One morning, little Master Willie insisted on riding over to the rectory on top of the load of vegetables. There he sat, grand as a lord, flourishing his whip over poor Bran, who pulled and panted along and thought his lot was a very hard one indeed, almost too much for patient dog-nature to bear. And so it was, for the baskets were uncommonly heavy--Willie was fat, and Kitty too full of frolic to think of helping, even by pushing when they were going up hill. But how Willie enjoyed his ride, selfish, thoughtless little fellow! He laughed and shouted and flung his arms about, and bounced up and down, and kicked with delight.
The next morning, when they were getting ready to send the baskets over to the rectory, Bran's harness was found so gnawed and torn that it could not be used. The widow said that the rats had been at it--but Bran, naughty dog, knew better. The good dame had a new one made, but when she went to put it on to Bran he gave a dreadful howl and ran away, as fast as he could. After a day or two, he came back, bringing a huge mastiff, which he introduced to his mistress, as a better cart-horse than himself. The widow was so much amused by this cunning trick that she made use of the stray mastiff and let Bran go back into his old lazy ways.
I cannot stay to tell you any more of Willie's childhood. He was always a good boy at home, and a diligent scholar at school; so everybody liked and respected him. When he grew to be a young man the good Rector got him a situation in a London counting-house. There he always remembered his grandmamma's teachings, and was prudent, industrious, and honest; so he rose and rose, till he became a great, rich merchant, and was knighted by the king. He married a beautiful lady and they had children--some half dozen I believe, and I have heard that they were all handsome and clever and good. Kitty Watson never married, but she always had a pleasant home with her brother.
At last Sir William (for that was his title now) bought the estate on which his grandmamma's cottage stood, and built a fine house on it. He would not have the cottage torn down, but kept it carefully for the dear old dame's sake, though she had been gone to Heaven ten years or more.