The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children

Piedro the cunning did not make quite so successful a summer's work as did Francisco the honest. No extraordinary events happened, no singular instance of bad or good luck occurred; but he felt, as persons usually do, the natural consequences of his own actions. He pursued his scheme of imposing, as far as he could, upon every person he dealt with; and the consequence was, that at last nobody would deal with him.

'It is easy to outwit one person, but impossible to outwit all the world,' said a man[24 - The Duc de Rochefoucault. – 'On peut être plus fin qu'un autre, mais pas plus fin que tous les autres.'] who knew the world at least as well as either Piedro or his father.

Piedro's father, amongst others, had reason to complain. He saw his own customers fall off from him, and was told, whenever he went into the market, that his son was such a cheat there was no dealing with him. One day, when he was returning from the market in a very bad humour, in consequence of these reproaches, and of his not having found customers for his goods, he espied his smart son Piedro at a little merchant's fruit-board, devouring a fine gourd with prodigious greediness. 'Where, glutton, do you find money to pay for these dainties?' exclaimed his father, coming close up to him, with angry gestures. Piedro's mouth was much too full to make an immediate reply, nor did his father wait for any, but darting his hand into the youth's pocket, pulled forth a handful of silver.

'The money, father,' said Piedro, 'that I got for the fish yesterday, and that I meant to give you to-day, before you went out.'

'Then I'll make you remember it against another time, sirrah!' said his father. 'I'll teach you to fill your stomach with my money. Am I to lose my customers by your tricks, and then find you here eating my all? You are a rogue, and everybody has found you out to be a rogue; and the worst of rogues I find you, who scruples not to cheat his own father.'

Saying these words, with great vehemence he seized hold of Piedro, and in the very midst of the little fruit-market gave him a severe beating. This beating did the boy no good; it was vengeance not punishment. Piedro saw that his father was in a passion, and knew that he was beaten because he was found out to be a rogue, rather than for being one. He recollected perfectly that his father once said to him: 'Let every one take care of his own grapes.'

Indeed, it was scarcely reasonable to expect that a boy who had been educated to think that he might cheat every customer he could in the way of trade, should be afterwards scrupulously honest in his conduct towards the father whose proverbs encouraged his childhood in cunning.

Piedro writhed with bodily pain as he left the market after his drubbing, but his mind was not in the least amended. On the contrary, he was hardened to the sense of shame by the loss of reputation. All the little merchants were spectators of this scene, and heard his father's words: 'You are a rogue, and the worst of rogues, who scruples not to cheat his own father.'

These words were long remembered, and long did Piedro feel their effects. He once flattered himself that, when his trade of selling fish failed him, he could readily engage in some other; but he now found, to his mortification, that what Francisco's father said proved true: 'In all trades the best fortune to set up with is a good character.'

Not one of the little Neapolitan merchants would either enter into partnership with him, give him credit, or even trade with him for ready money. – 'If you would cheat your own father, to be sure you will cheat us,' was continually said to him by these prudent little people.

Piedro was taunted and treated with contempt at home and abroad. His father, when he found that his son's smartness was no longer useful in making bargains, shoved him out of his way whenever he met him. All the food or clothes that he had at home seemed to be given to him grudgingly, and with such expressions as these: 'Take that; but it is too good for you. You must eat this, now, instead of gourds and figs – and be thankful you have even this.'

Piedro spent a whole winter very unhappily. He expected that all his old tricks, and especially what his father had said of him in the market-place, would be soon forgotten; but month passed after month, and still these things were fresh in the memory of all who had known them.

It is not easy to get rid of a bad character. A very great rogue[25 - Chartres.] was once heard to say, that he would, with all his heart, give ten thousand pounds for a good character, because he knew that he could make twenty thousand by it.

Something like this was the sentiment of our cunning hero when he experienced the evils of a bad reputation, and when he saw the numerous advantages which Francisco's good character procured. Such had been Piedro's wretched education, that even the hard lessons of experience could not alter its pernicious effects. He was sorry his knavery had been detected, but he still thought it clever to cheat, and was secretly persuaded that, if he had cheated successfully, he should have been happy. 'But I know I am not happy now,' said he to himself one morning, as he sat alone disconsolate by the sea-shore, dressed in tattered garments, weak and hungry, with an empty basket beside him. His fishing-rod, which he held between his knees, bent over the dry sands instead of into the water, for he was not thinking of what he was about; his arms were folded, his head hung down, and his ragged hat was slouched over his face. He was a melancholy spectacle.

Francisco, as he was coming from his father's vineyard with a large dish of purple and white grapes upon his head, and a basket of melons and figs hanging upon his arm, chanced to see Piedro seated in this melancholy posture. Touched with compassion, Francisco approached him softly; his footsteps were not heard upon the sands, and Piedro did not perceive that any one was near him till he felt something cold touch his hand; he then started, and, looking up, saw a bunch of ripe grapes, which Francisco was holding over his head.

'Eat them; you'll find them very good, I hope,' said Francisco, with a benevolent smile.

'They are excellent – most excellent, and I am much obliged to you, Francisco,' said Piedro. 'I was very hungry, and that's what I am now, without anybody's caring anything about it. I am not the favourite I was with my father, but I know it is all my own fault.'

'Well, but cheer up,' said Francisco; 'my father always says, "One who knows he has been in fault, and acknowledges it, will scarcely be in fault again." Yes, take as many figs as you will,' continued he; and held his basket closer to Piedro, who, as he saw, cast a hungry eye upon one of the ripe figs.

'But,' said Piedro, after he had taken several, 'shall not I get you into a scrape by taking so many? Won't your father be apt to miss them?'

'Do you think I would give them to you if they were not my own?' said Francisco, with a sudden glance of indignation.

'Well, don't be angry that I asked the question; it was only from fear of getting you into disgrace that I asked it.'

'It would not be easy for anybody to do that, I hope,' said Francisco, rather proudly.

'And to me less than anybody,' replied Piedro, in an insinuating tone, 'I, that am so much obliged to you!'

'A bunch of grapes and a few figs are no mighty obligation,' said Francisco, smiling; 'I wish I could do more for you. You seem, indeed, to have been very unhappy of late. We never see you in the markets as we used to do.'

'No; ever since my father beat me, and called me rogue before all the children there, I have never been able to show my face without being gibed at by one or t'other. If you would but take me along with you amongst them, and only just seem my friend for a day or two, or so, it would quite set me up again; for they all like you.'

'I would rather be than seem your friend, if I could,' said Francisco.

'Ay, to be sure; that would be still better,' said Piedro, observing that Francisco, as he uttered his last sentence, was separating the grapes and other fruits into two equal divisions. 'To be sure I would rather you would be than seem a friend to me; but I thought that was too much to ask at first, though I have a notion, notwithstanding I have been so unlucky lately – I have a notion you would have no reason to repent of it. You would find me no bad hand, if you were to try, and take me into partnership.'

'Partnership!' interrupted Francisco, drawing back alarmed; 'I had no thoughts of that.'

'But won't you? can't you?' said Piedro, in a supplicating tone; 'can't you have thoughts of it? You'd find me a very active partner.'

Francisco still drew back, and kept his eyes fixed upon the ground. He was embarrassed; for he pitied Piedro, and he scarcely knew how to point out to him that something more is necessary in a partner in trade besides activity, and that is honesty.

'Can't you?' repeated Piedro, thinking that he hesitated from merely mercenary motives. 'You shall have what share of the profits you please.'

'I was not thinking of the profits,' said Francisco; 'but without meaning to be ill-natured to you, Piedro, I must say that I cannot enter into any partnership with you at present; but I will do what, perhaps, you will like as well,' said he, taking half the fruit out of his basket; 'you are heartily welcome to this; try and sell it in the children's fruit-market.' 'I'll go on before you, and speak to those I am acquainted with, and tell them you are going to set up a new character, and that you hope to make it a good one.'

'Hey, shall I! Thank you for ever, dear Francisco,' cried Piedro, seizing his plentiful gift of fruit. 'Say what you please for me.'

'But don't make me say anything that is not true,' said Francisco, pausing.

'No, to be sure not,' said Piedro; 'I do mean to give no room for scandal. If I could get them to trust me as they do you, I should be happy indeed.'

'That is what you may do, if you please,' said Francisco. 'Adieu, I wish you well with all my heart; but I must leave you now, or I shall be too late for the market.'

CHAPTER II

Chi va piano va sano, e anché lontano.
Fair and softly goes far in a day.

Piedro had now an opportunity of establishing a good character. When he went into the market with his grapes and figs, he found that he was not shunned or taunted as usual. All seemed disposed to believe in his intended reformation, and to give him a fair trial.

These favourable dispositions towards him were the consequence of Francisco's benevolent representations. He told them that he thought Piedro had suffered enough to cure him of his tricks, and that it would be cruelty in them, because he might once have been in fault, to banish him by their reproaches from amongst them, and thus to prevent him from the means of gaining his livelihood honestly.

Piedro made a good beginning, and gave what several of the younger customers thought excellent bargains. His grapes and figs were quickly sold, and with the money that he got for them he the next day purchased from a fruit-dealer a fresh supply; and thus he went on for some time, conducting himself with scrupulous honesty, so that he acquired some credit among his companions. They no longer watched him with suspicious eyes. They trusted to his measures and weights, and they counted less carefully the change which they received from him.

The satisfaction he felt from this alteration in their manners was at first delightful, to Piedro; but in proportion to his credit, his opportunities of defrauding increased; and these became temptations which he had not the firmness to resist. His old manner of thinking recurred.

'I make but a few shillings a day, and this is but slow work,' said he to himself. 'What signifies my good character, if I make so little by it?'

Light gains, and frequent, make a heavy purse,[26 - Poco e spesso empie il l' orsetto.] was one of Francisco's proverbs. But Piedro was in too great haste to get rich to take time into his account. He set his invention to work, and he did not want for ingenuity, to devise means of cheating without running the risk of detection. He observed that the younger part of the community were extremely fond of certain coloured sugar-plums, and of burnt almonds.

With the money he had earned by two months' trading in fruit he laid in a large stock of what appeared to these little merchants a stock of almonds and sugar-plums, and he painted in capital gold coloured letters upon his board, 'Sweetest, largest, most admirable sugar-plums of all colours ever sold in Naples, to be had here; and in gratitude to his numerous customers, Piedro adds to these "Burnt almonds gratis."'

This advertisement attracted the attention of all who could read; and many who could not read heard it repeated with delight. Crowds of children surrounded Piedro's board of promise, and they all went away the first day amply satisfied. Each had a full measure of coloured sugar-plums at the usual price, and along with these a burnt almond gratis. The burnt almond had such an effect upon the public judgment, that it was universally allowed that the sugar-plums were, as the advertisement set forth, the largest, sweetest, most admirable ever sold in Naples; though all the time they were, in no respect, better than any other sugar-plums.

It was generally reported that Piedro gave full measure – fuller than any other board in the city. He measured the sugar-plums in a little cubical tin box; and this, it was affirmed, he heaped up to the top and pressed down before he poured out the contents into the open hands of his approving customers. This belief, and Piedro's popularity, continued longer even than he had expected; and, as he thought his sugar-plums had secured their reputation with the generous public, he gradually neglected to add burnt almonds gratis.

One day a boy of about ten years old passed carelessly by, whistling as he went along, and swinging a carpenter's rule in his hand. 'Ha! what have we here?' cried he, stopping to read what was written on Piedro's board. 'This promises rarely. Old as I am, and tall of my age, which makes the matter worse, I am still as fond of sugar-plums as my little sister, who is five years younger than I. Come, Signor, fill me quick, for I'm in haste to taste them, two measures of the sweetest, largest, most admirable sugar-plums in Naples – one measure for myself, and one for my little Rosetta.'

'You'll pay for yourself and your sister, then,' said Piedro, 'for no credit is given here.'