PART I.

“Why, Phebe, are you come so soon,
Where are your berries, child?
You cannot, sure, have sold them all,
You had a basket pil’d.”

“No, mother, as I climb’d the fence,
The nearest way to town,
My apron caught upon a stake,
And so I tumbled down.”

“I scratched my arm, and tore my hair,
But still did not complain;
And had my blackberries been safe,
Should not have cared a grain.

“But when I saw them on the ground
All scattered by my side,
I pick’d my empty basket up,
And down I sat and cried.

“Just then a pretty little Miss
Chanced to be walking by;
She stopp’d, and looking pitiful,
She begg’d me not to cry.

“‘Poor little girl, you fell,’ said she,
And must be sadly hurt
‘O, no,’ I cried, ’but see my fruit,
All mixed with sand and dirt!’

“‘Well, do not grieve for that,’ she said:
‘Go home, and get some more:’
Ah, no, for I have stripp’d the vines,
These were the last they bore.

“My father, Miss, is very poor,
And works in yonder stall;

He has so many little ones,
He cannot clothe us all.

“I always long’d to go to church,
But never could I go;
For when I ask’d him for a gown,
He always answer’d, ‘No.’

“’There’s not a father in the world
That loves his children more;
I’d get you one with all my heart,
But, Phebe, I am poor.’

“But when the blackberries were ripe
He said to me one day,
’Phebe, if you will take the time
That’s given you for play,

And gather blackberries enough,
And carry them to town,
To buy your bonnet and your shoes,
I’ll try to get a gown.’

“O Miss, I fairly jumped for joy,
My spirits were so light:
And so, when I had leave to play,
I pick’d with all my might.

“I sold enough to get my shoes,
About a week ago;
And these, if they had not been spilt,
Would buy a bonnet too.

“But now they are gone, they all are gone,
And I can get no more,
And Sundays I must stay at home
Just as I did before.

“And, mother, then. I cried again,
As hard as I could cry;
And, looking up, I saw a tear
Was standing in her eye.

She caught her bonnet from her head
‘Here, here,’ she cried, ‘take this!’

O, no, indeed I fear your ’ma
Would be offended, Miss.

“’My ’ma! no, never! she delights
All sorrow to beguile;
And ’tis the sweetest joy she feels,
To make the wretched smile.

“’She taught me when I had enough,
To share it with the poor:
And never let a needy child
Go empty from the door.

“’So take it, for you need not fear
Offending her, you see;
I have another, too, at home,
And one’s enough for me.’

“So then I took it, here it is
For pray what could I do?
And, mother, I shall love that Miss
As long as I love you.”

PART II.

“What have you in that basket, child?”
“Blackberries, Miss, all pick’d to-day;
They’re very large and fully ripe;
Do look at them, and taste them pray.”

“O yes: they’re very nice, indeed.
Here’s fourpence that will buy a few:
Not quite so many as I want
However, I must make it do.”

“Nay, Miss, but you must take the whole;”
“I can’t, indeed, my money’s spent;
I should he glad to buy them all,
But I have not another cent.”

“And if you had a thousand, Miss,
I’d not accept of one from you.
Pray take them, they are all your own.
And take the little basket, too.

“Have you forgot the little girl
You last year gave a bonnet to?
Perhaps you have but ever will
That little girl remember you.

“And ever since, I’ve been to church,
For much do I delight to go;
And there I learn that works of love
Are what all children ought to do.

“So then I thought within myself,
That pretty basket, Billy wove,
I’ll fill with fruit for tha dear Miss,
For sure ’twill be a work of love.

“And so one morning up I rose,
While yet the fields were wet with dew,

And pick’d the nicest I could find,
And brought them, fresh and sweet, for you.

“I know the gift is small indeed,
For such a lady to receive;
But still I hope you’ll not refuse
All that poor Phebe has to give.”