The poor old man looking at her very earnestly, ‘Sweet child,’ said he, ‘how good you are! This kindness makes me in a moment forget all the ill behavior of those naughty boys. May you ever be happy.’ They then walked on together; but the boys being probably made ashamed of their conduct by the behavior of Mary, followed the old man no further.
While the boys were turning about, one of them fell down also, and all the rest began laughing, as they had before done to the old man. He was very angry with them on that account, and as soon as he got up, ran after his companions, pelting them with stones. He instantly became convinced, how unjust it was to laugh at the distresses of another, and formed a resolution for the future, never to laugh at any person’s pain. He followed the old man he had been laughing at, though at some distance, wishing for an opportunity to do him some favor, by way of atonement, for what he had done.
The good old man, in the mean time, by the kind assistance of Mary, proceeded with slow but sure steps. She asked him to stop and rest himself a little, and told him, that her house was that before him. “Pray stay,” said she, “and sit a little under that large tree. My parents, indeed, are not at home, and therefore you will not be so well treated; yet it will be a little rest to you.”
The old man accepted Mary’s offer. She brought him out a chair, and then fetched some bread and cheese and good small beer, which was all the pretty maid could get at. He thanked her very kindly, and then entered into conversation with her.
“I find, my dear,” said he, “you have parents. I doubt not but you love them, and they love you. They must be very happy, and may they always continue to be so.”
“And pray, good old man,” said Mary, “I suppose you have got children.” “I had a son,” replied he, “who lived in London, loved me tenderly, and frequently came to see me; but alas! he is now dead, and I am left disconsolate. His widow, indeed, is rich; but she assumes the character of the lady, and thinks it beneath her to inquire whether I be dead or living, as she does not wish it to be known, that her husband’s father is a peasant.”
Mary was much affected, and could hardly believe that such cruel people existed. “Ah! certain I am,” said she, “that my dear mother would not behave so cruelly.” He then rose and thanked Mary with a blessing; but she was determined not to leave him, till she had accompanied him a little way further.