, which was fastened round his neck. Why this was done, the little reader will find out, before the end of the book.
“Well,” said the kind father, willing to oblige his children, “what shall the story be? About a good boy?”
“No, father,” said little Mary, “we have heard quite enough about good boys.”
“About a bad one, then?”
“No, sir, if you please,” said Frank. He was very much afraid if his father began a story about bad boys, that it might come a great deal too near home. Histories of bad girls and good girls were also objected to, and Mr. Goodman cut the dispute short by commencing:
“Once upon a time—”
“That’s the way you always begin,” said Mary.
“Well, you wouldn’t have him say ‘_twice_ upon a time,’ would you?” asked Frank, who tried to be thought smart, like a great many other boys that we see. Now if these little folks could only hear with other people’s ears, how very little wit there is in some of these attempts to be satirical, we think they would not be so fond of “taking up” their brothers and sisters; and trying to be amusing at the expense of their neighbours. Mr. Goodman thought all this, but did not say it. He smiled, and continued his story:
“Once upon a time there was a little mischievous—”
“Boy,” whispered Mary.
“Squirrel,” said her father, and Frank laughed with a look of triumph at Mary, to think he had escaped so nicely.
“Well, this young squirrel felt very large of his age, and was not much disposed to listen to what his father and mother said to him.”
“Ho! ho!” shouted Frank—“squirrels a-talking!”
“The squirrel’s name was Robert, and his playmates called him Bob, for shortness. He was sent to a very excellent school, and his father and mother tried every means to teach him to climb up in the world; but I am sorry to say that Master Bob was sometimes naughty and disobedient. He paid little attention to the entreaties of his mother, and the good advice of his father, but was continually running away, and getting into all manner of troubles and difficulties. His father and mother lived in a very large and respectable old oak, where he might have been as happy as the day is long. Close to this oak was a large lake—”
“Such a one as our Frank went sailing upon?” asked Mary.
“Very much, I dare say,” said the father, and went on with the story.
“There were plenty of fine apple and nut trees near his home, and a delightful large playground for Master Bob, all round the tree. Robert’s father and mother always loved to see him playing here where he was safe and happy, for he was their only son.”
“Had he a sister?” asked Mary.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Goodman, “one.”
“Oh, I say this is not fair, father!” cried Frank.
“_What?_” asked his father.
“Oh, you know what I mean,” answered Frank, pretending to be very much displeased, although he was really as anxious to hear the rest as his sister Mary was. The parents exchanged pleased glances, and Mr. Goodman continued:
“The peaceable life of a well-disposed and well-behaved young squirrel did not seem to suit the temper and disposition of Master Bob. He was continually running away from home, and putting his good father and mother in trouble to know what had become of him; and at last he wished, like some bad boys I have heard of, that he could get away from the care and control of his parents altogether. He saw that some wild young squirrels of his acquaintance, whose friends did not do their duty by them, were left to go when they pleased, and come home when it suited them; and he desired, in search of the largest liberty, to go to sea.”
“Oh father!” interrupted Mary, “that’s what Frank is always a-saying!”
Frank gave his sister a look which was intended to be very cross; but it ended in a laugh, and Mr. Goodman went on with the story.
“The little squirrel thought he should like to take a trip over the lake. He was tired, he said, of always seeing the same trees, and the same green grass, and he wanted to find out what the rest of the world was made of. His father and mother charged him not to go, and his father warned him that he would meet in the world many artful and cruel enemies, and that he was too young to guard against danger. Master Bob, who thought he knew what was right, was fully determined upon going. Wilful boys—”
“Boys, father?” interrupted Frank, with a curious look.
“Squirrels, I should say,” answered his father; “but boys are just as bad.
“Wilful and naughty young squirrels are never willing to listen to the advice of their elders, but choose to try for themselves. So when Master Bob found he could not get permission, he determined to go without. He stole away from home, and making a raft or boat out of the bark of a willow, loaded it with nuts as his provision. He then launched his boat, and skipped on board, with as much importance as the rocking of his crazy vessel would permit. His parents, who discovered what he was doing too late to stop him, called after him; but he paid no heed, and his father then told him that he really hoped he would meet difficulty enough to bring him back home, in his senses.”
“Be still!” shouted Frank to his sister.
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Mrs. Goodman.
“Mary might look at father, when he is talking, and quit laughing at me!”
“The old squirrels, when they found they could not check their undutiful child, ran up into the branches of their tree, to see him fairly off. Notwithstanding his undutiful behaviour, they hoped he would learn good from his travels. The bad conduct of children makes parents bitterly grieve, but cannot kill their affection. Captain Robert Squirrel, as the vain Master Bob now styled himself, hoisted his sail with great pomposity—”
“What is pomposity, father?” inquired Frank.
“Why, parade, or dignity, or consequence; or, as you boys say, brag; such as a little fellow I know of shows, when he has his tin sword, his wooden musket, and his noisy drum, all at once, and fancies himself a whole regiment, with a band of music.”
“Oh, is that all?” asked Frank; “I thought pomposity might be a name for the mast.”
Father laughed and tried to go on with the story; but Frank was curious now to know what kind of a sail the squirrel had.
“Why, it was a sail au naturel, as the French would say; a domestic arrangement entirely, which Bob always took with him, wherever he went. And, by the way, my dear children,” said Mr. Goodman, “we cannot too much admire the goodness of God in furnishing the lower animals with the quality called instinct. Man has reason for his guide, because he is called upon to act as a responsible being.”
“What is responsible, father?” asked Frank.
