class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[70]"/> make haste then," cried Owen. He ran on, as fast as he could; but as soon as the children saw him running, they also began to run back to the turn-stile; and they reached it before he did; and they held it fast as before, saying, "Promise you will not kick up the dust, or we will not let you through."

"The cherries are very ripe," said Marianne.

"Well, well, I will not kick up the dust—Let me through," said Owen.

They did so, and he kept his word; for though he was ill-humoured, he was a boy of truth; and he always kept his promises—He found the cherries looked red and ripe, as Marianne had described them.

The old woman took up a long stick, which lay on the board before her. Bunches of cherries were tied with white thread to this stick; and as she shook it in the air, over the heads of the children, they all looked up with longing eyes.

"A halfpenny a bunch!—Who will buy? Who will buy? Who will buy?—Nice ripe cherries!" cried the old woman.

The children held out their halfpence; and "Give me a bunch," and "give me a bunch!" was heard on all sides.

"Here are eleven of you," said the old woman, "and there are just eleven bunches on this stick." She put the stick into Marianne's hand, as she spoke.

Marianne began to untie the bunches; and her companions pressed closer and closer to her, each eager to have the particular bunches which they thought the largest and the ripest.

Several fixed upon the uppermost, which looked indeed extremely ripe.

"You cannot all have this bunch," said Marianne; "to which of you must I give it? You all wish for it."

"Give it to me, give it to me," was the first cry of each; but the second was, "Keep it yourself, Marianne; keep it yourself."

"Now, Owen, see what it is to be good-natured, and good-humoured, like Marianne," said Cymon, the eldest of the boys, who stood near him—"We all are ready to give up the ripest cherries to Marianne; but we should never think of doing so for you, because you are so cross and disagreeable."

"I am not cross now; I am not disagreeable now," replied Owen; "and I do not intend to be cross and disagreeable any more."

This was a good resolution; but Owen did not keep it many minutes.—In the bunch of cherries which Marianne gave to him for his share, there was one which, though red on one side, was entirely white and hard on the other.

"This cherry is not ripe; and here's another that has been half eaten away by the birds.—Oh, Marianne, you gave me this bad bunch on purpose—I will not have this bunch."

"Somebody must have it," said Cymon; "and I do not see that it is worse than the others; we shall all have some cherries that are not so good as the rest; but we shall not grumble and look so cross about it as you do."

"Give me your bad cherries, and I will give you two out of my fine bunch, instead of them," said the good-natured Marianne.

"No, no, no!" cried the children; "Marianne, keep your own cherries."

"Are not you ashamed, Owen?" said Cymon—"How can you be so greedy?"

"Greedy!—I am not greedy," cried Owen, angrily; "but I will not have the worst cherries; I will have another bunch."

He tried to snatch another bunch from the stick.—Cymon held it above his head.—Owen leaped up, reached it, and when his companions closed round him, exclaiming against his violence, he grew still more angry; he threw the stick down upon the ground, and trampled upon every bunch of the cherries in his fury, scarcely knowing what he did, or what he said.

When his companions saw the ground stained with the red juice of their cherries, which he had trampled under his feet, they were both sorry and angry.

The children had not any more halfpence; they could not buy any more cherries; and the old woman said that she could not give them any.

As they went away sorrowfully, they said, "Owen is so ill-tempered, that we will not play with him, or speak to him, or have any thing to do with him."

Owen thought that he could make himself happy without his companions; and he told them so.—But he soon found that he was mistaken.

When they arrived at the school-house, their dame was sitting in the thatched porch before her own door, reading a paper that was printed in large letters—"My dears," said she to her little scholars, "here is something that you will be glad to see; but say your lessons first—One thing at a time—Duty first, and pleasure afterwards——Which ever of you says your lesson best, shall know first what is in this paper, and shall have the pleasure of telling the good news."

Owen always learned his lessons very well, and quickly: he now said his lesson better than any of his companions said theirs; and he looked round him with joy and triumph; but no eye met his with pleasure; nobody smiled upon him, no one was glad that he had succeeded: on the contrary, he heard those near him whisper, "I should have been very glad if it had been Marianne who had said her lesson, because she is so good-natured."

The printed paper, which Owen read aloud, was as follows:

"On Thursday evening next, the gate of the cherry-orchard will be opened; and all who have tickets will be let in, from six o'clock till eight.—Price of tickets, six-pence."

The children wished extremely to go to this cherry orchard, where they knew that they might gather as many cherries as they liked, and where they thought that they should be very happy, sitting down under the trees, and eating fruit—But none of these children had any money; for they had spent their last halfpence in paying for those cherries which they never tasted—those cherries which Owen, in the fury of his passion, trampled in the dust.

The children asked their dame what they could do to earn six-pence a piece; and she told them, that they might perhaps be able to earn this money by plaiting straw for hats, which they had all been taught to make by their good dame.

Immediately the children desired to set to work.

Owen, who was very eager to go to the cherry orchard, was the most anxious to get forward with the business: he found, however, that nobody liked to work along with him; his companions said, "We are afraid that you should quarrel with us—We are afraid that you should fly into a passion about the straws, as you did about the cherries; therefore we will not work with you."

"Will not you? then I will work by myself," said Owen; "and I dare say that I shall have done my work long before you have any of you finished yours; for I can plait quicker and better than any of you."

It was true that Owen could plait quicker and better than any of his companions; but he was soon surprised to find that his work did not go on so fast as theirs.

After they had been employed all the remainder of this evening, and all the next day, Owen went to his companions, and compared his work with theirs.

"How is this?" said he; "how comes it, that you have all