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my horse humped his back, like a mad
cat, and gave one tremendous pitch that
landed me, head-foremost, on the ground,
some ten or a dozen feet 'in advance of
him. I was partially stunned by the fall,
and when I rose up, I found, to my great
comfort, that all the rest had been served
in the same way except one rider, who
still managed to stick to his horse, in spite
of all his pitchings and lurchings. The
Mexicans, no doubt, had selected the
wildest horses from the drove—indeed the
majority of them, perhaps, had never
been backed a half a dozen times, even by
the rancheros themselves, who are unsur
passed by any people in the world in
horsemanship. lam confident that the
padre and his flock enjoyed this equestrian
performance much more than the actors,
but, as heretofore the laugh had been all
upon our side, we did not begrudge them
the pleasure they evidently took in our
discomfiture. However, we concluded to
dispense with such unruly steeds, and
once more resumed our line of march on
foot, for Goliad. An hour or so after dark,
we got back to the city, and again took
possession of our old quarters.
The Mexican padre was sent the next
day to San Felipe, on the Brazos, where
he was kept in confinement until Santa
Anna and his army were defeated and
driven from Texas. lie had the reputa
tion of being a great scoundrel and a most
unconscionable gambler, and his villain
ous countenance did not belie his charac
ter. I will do him the justice, though, to
say that to him we -were indebted for the
best breakfast we had set down to since
we came into the country.
HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT
GOOD FORTUNE.
RACQUES, my friend, went
into a baker’s shop one
day to buy a little cake
which he had fancied in
passing. He intended it
child whose appetite was
md who could be coaxed to
ly by amusing him. He
it that such a pretty loaf
might tempt even the sick. While he
waited for the change, a little boAq six or
eight years old, in poor, but perfectly
clean clothes, entered the baker’s shop.
“Ma’am,” said he to the baker’s wife,
“ my mother sent me for a loaf of bread.”
The woman climbed upon the counter,
(this happened in a country toAvn,) took
from the shelf of four-pound loaves the
best one she could find, and put it into
the arms of the little boy. My friend
Jacques then first observed the thin and
BURKE’S WEEKLY.
thoughtful face of the little fellow. It
contrasted strongly with the round, open
countenance of the great loaf, of which he
was taking the greatest care.
“Have you any money?” said the ba
ker’s Avife.
The little boy’s eyes greAv sad.
“No, ma’am,” said he, hugging the loaf
closer to his thin blouse; “ but mother
told me that she would come and speak
to you about it to-morrow.”
“Run along,” said the good woman;
“carry your bread home, child.”
“ Thank you, ma’am,” said the poor lit
tle fellow.
My friend Jacques came forward for
his money. He had put his purchase in
to his pocket, and Avas about to go, Avhen
he found the child with the big loaf, Avhom
he had supposed to be half Avay home,
standing stock behind him.
“ What are you doing there ?” said the
baker’s A\ T ife to the child, AA r liom she had
thought to be fairly oft’. “ Don’t you like
the bread ?”
“ Oh, yes, ma’am!” said the child.
“Well, then, carry it to your mother,
my little friend. If you AA r ait any longer
she will think that you are playing by
the Avay, and you Avill get a scolding.”
The child did not seem to hear. Some
thing else absorbed his attention. The
baker’s Avife Avent up to him and gaA T e
him a friendly tap upon the shoulder.
“ What are you thinking about?” said
she.
“ Ma’am,” said the little boy, “ what is
it that sings ?”
“There is no singing,” said she.
“Yes!” cried the little fellow. “Hear
it! Queak, queak, queak, queak !”
My friend and the woman both listen
ed, but they could hear nothing, unless it
Avas the song of the crickets, frequent
guests in baker’s houses.
“It is a little bird,” said the dear little
fellow, “ or perhaps the bread sings Avhen
it bakes, as the apples do.”
“No, indeed, little goosey!” said the
baker’s Avife ; “ those are crickets. They
sing in the bakehouse because Ave are
lighting the oven, and they like to see
fire.”
“Crickets!” said the child ; “are they
really crickets ?”
“Yes, to bo sure,” said she, good hu
moredly. The child’s face lighted up.
“ Ma’am,” said he, blushing at the bold
ness of the request, “I would like itA T ery
much if you would give me a cricket.”
“A cricket!” said the baker’s Avife,
smiling ;Avhat in the Avorld do you want
with a ticket, my little friend ? I would
gladly give you all there are in the house,
to get rid of them, they run about so.”
“ Oh, ma’am, give me one, only One, if
you please!” said the child, clasping his
little thin hands under the big loaf;
“they say that crickets bring good luck
in houses ; and perhaps if Ave had one at
home, mother, Avho has so much trouble,
A\ r ould not cry any more.”
“ Why does your mother cry ?” said my
friend, avlio could no longer help joining
in the conversation.
“ On account of her bills, sir,” said the
little fellow. “Father is dead, and mo
ther Avorks very hard, but she cannot pay
them all.”
My friend took the child, and with him
the great loaf, into his arms, and I really
believe he kissed them both. MeanAvhile,
the baker’s wife, avlio did not dare to
touch a cricket herself, had gone into the
bake-house. She made her husband catch
four, and put them into a box AA’ith holes
in the coAmr, so that they might breathe.
She gave the box to the child, avlio Avent
away perfectly happy.
When he had gone, the baker’s Avife and
my friend gave each other a good squeeze
of the hand. “Poor little fellow,” said
they both together. Then she took doAvn
her account-book, and, finding the pages
Avhere the mother’s charges Avere Avritten,
made a great dash doAvn the page, and
Avrote at the bottom, “ Paid.”
MeanAvhile, my friend, to lose no time,
had put up in paper all the money he had
in his pockets, Avhere fortunately he had
quite a sum that day, had begged the
good Avife to send it at once to the moth
er of the little cricket boy, with her bill
receipted, and a note, in which he told
her she had a son who Avould one day be
her joy and pride.
They gaA T e it to a baker’s boy Avith long
legs, and told him to make haste. The
child, Avith his big loaf, his four crickets,
and his little short legs, could not run
A T ery fast, so that Avlien he reached home
he found his mother, for the first time in
many Aveeks, Avith her eyes raised from
her Avork, and a smile of peace and hap
piness upon her lips.
The boy believed that it was the arri
val of his four little black things Avhich
had worked this miracle, and I do not
think he Avas mistaken. Without the
crickets, and his good little heart, Avould
this happy change have taken place in
his mother’s fortune ?
——— —
Time to Go to Bed.
“Mamma,” said Eddie, while looking
out of the windoAv one evening during a
thunder storm, “Mamma, isn’t it time
for me to go to sleep? I hear G©d pull
ing out his trundle bed for the littl# an
gels to sleep in.”
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