Patty and her pitcher, or, Kindness of heart

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Altrey Crotwquill’s Hairy Tales.



PATTY AND HER PITCHER:

OR,



KINDNESS OF HEART.

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LONDON:

G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET.
NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.

1857.
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PATTY AND HER PITCHER.



AT-TY was the most charm-ing lit-tle girl in her na-tive

vil-lage, and so all the neigh-bours said; and what e-ve-ry
bo-dy said we are bound to be-lieve. It must be re-mem-ber-ed
that it is ve-ry dif-fi-cult to get such a cha-rac-ter; but when
chil-dren do get it, you may be sure they de-serve it. Pat-ty
did de-serve it, for she lo-ved e-ve-ry body and e-ve-ry thing; and,
in re-turn, she was re-ward-ed by the love of all who knew her.
The pi-ge-ons flew down from their lit-tle house to coo round
her: the fowls fed from her hand: the cat roll-ed over her feet,
and purr-ed out her fond-ness; and e-ven the stea-dy old dog
Bluff, put him-self to the trou-ble of cut-ting most strange

-an-tics and gam-bols when-e-ver he could at-tract her at-ten-tion.

They all knew ve-ry well how kind and good she was, al-though
they could not do as their neigh-bours did, say so.

Her in-dus-try was also most com-mend-a-ble; for when she
was no high-er than your knee, she u-sed to bus-tle a-bout and do
lit-tle things in the most han-dy man-ner; and, as for sew-ing,

‘she was the pat-tern child at the dame’s school, where her

sam-pler was hung up in state, that the o-ther chil-dren should

see what might be done by in-dus-try and at-ten-ti-on. |

When she went to the neigh-bour-ing spring, to dip her

pitch-er in-to its bright bub-bling wa-ter, she would war-ble out

her sweet lit-tle bal-lads with a voice that ar-rest-ed the at-ten-
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ti-on of a-ny one in her vi-ci-ni-ty, for her heart was full of joy-ous

lit-tle im-pul-ses, the con-se-quent re-sult of be-ing good and a-mi-
a-ble. Up-on one of the lit-tle jour-neys to the spring, com-men-
ced the great e-vent of her life, which I now sit down to write. It
will show ve-ry dis-tinct-ly the ne-ces-si-ty and the con-se-quence
of good feel-ing for e-ve-ry bo-dy ; for love and kind-ness be-
stow-ed al-ways re-turns ten-fold to the giv-er, as it did to her.

Well, then, to be-gin the sto-ry, as I have now told you all
a-bout Pat-ty and her good-ness. Pat-ty had fill-ed her pitch-er
at the spring, and it was no tri-fle to car-ry when full, and was
car-ry-ing it home with some lit-tle dif-fi-cul-ty, when, al-most
in sight of her cot-tage, she saw a poor old tra-vel-stain-ed
wo-man sit-ting, as if o-ver-come with the fa-tigue of a long
jour-ney, up-on the trunk of a fall-en tree. Her face was as
brown as a nut, and co-ver-ed with a com-plete net-work of
wrin-kles, and her poor eyes were dull and sunk-en. At her
back was tied a large bun-dle, which was quite e-nough for a
strong man to car-ry. She turn-ed her eyes up-on Pat-ty as
she ap-proach-ed her, cast-ing ve-ry ea-ger looks up-on the
dan-cing wa-ter in the pitch-er, which seem-ed to tempt her to
ask for one cool-ing draught. She at last ven-tu-red to do so,
as she saw the good-na-tu-red rosy face of Pat-ty.

“ Dear lit-tle child,” said she, in a fee-ble voice, “let me cool
my parch-ed lips with a drink from your pitch-er, for I am very
old, and faint and wea-ry.”—“ To be sure, mo-ther, and
wel-come,” said Pat-ty, lift-ing it up so that the old wo-man
might quench her thirst. Long and ea-ger-ly did the poor
crea-ture drink: so much so, in-deed, that Pat-ty was quite
as-ton-ish-ed. | |

“Thank you, my dar-ling; Hea-ven will re-ward you for
your kind-ness to the poor and the nee-dy,” said the old wo-man.





























PATTY AND THE THIRSTY DOG.



9

—‘Oh! you’re quite wel-come, mo-ther,” re-pli-ed Pat-ty, and
a-gain went on her way; but she had not pro-ceed-ed far
be-fore she was over-ta-ken by a large dog, who was e-vi-dent-ly
bound on a long jour-ney, for he was co-ver-ed in dust, his eyes
look-ed blood-shot, and his poor, parch-ed tongue was hang-ing
out of his mouth, to catch the cool air. ‘ Poor fel-low!” said
Pat-ty. The dog turn-ed at her kind voice, and stop-ped to
look at ber; she held out her hand, and he ap-proach-ed her;
she put down her pitch-er to ca-ress him, and he im-me-di-
ate-ly en-dea-vour-ed to make his way to what his in-stinct told
him was wa-ter; she un-der-stood im-me-di-ate-ly the poor dog’s
wants, and held the pitch-er so that he could drink. He lap-ped
and lap-ped un-til she real-ly be-gan to think that he ne-ver
would leave off. At last he look-ed up in-to her face, and
lick-ed her hand in gra-ti-tude; then, af-ter two or three bounds,
to show her how re-fresh-ed he was, he trot-ted on his way.

Pat-ty look-ed in-to her pitch-er, and found that it was more
than half emp-ty, so that she must have all her jour-ney o-ver
again, for it was of no use go-ing home with such a drop as that.
As she rose, she saw some hare-bells that grew by the dus-ty
road-side, which ap-pear-ed to be in a ve-ry droop-ing state, and
she im-me-di-ate-ly gave them the be-ne-fit of what had been
left in her pitch-er.

So, back she went, with-out one thought a-bout her trou-ble,
and soon gain-ed the mar-gin of the spring. She was just
a-bout to stoop, and dip her pitch-er into its trans-pa-rent
depth, when she thought she saw some-thing glist-en-ing
be-neath, which caus-ed her to with-draw her hand. She
watch-ed with the great-est as-ton-ish-ment, until she saw a
sweet lit-tle face look-ing up to her; and pre-sent-ly there stood
be-fore her one of the most beau-ti-ful fai-ries you e-ver saw.

A 3





























THE FAIRY OF THE



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13

pro-tec-tor and ad-vi-ser. Do not be a-fraid to ac-cept this at
my hands, for I be-long to a race who are real-ly the coun-ter-
act-ing pow-er to all that is e-vil. You, by your in-nate good-
ness, have ac-qui-red the pow-er of see-ing me, and hear-ing me
speak. When-e-ver mor-tals are good e-nough, this pow-er is
giv-en to them, and we ap-pear, and pre-sent them with some
re-ward that will be-ne-fit them to a de-gree which the real-ly
vir-tu-ous a-lone de-serve on this earth. So, put your pitch-er
down by your side, Pat-ty.” Pat-ty did as she was de-si-red.
‘Now, look into it,” con-ti-nu-ed the fai-ry. 3

Pat-ty did so, and, to her as-ton-ish-ment, be-held the bright
wa-ter gra-du-al-ly as-cend-ing un-til the pitch-er was full -to
the brim. When she saw it was full she at-tempt-ed to raise
it, but she found it too hea-vy for her strength.

‘You need not trou-ble your-self to car-ry it,” said the
fai-ry, smil-ing; ‘it will, it-self, save you all fur-ther trou-ble
on that score.” With that she touch-ed it with her wand, and
the pitch-er rais-ed it-self’ up-on two ve-ry well-sha-ped legs,
made out of the same ma-te-ri-al as the brown pitch-er it-self.
As soon as it was firm on its feet, it made a ve-ry po-lite bow
to Pat-ty as its fu-ture mis-tress. ‘‘ Now, Patty,” said the
fai-ry, “‘ fol-low your pitch-er and you can-not do wrong,” As
she fi-nish-ed speak-ing, she broke in-to my-ri-ads of spark-ling
drops, and mix-ed with the bub-bling stream which seem-ed to
bear her a-way.

Pat-ty rub-bed her eyes, in hopes that she should make out
what was im-pos-si-ble to be a-ny-thing but a dream. She
rub-bed ve-ry hard in-deed. She cough-ed a-loud, and last-ly
tri-ed to pinch her-self ve-ry hard, and as she found it hurt, she
left off, con-vin-ced that she was a-wake, And more con-



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THE PITCHER A GOOD HOUSEMAID.



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vin-cing than all, there stood the brown pitch-er, on his nat-ty
lit-tle brown legs, with the toes turn-ed out to ad-mi-ra-ti-on.

“Quite rea-dy to start, mis-tress,” said a voice from the
ve-ry bot-tom of the pitch-er.—Pat-ty screw-ed up her cou-rage
and said, ‘‘ Come on then, pitch-er,” and set the ex-am-ple by
start-ing off in-toarun. And did not the pitch-er fol-low her
in good ear-nest! In-deed, it ran so fast, that it soon o-ver-took
her; and not on-ly that, but it ran be-fore her long be-fore she
could get half the way home. But the most as-ton-ish-ing
thing was, that, al-though it bound-ed a-long, with as-ton-ish-ing
strides and jumps o-ver the rough-est pla-ces in its path, it
po-si-tive-ly did not spill one sin-gle drop of wa-ter in its
pro-gress. This puzzled Pat-ty, who, with her ut-most care
could ne-ver a-void wet-ting her frock when-e-ver she had
at-tempt-ed to run with the pitch-er e-ven half full.

‘‘ What will the peo-ple think when we get in-to the vil-lage ?”
thought Pat-ty, as she look-ed at her strange com-pa-ni-on.
“Tm sure they will be fright-en-ed; and what will my mo-ther
and fa-ther say when they see what I have brought home.”—
“Do not trou-ble your-self a-bout that,” said the pitch-er, who
seem-ed to hear her thoughts: but then as it was a ma-gi-cal
pitch-er, per-haps this was not as-ton-ish-ing. “* Do not trou-ble
your-self a-bout that; for your pa-rents will soon get
ac-cus-tom-ed to me, and be ra-ther pleas-ed when they dis-
co-ver my hand-i-ness; for you have yet to find out all my
good qua-li-ties.”

As he was speak-ing, they came to a very high and dif-fi-cult
stile. ‘Shall I help you o-ver?” said Pat-ty, in con-si-de-
ra-ti-on of his short legs.—‘ Oh dear! no!” said the pitch-er;
‘¢ see how lit-tle I re-quire it.” So say-ing, he skip-ped o-ver
the stile in the most grace-ful man-ner. As he did so, a dog































































































































































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PATT



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that was pass-ing, pop-ped his tail be-tween his legs, and, af-ter
two or three ve-ry weak barks, scour-ed a-way with e-vi-dent
fright and dis-may. A man, at the same time, was ap-proach-
ing with a slow and pom-pous walk—for he was the squire of
the vil-lage—who, up-on per-ceiv-ing the strange pitch-er clear
the stile in that mi-ra-cu-lous man-ner, was quite trans-fix-ed
with won-der and as-ton-ish-ment; but he soon mo-ved pret-ty
quick-ly when he saw the lit-tle legs speed-ing a-long to-wards
him. He ut-ter-ed one loud ex-cla-ma-ti-on of ter-ror, and fled.
His hat flew one way, his gold-head-ed cane an-o-ther, and his
cloak flew up in-to the air like wings. He had not pro-ceed-ed
far be-fore his legs fail-ed him, and he lay, kicking in a furze-
bush, roar-ing for help. Pat-ty not-with-stand-ing her good
na-ture, could not help laugh-ing at the poor un-for-tu-nate;
but the pitch-er, trot-ting on, with the great-est un-con-cern,
soon reach-ed the cot-tage door, where he ra-ther as-ton-ish-ed
Pat-ty’s poor pa-rents. When he en-ter-ed, he sat him-self
qui-et-ly down in the cor-ner u-su-al-ly ap-pro-pri-a-ted to him, so
that no-bo-dy could see his legs. The neigh-bours, there-fore,
who had been a-larm-ed by the squire’s ac-count of his fright
and dis-as-ter, and only saw a pitch-er like e-ve-ry one had at
home, of course put the old squire down as a lit-tle bit out of
his mind.

Pat-ty was a-wa-ken-ed next morn-ing by hear-ing a noise
be-low, as if some one was ve-ry bu-sy with the fur-ni-ture.
She heard the chairs push-ed a-bout, and pre-sent-ly the han-dle
of a pail clink down as plain as plain could be. So she put on
part of her clothes and crept down. The noise still con-
ti-nu-ing, she peep-ed through the red cur-tains that were hung
a-cross the room to keep the wind a-way from their backs when
they sat by the fire-side; and there she saw, not any thieves,



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but the pitch-er; and what do you think it was do-ing? Why
po-si-tive-ly mop-ping thered tiles of the floor, and mar-vel-lous-ly

well did he han-dle the mop; and there was the pail full of
‘wa-ter by his side, as if he had been a ser-vant of all work all
his life: and more won-der-ful still, there was the fire burn-ing!
We can i-ma-gine a pitch-er of wa-ter wash-ing the floor, but
can-not i-ma-gine its do-ing a-ny thing with a fire ex-cept
put-ting it out. But no! there had he light-ed the fire and put
the ket-tle on, which was just sing-ing a most de-light-ful song
about the break-fast be-ing near-ly rea-dy.

“ Good morn-ing, my good mis-tress,” said the pitch-er,
in no way put out; “ you need not trou-ble your-self to do any-
thing but grow and im-prove your-self; for, from hence-forth,
you will have lit-tle la-bour to do, as Iam your ve-ry hum-ble
ser-vant.” Was not Pat-ty pleas-ed? for she was growing a

; tall girl, and felt great de-sire to im-prove her-self with her
books, which she had had ve-ry lit-tle time to do, as she had
been so much oc-cu-pi-ed with her house-hold du-ties.

When Pat-ty was left a-lone in the e-ven-ing with the pitch-er
in the cor-ner, she said how much she was o-bli-ged to him, and
how much she de-si-red to learn, but want-ed to know what she
was to do for books, as she had read the few she pos-sess-ed a
hun-dred times.—“ Oh! that’s soon re-me-di-ed,” said the
pitch-er, “for you have on-ly to wish, and I will yield as much
milk as you please. Then you can make but-ter and cheese,
and go and sell it at the mar-ket town, and buy as ma-ny books
as you like, and with plen-ty of mo-ney to spare for o-ther
pur-po-ses be-sides.”

No soon-er said than done. Pat-ty set out all the pans she
had and could bor-row from her kind neigh-bours; and, as fast
as they came, the pitch-er ran a-bout and fill-ed them; so that





































































































THE PITCHER GIVES SOUP TO THE POOR.



21

she soon had plen-ty of cream for her but-ter and cheese. She
had on-ly to ask, and a good old neigh-bour lent her a churn,
which the pitch-er soon found a pair of arms to turn: and such
but-ter was pro-du-ced as had not been seen in the vil-lage for
ma-ny a day. Was not Pat-ty pleas-ed, and were not her
pa-rents de-light-ed ?

The same old far-mer lent her a horse and pan-ni-ers, and
ear-ly in the morn-ing, she start-ed for the mar-ket town, the
way to which the pitch-er point-ed out to her. He did not
ac-com-pa-ny her, as he said the peo-ple of the town were not
ac-cus-tom-ed to gee brown pitch-ers, so he should stop at home
and look after the cheese press-ing. Pat-ty pro-ceed-ed on her
way, look-ing as hap-py and as hand-some as the best far-mer’s
daugh-ter of them all. So e-ve-ry bo-dy in the mar-ket said,
where she sold all her but-ter.

So went on Pat-ty’s suc-cess un-til she grew into a pret-ty,
neat young wo-man; with her old pa-rents liv-ing in com-fort in
one of the best cot-ta-ges in the vil-lage; e-ve-ry bo-dy say-ing
that she de-serv-ed her good for-tune, and not one sin-gle soul
en-vy-ing her; so you may guess she was hap-py in-deed.

One e-ven-ing she was stand-ing in her gar-den, feed-ing
some of her pi-ge-ons, when a hand-some-ly dress-ed stran-ger
ap-proach-ed the gate, and af-ter look-ing at her with ad-mi-ra-
ti-on for some short time, took off his plu-med hat in the most
grace-ful man-ner, and beg-ged her to in-form him his near-est
way to the next town. When she spoke, the pleas-ing mu-sic
of her voice and her charm-ing mo-des-ty seem-ed to strike the
young stran-ger with in-creas-ed ad-mi-ra-ti-on. He bow-ed;
and, af-ter a slight he-si-ta-ti-on, pro-ceed-ed on his way.

But that young stran-ger came a-gain and a-gain, al-though
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ci-ty. At last she found that it was the way to her heart he
was seek-ing; and he found it when he told her pa-rents that
he was rich and wish-ed to have a wife whom e-ve-ry bo-dy
spoke well of; since his own wealth left him at li-ber-ty to
choose for him-self, with-out a de-sire for a-ny more. The
pa-rents smi-led as they look-ed up-on the hand-some sui-tor,
whom how-e-ver they did not think one bit too good for their
dear Pat-ty: and so in the course of a ve-ry short time they
were mar-ri-ed. :

But the stran-ger who had mar-ri-ed Pat-ty took her home
to a no-ble pa-lace, where his fore-fa-thers had reign-ed for
ma-ny cen-tu-ries as prin-ces; and the hum-ble lit-tle Pat-ty
found that her dear hus-band had made her a Prin-cess, and
sur-round-ed her with all the lux-u-ries and splen-dours of her
high sta-ti-on. ,

Did Pat-ty for-get her hum-ble home and her old friend,
the pitch-er? No! she did not: the pitch-er was with her, but
her pa-rents wish-ed to re-main in their peace-ful home, which
their dear child had made so hap-py by her vir-tu-ous in-dus-try.

In the splen-did state in which Pat-ty now li-ved the
pitch-er was no less her ser-vant and be-ne-fac-tor than when
he first as-sist-ed her in her hum-ble cot-tage. When the
poor came to the pa-lace gates he stood there and pour-ed in-to
their pitch-ers nou-rish-ing soup to sup-port them and their
fa-mi-lies: and they did not for-get to bless the good Prin-cess
for her kind-ly thoughts for those who need-ed her pro-tec-ti-on
and cha-ri-ty so much: and so the pitch-er, al-though now not
call-ed up-on to work, still con-ti-nu-ed, in the name of his
mis-tress, to do good to all a-round.

But e-ven the ve-ry best of us can-not es-cape from en-vi-
ous hearts and e-vil tongues ; and so it fell out to Prin-cess













































































































































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Patty: for we love to call her Pat-ty, al-though she be-came a
Prin-cess. Ma-ny of the wick-ed cour-ti-ers who en-vi-ed her
po-pu-la-ri-ty with the peo-ple, which was the na-tu-ral con-se-
quence of her kind and cha-ri-ta-ble feel-ing to-wards them,
whis-per-ed slan-ders in-to the ears of the Prince her hus-band,
who, at last, was weak e-nough to lis-ten to them ; for they
a- wakened his fears by tell-i -Ing him that she was vo ing to
bribe the peo-ple, by her mu-ni-fi-cent cha-ri-ties, to re-bel
a-gainst the right-ful Prince, and place her on the iirorie alone ;
and, more+o-ver, that she was lea-gued with e-vil spi-rits that
as-sist-ed her; and they in-stan-ced the friendly pitch-er.

A-las for hu-man weak-ness! The Prince, at last, was con-
_ vin-ced, by their ar-gu-ments, of her guilt; and, al-though his
heart at ed, he had her put in-to a dun-ge-on in the ve-ry
depths of the pa-lace, and left her there to mourn o-ver his too
ea-sy be-lief of her dis-loy-al-ty. She did not mourn long, for,
as night came on, the pitch-er o-pen-ed her pri-son doors and
aid-ed her in her flight. “Come,” said he, “ re-turn to your
peace-ful home, and show your hus-band that it is his heart,
and not his king-dom, that you co-vet. He will re-turn to rea-
son and re-pent-ance when he finds that he has lost you. She
fol-low-ed him in deep grief: but they had not pro-ceed-ed far
in their flight when Pat-ty was a-larm-ed by per-ceiv-ing that
they were pur-su-ed by a par-ty of sol- di-ers: she scream- ed with
af-fright.

: Be not a-larm-ed, dear-est. mis-tress,” said the pitch-er ;
““T will stop these pur-su-ers.” So say-ing, he bent o-ver the
side of the rock and pour-ed out a sweep-ing ca-tar-act of wa-ter
in-to the val-ley through which they were ap-proach-ing. The
wa-ters roll-ed in high waves and swept them from the path,
un-til it be-came like a large, deep lake. The sol-di-ers swam



















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THE PRINCEH’S ASTONISHMENT AT FINDING PATTY ALIVE.



27
to the near-est high land, glad e-ven to save their lives, and
quite re-gard-less of the fu-gi-tive.

That night she slept be-neath the hum-ble roof of her
-pa-rents: their own dear Pat-ty. A-gain she found her-self in
her own be-lo-ved gar-den, at-tend-ing to her blos-som-ing
flow-ers, and at-tempt-ing to se-cure con-tent by cease-less
oc-cu-pa-ti-on: but it was na-tu-ral that her thoughts should
wan-der to the home of her hus-band, and that she should orieve
o-ver his un-kind-ness in re-turn for her pure and. ar-dent
af-fec-ti-on ; hope, how-e-ver, whis-per-ing to her, in the midst
of her tears, that some for-tu-nate ac-ci-dent might re-move
the false im-pres-si-on from his mind, that had not only caus-ed
her un-hap-pi-ness, but his own also. The pitch-er was con-
ti-nu-al-ly by her side, and did not fail to give her com-fort in
her si-lent sor-row.

Days and weeks roll-ed on, but no news nor mes-sen-ger
reach-ed her from her hus-band’s do-main. Had he en-tire-ly
a-ban-don-ed her? or did he be-lieve her to have been swept
a-way in the tor-rent which so near-ly de-stroy-ed his sol-di-ers,
who were too much oc-cu-pi-ed in their own pre-ser-va-ti-on to
heed what be-came of her? She hop-ed that it was so; as that
in some man-ner ex-cu-sed him: and then he might be mourn-
ing her as lost; for, sure-ly, the e-vil speak-ers must have shown
them-selves, long ere this, in their true co-lours.

One fine morn-ing she had ris-en ear-li-er than u-su-al, for
there was a rest-less-ness in her mind that would not let her
sleep. She walk-ed out in-to the fresh pure air, which felt cool
and re-fresh-ing on her fe-ver-ed brow, and, look-ing round, she
be-held the dear old quaint pitch-er trim-ming the flow-ers
with the hand and style of an ex-pe-ri-en-ced gar-den-er.

“ Good morn-ing, fair mis-tress of mine,” said he; “ you







29

are up be-times; for the sun has hard-ly climb-ed the dis-tant
moun-tains to peep o-ver in-to our val-ley: but I am glad to
see you so ear-ly a-foot, as you per-ceive that I am ta-king
ex-tra care with the gar-den ; for I ex-pect vi-si-tors to-day.” —
“* Vi-si-tors?” ex-claim-ed Pat-ty, with an in-qui-ring look.

“Yes, vi-si-tors,” said the pitch-er, from whose mouth
is-su-ed a low, chuck-ling laugh: “I can hear, dis-tinct-ly, a
foot-step in the dis-tance: it comes this way. List-en; it is
now near e-nough for mor-tal ears to hear.”—And so it was:
near and near-er it came. Pre-sent-ly the figure of a pal-mer
ap-pear-ed at the wick-et gate. He en-ter-ed, and stood trans-
fix-ed as he be-held the fi-gure of Pat-ty, stand-ing like a
sta-tue of sur-prise. It was her hus-band, the Prince.

“‘ That is the vi-si-tor I ex-pect-ed,” said the pitch-er: “ he
has be-liev-ed you dead, and has wan-der-ed to ma-ny pla-ces
that he might as-suage his grief. At last he has da-red to
ven-ture to this hum-ble cot-tage, that he might a-gain see the
spot where he first had the good for-tune to meet you. It was
look-ed for-ward to as a con-so-la-ti-on, yet a se-vere ex-pi-a-ti-on
for his crime, to ap-proach where e-ve-ry thing would re-mind
him of you and your vir-tues, and the fault he had com-mit-ted
in be-liev-ing you ca-pa-ble of plot-ting to se-cure his rich-es
and his king-dom, when he a-lone was all your world, your
rich-es, and your king-dom. Your be-ing a-live is the re-ward
for his sin-cere re-pen-tance. He finds you in your o-ri-gi-nal —
hum-ble sphere, re-gret-ting no-thing in your al-ter-ed cir-cum-
stan-ces but the loss of him.”—-The Prince rush-ed for-ward
with a cry of de-light, and knelt at Pat-ty’s feet. The pitch-er,
like a dis-creet friend, pla-ced her hand in his, and then went
on with his gar-den-ing.

Pat-ty’s pa-rents re-joi-ced in her re-cov-er-ed fe-li-ci-ty,

ee





PATTY RETURNS IN TRIUMPH,



31

yet felt a pang of re-gret when, some days af-ter the hap-py
meet-ing, the Prince pro-po-sed that they should re-turn to his
king-dom, and that he would send for-ward a mes-sen-ger that
his re-co-ver-ed wife should make her en-try in tri-umph.

The pitch-er walk-ed out of the cot-tage and join-ed the
group. “Prince,” said he, “spare your-self the trou-ble. I
am here to give my last ser-vice to my mis-tress. Since your
hap-py re-con-ci-li-a-ti-on leaves no-thing for her to de-sire, the
fai-ry who a-ni-ma-ted me that I might re-ward her for the
great-est of hu-man vir-tues, sel/-de-ni-al and a love for her
fel-low crea-tures, re-cals me to her wa-ter pa-lace: be-hold!”

As he cea-sed speak-ing jets of spark-ling wa-ter rose high
in-to the air from his mouth, un-til an un-du-la-ting lake
ap-pear-ed in the val-ley, up-on which was borne a gild-ed
barge pro-pel-led by stout row-ers in the Prince's li-ve-ry. It
gli-ded to their feet and they all step-ped in. The ser-vants
pull-ed with a good will in-to the midst of the stream. Still
the foun-tain play-ed from the pitch-er’s mouth un-til the stream
was swol-len in-to a migh-ty ri-ver, down which they float-ed
un-til they came in sight of their own cas-tle, stand-ing high
up-on the rocks which bor-der-ed the cur-rent. Stream-ing
flags float-ed from the tur-rets, and boom-ing can-non sent forth
their noi-sy wel-come. Crowds of re-joi-cing vas-sals stood to
re-ceive their much-lo-ved Prin-cess, whose hap-py tears spoke
for her to the hearts that knew so well how to ap-pre-ci-ate her
good-ness and cha-ri-ty. The ma-gic pitch-er was seen no
more; but its his-to-ry taught all who heard it that to give was
on-ly to lay by a re-ward for your-self.

THE END.







TE Le

AUNT MAVOR’S LITTLE LIBRARY.

Tm imperial 16mo, ice Gd., with stiff cover, or coloured, la; or printed on cluth @utitied t
-verlasting), with cloth cover, price UNg SuILiixe Kacu 2

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AUNT R'S FIRST BOOK. | a
Beng an Illustrated A wt, with easy Words, aml Fifty Engravings. {

x - AUNT avons BOOK OF FABLES.
Illustrated with Thirty- ‘five Woodeuta

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ee yee by M‘Connell.



Imperial 16mo, shies a: or with Colbuned Plates, la.
ALFRED CROWQUILL'S ORIGINAL FAIRY rauss,
With many Large Illustrations by Himself.
Lut or tux Sxnixzs, viz. :— ‘es
Peter and his Goose. The Giant Hand t; e, { fe
The Selfish Man. Tiny and her Vanity. — x e
The Giant and the Dwarf. Patty and ber Pitcher mF

Alfred Crowquill's 2 and pen arehere combined to make an original and very eutertalaing: eg

series of and Instructive Fairy Tales, suitable to Chikiren of tarious ages, T |
LONDON; GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON-STREET 4 fa
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PATTY AND HER PITCHER:

OR,



KINDNESS OF HEART.

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LONDON:

G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., FARRINGDON STREET.
NEW YORK: 18, BEEKMAN STREET.

1857.
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PATTY AND HER PITCHER.



AT-TY was the most charm-ing lit-tle girl in her na-tive

vil-lage, and so all the neigh-bours said; and what e-ve-ry
bo-dy said we are bound to be-lieve. It must be re-mem-ber-ed
that it is ve-ry dif-fi-cult to get such a cha-rac-ter; but when
chil-dren do get it, you may be sure they de-serve it. Pat-ty
did de-serve it, for she lo-ved e-ve-ry body and e-ve-ry thing; and,
in re-turn, she was re-ward-ed by the love of all who knew her.
The pi-ge-ons flew down from their lit-tle house to coo round
her: the fowls fed from her hand: the cat roll-ed over her feet,
and purr-ed out her fond-ness; and e-ven the stea-dy old dog
Bluff, put him-self to the trou-ble of cut-ting most strange

-an-tics and gam-bols when-e-ver he could at-tract her at-ten-tion.

They all knew ve-ry well how kind and good she was, al-though
they could not do as their neigh-bours did, say so.

Her in-dus-try was also most com-mend-a-ble; for when she
was no high-er than your knee, she u-sed to bus-tle a-bout and do
lit-tle things in the most han-dy man-ner; and, as for sew-ing,

‘she was the pat-tern child at the dame’s school, where her

sam-pler was hung up in state, that the o-ther chil-dren should

see what might be done by in-dus-try and at-ten-ti-on. |

When she went to the neigh-bour-ing spring, to dip her

pitch-er in-to its bright bub-bling wa-ter, she would war-ble out

her sweet lit-tle bal-lads with a voice that ar-rest-ed the at-ten-
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ti-on of a-ny one in her vi-ci-ni-ty, for her heart was full of joy-ous

lit-tle im-pul-ses, the con-se-quent re-sult of be-ing good and a-mi-
a-ble. Up-on one of the lit-tle jour-neys to the spring, com-men-
ced the great e-vent of her life, which I now sit down to write. It
will show ve-ry dis-tinct-ly the ne-ces-si-ty and the con-se-quence
of good feel-ing for e-ve-ry bo-dy ; for love and kind-ness be-
stow-ed al-ways re-turns ten-fold to the giv-er, as it did to her.

Well, then, to be-gin the sto-ry, as I have now told you all
a-bout Pat-ty and her good-ness. Pat-ty had fill-ed her pitch-er
at the spring, and it was no tri-fle to car-ry when full, and was
car-ry-ing it home with some lit-tle dif-fi-cul-ty, when, al-most
in sight of her cot-tage, she saw a poor old tra-vel-stain-ed
wo-man sit-ting, as if o-ver-come with the fa-tigue of a long
jour-ney, up-on the trunk of a fall-en tree. Her face was as
brown as a nut, and co-ver-ed with a com-plete net-work of
wrin-kles, and her poor eyes were dull and sunk-en. At her
back was tied a large bun-dle, which was quite e-nough for a
strong man to car-ry. She turn-ed her eyes up-on Pat-ty as
she ap-proach-ed her, cast-ing ve-ry ea-ger looks up-on the
dan-cing wa-ter in the pitch-er, which seem-ed to tempt her to
ask for one cool-ing draught. She at last ven-tu-red to do so,
as she saw the good-na-tu-red rosy face of Pat-ty.

“ Dear lit-tle child,” said she, in a fee-ble voice, “let me cool
my parch-ed lips with a drink from your pitch-er, for I am very
old, and faint and wea-ry.”—“ To be sure, mo-ther, and
wel-come,” said Pat-ty, lift-ing it up so that the old wo-man
might quench her thirst. Long and ea-ger-ly did the poor
crea-ture drink: so much so, in-deed, that Pat-ty was quite
as-ton-ish-ed. | |

“Thank you, my dar-ling; Hea-ven will re-ward you for
your kind-ness to the poor and the nee-dy,” said the old wo-man.


























PATTY AND THE THIRSTY DOG.
9

—‘Oh! you’re quite wel-come, mo-ther,” re-pli-ed Pat-ty, and
a-gain went on her way; but she had not pro-ceed-ed far
be-fore she was over-ta-ken by a large dog, who was e-vi-dent-ly
bound on a long jour-ney, for he was co-ver-ed in dust, his eyes
look-ed blood-shot, and his poor, parch-ed tongue was hang-ing
out of his mouth, to catch the cool air. ‘ Poor fel-low!” said
Pat-ty. The dog turn-ed at her kind voice, and stop-ped to
look at ber; she held out her hand, and he ap-proach-ed her;
she put down her pitch-er to ca-ress him, and he im-me-di-
ate-ly en-dea-vour-ed to make his way to what his in-stinct told
him was wa-ter; she un-der-stood im-me-di-ate-ly the poor dog’s
wants, and held the pitch-er so that he could drink. He lap-ped
and lap-ped un-til she real-ly be-gan to think that he ne-ver
would leave off. At last he look-ed up in-to her face, and
lick-ed her hand in gra-ti-tude; then, af-ter two or three bounds,
to show her how re-fresh-ed he was, he trot-ted on his way.

Pat-ty look-ed in-to her pitch-er, and found that it was more
than half emp-ty, so that she must have all her jour-ney o-ver
again, for it was of no use go-ing home with such a drop as that.
As she rose, she saw some hare-bells that grew by the dus-ty
road-side, which ap-pear-ed to be in a ve-ry droop-ing state, and
she im-me-di-ate-ly gave them the be-ne-fit of what had been
left in her pitch-er.

So, back she went, with-out one thought a-bout her trou-ble,
and soon gain-ed the mar-gin of the spring. She was just
a-bout to stoop, and dip her pitch-er into its trans-pa-rent
depth, when she thought she saw some-thing glist-en-ing
be-neath, which caus-ed her to with-draw her hand. She
watch-ed with the great-est as-ton-ish-ment, until she saw a
sweet lit-tle face look-ing up to her; and pre-sent-ly there stood
be-fore her one of the most beau-ti-ful fai-ries you e-ver saw.

A 3


























THE FAIRY OF THE



SPRING,






THE ALARM AT

m: Se



THE PITCHER.

~


13

pro-tec-tor and ad-vi-ser. Do not be a-fraid to ac-cept this at
my hands, for I be-long to a race who are real-ly the coun-ter-
act-ing pow-er to all that is e-vil. You, by your in-nate good-
ness, have ac-qui-red the pow-er of see-ing me, and hear-ing me
speak. When-e-ver mor-tals are good e-nough, this pow-er is
giv-en to them, and we ap-pear, and pre-sent them with some
re-ward that will be-ne-fit them to a de-gree which the real-ly
vir-tu-ous a-lone de-serve on this earth. So, put your pitch-er
down by your side, Pat-ty.” Pat-ty did as she was de-si-red.
‘Now, look into it,” con-ti-nu-ed the fai-ry. 3

Pat-ty did so, and, to her as-ton-ish-ment, be-held the bright
wa-ter gra-du-al-ly as-cend-ing un-til the pitch-er was full -to
the brim. When she saw it was full she at-tempt-ed to raise
it, but she found it too hea-vy for her strength.

‘You need not trou-ble your-self to car-ry it,” said the
fai-ry, smil-ing; ‘it will, it-self, save you all fur-ther trou-ble
on that score.” With that she touch-ed it with her wand, and
the pitch-er rais-ed it-self’ up-on two ve-ry well-sha-ped legs,
made out of the same ma-te-ri-al as the brown pitch-er it-self.
As soon as it was firm on its feet, it made a ve-ry po-lite bow
to Pat-ty as its fu-ture mis-tress. ‘‘ Now, Patty,” said the
fai-ry, “‘ fol-low your pitch-er and you can-not do wrong,” As
she fi-nish-ed speak-ing, she broke in-to my-ri-ads of spark-ling
drops, and mix-ed with the bub-bling stream which seem-ed to
bear her a-way.

Pat-ty rub-bed her eyes, in hopes that she should make out
what was im-pos-si-ble to be a-ny-thing but a dream. She
rub-bed ve-ry hard in-deed. She cough-ed a-loud, and last-ly
tri-ed to pinch her-self ve-ry hard, and as she found it hurt, she
left off, con-vin-ced that she was a-wake, And more con-
—— eI
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THE PITCHER A GOOD HOUSEMAID.
15

vin-cing than all, there stood the brown pitch-er, on his nat-ty
lit-tle brown legs, with the toes turn-ed out to ad-mi-ra-ti-on.

“Quite rea-dy to start, mis-tress,” said a voice from the
ve-ry bot-tom of the pitch-er.—Pat-ty screw-ed up her cou-rage
and said, ‘‘ Come on then, pitch-er,” and set the ex-am-ple by
start-ing off in-toarun. And did not the pitch-er fol-low her
in good ear-nest! In-deed, it ran so fast, that it soon o-ver-took
her; and not on-ly that, but it ran be-fore her long be-fore she
could get half the way home. But the most as-ton-ish-ing
thing was, that, al-though it bound-ed a-long, with as-ton-ish-ing
strides and jumps o-ver the rough-est pla-ces in its path, it
po-si-tive-ly did not spill one sin-gle drop of wa-ter in its
pro-gress. This puzzled Pat-ty, who, with her ut-most care
could ne-ver a-void wet-ting her frock when-e-ver she had
at-tempt-ed to run with the pitch-er e-ven half full.

‘‘ What will the peo-ple think when we get in-to the vil-lage ?”
thought Pat-ty, as she look-ed at her strange com-pa-ni-on.
“Tm sure they will be fright-en-ed; and what will my mo-ther
and fa-ther say when they see what I have brought home.”—
“Do not trou-ble your-self a-bout that,” said the pitch-er, who
seem-ed to hear her thoughts: but then as it was a ma-gi-cal
pitch-er, per-haps this was not as-ton-ish-ing. “* Do not trou-ble
your-self a-bout that; for your pa-rents will soon get
ac-cus-tom-ed to me, and be ra-ther pleas-ed when they dis-
co-ver my hand-i-ness; for you have yet to find out all my
good qua-li-ties.”

As he was speak-ing, they came to a very high and dif-fi-cult
stile. ‘Shall I help you o-ver?” said Pat-ty, in con-si-de-
ra-ti-on of his short legs.—‘ Oh dear! no!” said the pitch-er;
‘¢ see how lit-tle I re-quire it.” So say-ing, he skip-ped o-ver
the stile in the most grace-ful man-ner. As he did so, a dog




























































































































































O MARKET.

X

T

Y GOING

PATT
17

that was pass-ing, pop-ped his tail be-tween his legs, and, af-ter
two or three ve-ry weak barks, scour-ed a-way with e-vi-dent
fright and dis-may. A man, at the same time, was ap-proach-
ing with a slow and pom-pous walk—for he was the squire of
the vil-lage—who, up-on per-ceiv-ing the strange pitch-er clear
the stile in that mi-ra-cu-lous man-ner, was quite trans-fix-ed
with won-der and as-ton-ish-ment; but he soon mo-ved pret-ty
quick-ly when he saw the lit-tle legs speed-ing a-long to-wards
him. He ut-ter-ed one loud ex-cla-ma-ti-on of ter-ror, and fled.
His hat flew one way, his gold-head-ed cane an-o-ther, and his
cloak flew up in-to the air like wings. He had not pro-ceed-ed
far be-fore his legs fail-ed him, and he lay, kicking in a furze-
bush, roar-ing for help. Pat-ty not-with-stand-ing her good
na-ture, could not help laugh-ing at the poor un-for-tu-nate;
but the pitch-er, trot-ting on, with the great-est un-con-cern,
soon reach-ed the cot-tage door, where he ra-ther as-ton-ish-ed
Pat-ty’s poor pa-rents. When he en-ter-ed, he sat him-self
qui-et-ly down in the cor-ner u-su-al-ly ap-pro-pri-a-ted to him, so
that no-bo-dy could see his legs. The neigh-bours, there-fore,
who had been a-larm-ed by the squire’s ac-count of his fright
and dis-as-ter, and only saw a pitch-er like e-ve-ry one had at
home, of course put the old squire down as a lit-tle bit out of
his mind.

Pat-ty was a-wa-ken-ed next morn-ing by hear-ing a noise
be-low, as if some one was ve-ry bu-sy with the fur-ni-ture.
She heard the chairs push-ed a-bout, and pre-sent-ly the han-dle
of a pail clink down as plain as plain could be. So she put on
part of her clothes and crept down. The noise still con-
ti-nu-ing, she peep-ed through the red cur-tains that were hung
a-cross the room to keep the wind a-way from their backs when
they sat by the fire-side; and there she saw, not any thieves,
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THE PRINCE ADMIRES PATTY.


19

but the pitch-er; and what do you think it was do-ing? Why
po-si-tive-ly mop-ping thered tiles of the floor, and mar-vel-lous-ly

well did he han-dle the mop; and there was the pail full of
‘wa-ter by his side, as if he had been a ser-vant of all work all
his life: and more won-der-ful still, there was the fire burn-ing!
We can i-ma-gine a pitch-er of wa-ter wash-ing the floor, but
can-not i-ma-gine its do-ing a-ny thing with a fire ex-cept
put-ting it out. But no! there had he light-ed the fire and put
the ket-tle on, which was just sing-ing a most de-light-ful song
about the break-fast be-ing near-ly rea-dy.

“ Good morn-ing, my good mis-tress,” said the pitch-er,
in no way put out; “ you need not trou-ble your-self to do any-
thing but grow and im-prove your-self; for, from hence-forth,
you will have lit-tle la-bour to do, as Iam your ve-ry hum-ble
ser-vant.” Was not Pat-ty pleas-ed? for she was growing a

; tall girl, and felt great de-sire to im-prove her-self with her
books, which she had had ve-ry lit-tle time to do, as she had
been so much oc-cu-pi-ed with her house-hold du-ties.

When Pat-ty was left a-lone in the e-ven-ing with the pitch-er
in the cor-ner, she said how much she was o-bli-ged to him, and
how much she de-si-red to learn, but want-ed to know what she
was to do for books, as she had read the few she pos-sess-ed a
hun-dred times.—“ Oh! that’s soon re-me-di-ed,” said the
pitch-er, “for you have on-ly to wish, and I will yield as much
milk as you please. Then you can make but-ter and cheese,
and go and sell it at the mar-ket town, and buy as ma-ny books
as you like, and with plen-ty of mo-ney to spare for o-ther
pur-po-ses be-sides.”

No soon-er said than done. Pat-ty set out all the pans she
had and could bor-row from her kind neigh-bours; and, as fast
as they came, the pitch-er ran a-bout and fill-ed them; so that


































































































THE PITCHER GIVES SOUP TO THE POOR.
21

she soon had plen-ty of cream for her but-ter and cheese. She
had on-ly to ask, and a good old neigh-bour lent her a churn,
which the pitch-er soon found a pair of arms to turn: and such
but-ter was pro-du-ced as had not been seen in the vil-lage for
ma-ny a day. Was not Pat-ty pleas-ed, and were not her
pa-rents de-light-ed ?

The same old far-mer lent her a horse and pan-ni-ers, and
ear-ly in the morn-ing, she start-ed for the mar-ket town, the
way to which the pitch-er point-ed out to her. He did not
ac-com-pa-ny her, as he said the peo-ple of the town were not
ac-cus-tom-ed to gee brown pitch-ers, so he should stop at home
and look after the cheese press-ing. Pat-ty pro-ceed-ed on her
way, look-ing as hap-py and as hand-some as the best far-mer’s
daugh-ter of them all. So e-ve-ry bo-dy in the mar-ket said,
where she sold all her but-ter.

So went on Pat-ty’s suc-cess un-til she grew into a pret-ty,
neat young wo-man; with her old pa-rents liv-ing in com-fort in
one of the best cot-ta-ges in the vil-lage; e-ve-ry bo-dy say-ing
that she de-serv-ed her good for-tune, and not one sin-gle soul
en-vy-ing her; so you may guess she was hap-py in-deed.

One e-ven-ing she was stand-ing in her gar-den, feed-ing
some of her pi-ge-ons, when a hand-some-ly dress-ed stran-ger
ap-proach-ed the gate, and af-ter look-ing at her with ad-mi-ra-
ti-on for some short time, took off his plu-med hat in the most
grace-ful man-ner, and beg-ged her to in-form him his near-est
way to the next town. When she spoke, the pleas-ing mu-sic
of her voice and her charm-ing mo-des-ty seem-ed to strike the
young stran-ger with in-creas-ed ad-mi-ra-ti-on. He bow-ed;
and, af-ter a slight he-si-ta-ti-on, pro-ceed-ed on his way.

But that young stran-ger came a-gain and a-gain, al-though
he knew his way ve-ry well to and from the neigh-bour-ing
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23

ci-ty. At last she found that it was the way to her heart he
was seek-ing; and he found it when he told her pa-rents that
he was rich and wish-ed to have a wife whom e-ve-ry bo-dy
spoke well of; since his own wealth left him at li-ber-ty to
choose for him-self, with-out a de-sire for a-ny more. The
pa-rents smi-led as they look-ed up-on the hand-some sui-tor,
whom how-e-ver they did not think one bit too good for their
dear Pat-ty: and so in the course of a ve-ry short time they
were mar-ri-ed. :

But the stran-ger who had mar-ri-ed Pat-ty took her home
to a no-ble pa-lace, where his fore-fa-thers had reign-ed for
ma-ny cen-tu-ries as prin-ces; and the hum-ble lit-tle Pat-ty
found that her dear hus-band had made her a Prin-cess, and
sur-round-ed her with all the lux-u-ries and splen-dours of her
high sta-ti-on. ,

Did Pat-ty for-get her hum-ble home and her old friend,
the pitch-er? No! she did not: the pitch-er was with her, but
her pa-rents wish-ed to re-main in their peace-ful home, which
their dear child had made so hap-py by her vir-tu-ous in-dus-try.

In the splen-did state in which Pat-ty now li-ved the
pitch-er was no less her ser-vant and be-ne-fac-tor than when
he first as-sist-ed her in her hum-ble cot-tage. When the
poor came to the pa-lace gates he stood there and pour-ed in-to
their pitch-ers nou-rish-ing soup to sup-port them and their
fa-mi-lies: and they did not for-get to bless the good Prin-cess
for her kind-ly thoughts for those who need-ed her pro-tec-ti-on
and cha-ri-ty so much: and so the pitch-er, al-though now not
call-ed up-on to work, still con-ti-nu-ed, in the name of his
mis-tress, to do good to all a-round.

But e-ven the ve-ry best of us can-not es-cape from en-vi-
ous hearts and e-vil tongues ; and so it fell out to Prin-cess










































































































































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25

Patty: for we love to call her Pat-ty, al-though she be-came a
Prin-cess. Ma-ny of the wick-ed cour-ti-ers who en-vi-ed her
po-pu-la-ri-ty with the peo-ple, which was the na-tu-ral con-se-
quence of her kind and cha-ri-ta-ble feel-ing to-wards them,
whis-per-ed slan-ders in-to the ears of the Prince her hus-band,
who, at last, was weak e-nough to lis-ten to them ; for they
a- wakened his fears by tell-i -Ing him that she was vo ing to
bribe the peo-ple, by her mu-ni-fi-cent cha-ri-ties, to re-bel
a-gainst the right-ful Prince, and place her on the iirorie alone ;
and, more+o-ver, that she was lea-gued with e-vil spi-rits that
as-sist-ed her; and they in-stan-ced the friendly pitch-er.

A-las for hu-man weak-ness! The Prince, at last, was con-
_ vin-ced, by their ar-gu-ments, of her guilt; and, al-though his
heart at ed, he had her put in-to a dun-ge-on in the ve-ry
depths of the pa-lace, and left her there to mourn o-ver his too
ea-sy be-lief of her dis-loy-al-ty. She did not mourn long, for,
as night came on, the pitch-er o-pen-ed her pri-son doors and
aid-ed her in her flight. “Come,” said he, “ re-turn to your
peace-ful home, and show your hus-band that it is his heart,
and not his king-dom, that you co-vet. He will re-turn to rea-
son and re-pent-ance when he finds that he has lost you. She
fol-low-ed him in deep grief: but they had not pro-ceed-ed far
in their flight when Pat-ty was a-larm-ed by per-ceiv-ing that
they were pur-su-ed by a par-ty of sol- di-ers: she scream- ed with
af-fright.

: Be not a-larm-ed, dear-est. mis-tress,” said the pitch-er ;
““T will stop these pur-su-ers.” So say-ing, he bent o-ver the
side of the rock and pour-ed out a sweep-ing ca-tar-act of wa-ter
in-to the val-ley through which they were ap-proach-ing. The
wa-ters roll-ed in high waves and swept them from the path,
un-til it be-came like a large, deep lake. The sol-di-ers swam
















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THE PRINCEH’S ASTONISHMENT AT FINDING PATTY ALIVE.
27
to the near-est high land, glad e-ven to save their lives, and
quite re-gard-less of the fu-gi-tive.

That night she slept be-neath the hum-ble roof of her
-pa-rents: their own dear Pat-ty. A-gain she found her-self in
her own be-lo-ved gar-den, at-tend-ing to her blos-som-ing
flow-ers, and at-tempt-ing to se-cure con-tent by cease-less
oc-cu-pa-ti-on: but it was na-tu-ral that her thoughts should
wan-der to the home of her hus-band, and that she should orieve
o-ver his un-kind-ness in re-turn for her pure and. ar-dent
af-fec-ti-on ; hope, how-e-ver, whis-per-ing to her, in the midst
of her tears, that some for-tu-nate ac-ci-dent might re-move
the false im-pres-si-on from his mind, that had not only caus-ed
her un-hap-pi-ness, but his own also. The pitch-er was con-
ti-nu-al-ly by her side, and did not fail to give her com-fort in
her si-lent sor-row.

Days and weeks roll-ed on, but no news nor mes-sen-ger
reach-ed her from her hus-band’s do-main. Had he en-tire-ly
a-ban-don-ed her? or did he be-lieve her to have been swept
a-way in the tor-rent which so near-ly de-stroy-ed his sol-di-ers,
who were too much oc-cu-pi-ed in their own pre-ser-va-ti-on to
heed what be-came of her? She hop-ed that it was so; as that
in some man-ner ex-cu-sed him: and then he might be mourn-
ing her as lost; for, sure-ly, the e-vil speak-ers must have shown
them-selves, long ere this, in their true co-lours.

One fine morn-ing she had ris-en ear-li-er than u-su-al, for
there was a rest-less-ness in her mind that would not let her
sleep. She walk-ed out in-to the fresh pure air, which felt cool
and re-fresh-ing on her fe-ver-ed brow, and, look-ing round, she
be-held the dear old quaint pitch-er trim-ming the flow-ers
with the hand and style of an ex-pe-ri-en-ced gar-den-er.

“ Good morn-ing, fair mis-tress of mine,” said he; “ you

29

are up be-times; for the sun has hard-ly climb-ed the dis-tant
moun-tains to peep o-ver in-to our val-ley: but I am glad to
see you so ear-ly a-foot, as you per-ceive that I am ta-king
ex-tra care with the gar-den ; for I ex-pect vi-si-tors to-day.” —
“* Vi-si-tors?” ex-claim-ed Pat-ty, with an in-qui-ring look.

“Yes, vi-si-tors,” said the pitch-er, from whose mouth
is-su-ed a low, chuck-ling laugh: “I can hear, dis-tinct-ly, a
foot-step in the dis-tance: it comes this way. List-en; it is
now near e-nough for mor-tal ears to hear.”—And so it was:
near and near-er it came. Pre-sent-ly the figure of a pal-mer
ap-pear-ed at the wick-et gate. He en-ter-ed, and stood trans-
fix-ed as he be-held the fi-gure of Pat-ty, stand-ing like a
sta-tue of sur-prise. It was her hus-band, the Prince.

“‘ That is the vi-si-tor I ex-pect-ed,” said the pitch-er: “ he
has be-liev-ed you dead, and has wan-der-ed to ma-ny pla-ces
that he might as-suage his grief. At last he has da-red to
ven-ture to this hum-ble cot-tage, that he might a-gain see the
spot where he first had the good for-tune to meet you. It was
look-ed for-ward to as a con-so-la-ti-on, yet a se-vere ex-pi-a-ti-on
for his crime, to ap-proach where e-ve-ry thing would re-mind
him of you and your vir-tues, and the fault he had com-mit-ted
in be-liev-ing you ca-pa-ble of plot-ting to se-cure his rich-es
and his king-dom, when he a-lone was all your world, your
rich-es, and your king-dom. Your be-ing a-live is the re-ward
for his sin-cere re-pen-tance. He finds you in your o-ri-gi-nal —
hum-ble sphere, re-gret-ting no-thing in your al-ter-ed cir-cum-
stan-ces but the loss of him.”—-The Prince rush-ed for-ward
with a cry of de-light, and knelt at Pat-ty’s feet. The pitch-er,
like a dis-creet friend, pla-ced her hand in his, and then went
on with his gar-den-ing.

Pat-ty’s pa-rents re-joi-ced in her re-cov-er-ed fe-li-ci-ty,

ee


PATTY RETURNS IN TRIUMPH,
31

yet felt a pang of re-gret when, some days af-ter the hap-py
meet-ing, the Prince pro-po-sed that they should re-turn to his
king-dom, and that he would send for-ward a mes-sen-ger that
his re-co-ver-ed wife should make her en-try in tri-umph.

The pitch-er walk-ed out of the cot-tage and join-ed the
group. “Prince,” said he, “spare your-self the trou-ble. I
am here to give my last ser-vice to my mis-tress. Since your
hap-py re-con-ci-li-a-ti-on leaves no-thing for her to de-sire, the
fai-ry who a-ni-ma-ted me that I might re-ward her for the
great-est of hu-man vir-tues, sel/-de-ni-al and a love for her
fel-low crea-tures, re-cals me to her wa-ter pa-lace: be-hold!”

As he cea-sed speak-ing jets of spark-ling wa-ter rose high
in-to the air from his mouth, un-til an un-du-la-ting lake
ap-pear-ed in the val-ley, up-on which was borne a gild-ed
barge pro-pel-led by stout row-ers in the Prince's li-ve-ry. It
gli-ded to their feet and they all step-ped in. The ser-vants
pull-ed with a good will in-to the midst of the stream. Still
the foun-tain play-ed from the pitch-er’s mouth un-til the stream
was swol-len in-to a migh-ty ri-ver, down which they float-ed
un-til they came in sight of their own cas-tle, stand-ing high
up-on the rocks which bor-der-ed the cur-rent. Stream-ing
flags float-ed from the tur-rets, and boom-ing can-non sent forth
their noi-sy wel-come. Crowds of re-joi-cing vas-sals stood to
re-ceive their much-lo-ved Prin-cess, whose hap-py tears spoke
for her to the hearts that knew so well how to ap-pre-ci-ate her
good-ness and cha-ri-ty. The ma-gic pitch-er was seen no
more; but its his-to-ry taught all who heard it that to give was
on-ly to lay by a re-ward for your-self.

THE END.




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