True Stories From History and Biography Read Free Page A

intended to build a
dwelling for Lady Arbella and himself. Where their house would have stood
there was his grave.
    "I never heard any thing so melancholy!" said Clara.
    "The people loved and respected Mr. Johnson so much," continued
Grandfather, "that it was the last request of many of them, when they
died, that they might be buried as near as possible to this good man's
grave. And so the field became the first burial-ground in Boston. When you
pass through Tremont street, along by King's Chapel, you see a
burial-ground, containing many old grave-stones and monuments. That was
Mr. Johnson's field."
    "How sad is the thought," observed Clara, "that one of the first things
which the settlers had to do, when they came to the new world, was to set
apart a burial-ground!"
    "Perhaps," said Laurence, "if they had found no need of burial-grounds
here, they would have been glad, after a few years, to go back to
England."
    Grandfather looked at Laurence, to discover whether he knew how profound
and true a thing he had said.

Chapter III
*
    Not long after Grandfather had told the story of his great chair, there
chanced to be a rainy day. Our friend Charley, after disturbing the
household with beat of drum and riotous shouts, races up and down the
staircase, overturning of chairs, and much other uproar, began to feel the
quiet and confinement within doors intolerable. But as the rain came down
in a flood, the little fellow was hopelessly a prisoner, and now stood
with sullen aspect at a window, wondering whether the sun itself were not
extinguished by so much moisture in the sky.
    Charley had already exhausted the less eager activity of the other
children; and they had betaken themselves to occupations that did not
admit of his companionship. Laurence sat in a recess near the book-case,
reading, not for the first time, the Midsummer Night's Dream. Clara was
making a rosary of beads for a little figure of a Sister of Charity, who
was to attend the Bunker Hill Fair, and lend her aid in erecting the
Monument. Little Alice sat on Grandfather's foot-stool, with a
picture-book in her hand; and, for every picture, the child was telling
Grandfather a story. She did not read from the book, (for little Alice had
not much skill in reading,) but told the story out of her own heart and
mind.
    Charley was too big a boy, of course, to care any thing about little
Alice's stories, although Grandfather appeared to listen with a good deal
of interest. Often, in a young child's ideas and fancies, there is
something which it requires the thought of a lifetime to comprehend. But
Charley was of opinion, that if a story must be told, it had better be
told by Grandfather, than little Alice.
    "Grandfather, I want to hear more about your chair," said he.
    Now Grandfather remembered that Charley had galloped away upon a stick, in
the midst of the narrative of poor Lady Arbella, and I know not whether he
would have thought it worth while to tell another story, merely to gratify
such an inattentive auditor as Charley. But Laurence laid down his book
and seconded the request. Clara drew her chair nearer to Grandfather, and
little Alice immediately closed her picture-book, and looked up into his
face. Grandfather had not the heart to disappoint them.
    He mentioned several persons who had a share in the settlement of our
country, and who would be well worthy of remembrance, if we could find
room to tell about them all. Among the rest, Grandfather spoke of the
famous Hugh Peters, a minister of the gospel, who did much good to the
inhabitants of Salem. Mr. Peters afterwards went back to England, and was
chaplain to Oliver Cromwell; but Grandfather did not tell the children
what became of this upright and zealous man, at last. In fact, his
auditors were growing impatient to hear more about the history of the
chair.
    "After the death of Mr. Johnson," said he, "Grandfather's chair came into
the possession of Roger Williams. He was a clergyman, who arrived at
Salem, and