Excerpt
A WORD TO PARENTS.
The story of “Dick Whittington and his Cat” has so often amused the little ones, who never wearied of its repetition, that the author of the following version thought she might extend the pleasure derived from it by putting it in language which they could read for themselves.
No word contains more than four letters, and none is over one syllable in length, so that any child who has the least knowledge of reading will be able to enjoy it for himself.
DICK AND HIS CAT.
Once on a time, a poor boy was seen to go up and down the side-walk of a town, and sob and cry. At last he sat down on a door-step. He was too weak to run more. He had had no food all the day. It was a day in June. The air was mild. The warm sun sent down its rays of love on all. But poor Dick had no joy on this fair day.
He laid his head down on the step, and took a nap; for he was sick and weak for want of food. As he lay, a girl came to the door. She saw the poor boy lie on the step; but he did not see her. She went in, and said to a man who was in the room, “A poor boy has lain down on our step to take a nap.”
The man came to the door to see the boy. He said, “This boy does not look nice. His hair has not seen a comb all day; his face and feet are full of dirt; and his coat is torn.”
The man did not like such a mean boy to be at his door. But when he saw the lad’s thin, pale face, as he lay at his feet, he felt sad for him.
Just then the boy woke up. He went to run off when he saw the man and girl at the door, but they made him stay.
“Why did you lie down here?” the man said to the boy.
“I was weak and sick.”
“Have you had no food to eat?”
“I have had no food all day.”
Then the girl went in and got him a roll and a mug of milk. The boy ate so fast and so much that they had to wait till he was done, to talk to him more.
“Have you no pa nor ma?” said the man. A tear fell from the poor boy’s eye, as he said, “I have no pa, and my ma they took from me, and I can not find her. She was sick a long time. I used to sit at her side and lay my head on her knee. Once she said to me that my pa had gone home to God, and that she must go too. Then she got too sick to rise from her bed. One day they put me on the bed by her side. She laid her hand on my head, and she said, “I pray Thee, O God, take care of my poor boy.”
“Then she shut her eyes and grew so pale, and her hand got so cold, it made me cry. But she did not move, nor turn her eyes on me. They took me off the bed and sent me out to play. But I sat down at the door and wept for my ma.
“The next day I saw them lay her in a long box of wood and take her off. I have run up and down all day to find her. Do you know what they have done with my ma? Oh! tell me, if you can.” Then the poor lad wept so hard that the man and the girl felt sad for him.
“How old are you, my boy?” said the man.
“I was six last May.”
“What is your name?”
“Dick.”
“Well, Dick,” said this good man, “you may come in here, if you like, and stay till you can find your ma....