"What are you crying for?" said Bill Boldface, a naughty boy in the
village, "eh, what are you crying for, you bold puppy? It's a good
scelping you want. Don't you know what a scelping is, my boy?----a
good whipping."

"No, no! me don't want a whipping, me don't want a whipping; me want
mamma. Oh! where is you, my own mamma?"

"Well, she's gone into the wood there; and, if you don't make haste
and run after her, a big pig that's there under the tree, all bloody,
with long ears and cocked tail, will eat her. Run, my boy: that's
right: run, now, run."

Poor little Henry, much more alarmed for his mamma than for himself,
flew into the wood with the hope of saving her; and having run a good
way without stopping, calling all the time for his dear mamma, he
tripped against a tree and fell: but quickly recovering, he stood up
and continued his race, till, quite exhausted, he sat down on the
grass, and there continued panting and crying bitterly. At last, he
turned round; and what should he see, to his great joy, but his
favourite dog Fidelle. "O, Fidelle! Fidelle!" said the baby, hugging
his little arms round the dog's neck, "O! where's mamma? and where's
papa? and where's nurse? Where, Fidelle? cannot you tell me where?"
But having received no answer, he stood up, and again commenced his
journey, and Fidelle ran on before; and it was astonishing what a
length of way the baby walked, till, at last, he came to the foot of a
high mountain.

And now night came on, and the wind blew strong and cold; and little
Henry, quite bewildered, turned into a narrow path, shaded by oak, and