presently returned to her senses: the pan of charcoal had been taken away
before the apothecary came in the morning; as he was in a great hurry
when he called, he made but few inquiries, and consequently condemned the
geranium without sufficient evidence. As he left the house, he carelessly
said, "My wife would like that geranium, I think." And the poor old
woman, who had but a very small fee to offer, was eager to give any thing
that seemed to please the _doctor_.

Forester, when he heard this story, burst into a contemptuous exclamation
against the meanness of this and of all other apothecaries. Henry
informed the little girl, that the charcoal had been the cause of her
grandmother's illness, and advised them never, upon any account, to keep
a pan of charcoal again in her bedchamber; he told her, that many people
had been killed by this practice. "Then," cried the little girl,
joyfully, "if it was the charcoal, and not the geranium, that made
grandmother ill, I may keep my beautiful geranium:" and she ran
immediately to gather some of the flowers, which she offered to Henry and
to Forester. Forester, who was still absorbed in the contemplation of the
apothecary's meanness, took the flowers, without perceiving that he took
them, and pulled them to pieces as he went on thinking. Henry, when the
little girl held the geraniums up to him, observed, that the back of her
hand was bruised and black; he asked her how she had hurt herself, and
she replied innocently, "that she had not hurt _herself_, but that her
schoolmistress was a very _strict_ woman." Forester, roused from his
reverie, desired to hear what the little girl meant by a _strict_ woman,
and she explained herself more fully: she said, that, as a favour, her
grandmother had obtained leave from some great lady to send her to a
charity school: that she went there every day to learn to read and work,
but that the mistress of the charity school used her scholars very
severely, and often kept them for hours, after they had done their own