Little William Sawkins was sent by his mother, with a large basket of eggs, to Mrs. Dobson’s shop at Langford: the distance was four miles. “It’s too much for the boy, I declare,” said his mother, as William took up the basket: but she had nobody else to send. William was very willing to do all that he was able; and seemed most happy when he could make himself useful to any body; especially to his father or his mother.
When he had walked a little way, and had changed the basket from one arm to the other about three times, he came to a turning in the road, and saw Hugh Bludgell, the baker’s boy, driving his master’s cart slowly along; he was standing up in the cart, and thumping with one heel to the tune which he whistled. Just at the place, there was a short way across two or three fields into the road: William thought that if he made great speed by the field path, he could come up with the cart; and that perhaps Hugh would let him ride the rest of the way to Langford. So off he set, sometimes walking, sometimes running, and sometimes hobbling; till he was very hot, and quite out of breath. While he was in the middle of the last meadow, he heard the rumbling wheels of the cart, and saw through the gaps in the hedge, Hugh’s head and shoulders shaking along: he set the basket down therefore, ran as hard as he could, and got to the style by the road side, just as the cart came up.
“Hugh! Hugh! Do stop one minute:—ar’nt you going to Langford?” Hugh just turned his head round, without stopping his horse, or his whistling: when he saw that it was only little William Sawkins, he smacked his whip, and drove on; and did not so much as give him an answer.
William, however, tumbled over the style, and ran after the cart a little way, calling out—“Just give me a ride, Hugh;—I’ve a great basket of eggs to carry to Langford: just give me a ride, Hugh—do—do.” But Hugh took no notice; he only kept whistling and cutting with his whip at the geese that were waddling along, one by one, on the raised path by the road side. William at length, finding Hugh Bludgell would not listen to him, returned into the field for his basket. When he got into the road again, he set himself down to rest on the green bank under the hedge: it had been a cloudy morning, but now the sun shone out. William began to pluck the primroses and daisies, which grew about, and stuck them in the band of his hat, and he very soon forgot ill-tempered Hugh Bludgell, the baker’s boy. Perhaps he sat half an hour; and then walked slowly on, sometimes swinging the basket on his stick across his shoulder; sometimes putting it on his head; and sometimes trailing it in the dust as he held it in one hand. He had not gone more than a mile, when, all at once, he saw, at some distance before him, the baker’s cart, half overturned against the hedge, and one wheel deep in the ditch. Hugh was jerking and pulling the horse’s bridle, and striking the poor beast violently on the legs and face with the butt-end of the whip.
As soon as William came within hearing, Hugh called to him,—“Is that you, Billy Sawkins?—There’s a good fellow, now; put your basket down here, and run on to the Duke’s Head, and tell ’em the cart’s in the ditch, and they must send somebody to hove ’em out:—run now—and I’ll mind your eggs.”
While Hugh was speaking, the old horse had backed some steps, and let the cart deeper into the ditch, and had began to munch the long grass on the hedge, which was close to his head. The horse was quite blind, but when he heard Hugh coming towards him again, he flung back his head, and breathed out two long streams of steam from his nostrils. Hugh, however, let him alone for the present. William put his basket behind a tree in the hedge, and ran off to the Duke’s Head: the distance was a full mile. When he got there, it was some time before any body would attend to him: at length they promised that the hostler should come when he had had his dinner. William therefore, having delivered his message, returned to take up his basket, but before he reached the place, he met Hugh, driving the cart, which he had, at length, contrived to get out of the ditch without help.
William thought that now certainly Hugh would let him ride the rest of the way. “Hugh,” said he, “have you brought my basket with you?”
“Basket!” said Hugh; “no, to be sure; I dare say it stands safe enough where you left it:” and away he drove; but he presently stopped, and looking back, bawled out,—“I say, Billy Sawkins,—mind now, you don’t go and talk to nobody about the cart being overturned; I say,—you promise me, you tell no tales; or I’ll make you remember it.” William promised that he would keep the secret; and then trudged back, very tired, out of heart, and hungry, for it was now three o’clock, and he had had no dinner. Happily, he found his basket where he had left it: he made the best of his way to Mrs. Dobson’s,—left his burden,—and felt it so pleasant to have nothing to carry back, that he would have been quite merry, if he had not been puzzled to think what he should say to his mother, to account for his returning so late. He dared not tell a lie; and he had promised Hugh Bludgell not to tell any one of the overturning of the cart. It happened, however, that William’s mother had been out all the afternoon, and did not return till after he got home; so that he had to answer no questions.
When the hostler from the Duke’s Head came to the spot to which he had been directed, and found no cart, he did not feel well pleased that he had had his walk for nothing. A few days afterwards, the baker, Hugh Bludgell’s master, called at the Duke’s Head.
“So, Mr. Needham,” said the hostler, “your lucky boy managed to overturn the cart, or near to it, a Friday.”
“Did he though, Tom?” said the baker: “he di’nt tell me that.”
“No, I’ll warrant ye.—You don’t hear half the tricks he plays.”
“Did you see it, then?” said Mr. Needham.
“No,” replied the hostler; “but he sent a little fellow here to fetch somebody to help him: and so I goes; but I fancy he’d contrived to help himself before I came: but I saw the place in the ditch where the wheel had been down: and so Mr. Needham, ye see, I’d my walk for my pains: but we sha’nt say nothing of that.”
Mr. Needham understood the hint; and gave Tom some half-pence. “But,” added he; “who was it that came to fetch you?” “Why,” replied the hostler, “I don’t rightly know; but I think it was one of Sawkins’ boys.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Needham, as he rode off; “I’ll know the bottom o’ this.”
The next morning, when William Sawkins went to the baker’s shop for a loaf, Mr. Needham began to question him relative to what had happened to the cart. But he found William very reluctant to answer any questions on the subject.
“Well, well;” said he, at length, “I see how ’tis, Will: Hugh made you promise not to tell tales of him: That’s it, is’nt it now?”
“Yes;”—muttered William.
“That’s enough: that’s enough:” said Mr. Needham: “I won’t make you break your word.”
He then took a large square of gingerbread from the window, and gave it to William. William took it home, and divided it among his brothers and sisters; taking only an equal share for himself.
What Mr. Needham said to his boy, Hugh Bludgell, we do not know: but it is likely he was beaten for his ill conduct: or sent to bed without his supper.