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Beginning R
An Introduction to Statistical
Programming
Second Edition
■
■Chapter 1: Getting Star ted������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 1
■
■Chapter 2: Dealing with Dates, Strings, and Data Frames����������������������������������� 15
■
■Chapter 3: Input and Output�������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 27
■
■Chapter 4: Control Structures������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 35
■
■Chapter 5: Functional Programming������������������������������������������������������������������� 43
■
■Chapter 6: Probability Distributions�������������������������������������������������������������������� 53
■
■Chapter 7: Working with Tables��������������������������������������������������������������������������� 67
■
■Chapter 8: Descriptive Statistics and Exploratory Data Analysis������������������������ 73
■
■Chapter 9: Working with Graphics����������������������������������������������������������������������� 81
■
■Chapter 10: Traditional Statistical Methods�������������������������������������������������������� 93
■
■Chapter 11: Modern Statistical Methods����������������������������������������������������������� 101
■
■Chapter 12: Analysis of Variance���������������������������������������������������������������������� 111
■
■Chapter 13: Correlation and Regression������������������������������������������������������������ 121
■
■Chapter 14: Multiple Regression����������������������������������������������������������������������� 139
■
■Chapter 15: Logistic Regression������������������������������������������������������������������������ 163
v
■ Contents at a Glance
■
■Chapter 16: Modern Statistical Methods II�������������������������������������������������������� 193
■
■Chapter 17: Data Visualization Cookbook��������������������������������������������������������� 215
■
■Chapter 18: High-Performance Computing�������������������������������������������������������� 279
■
■Chapter 19: Text Mining������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 303
Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 321
vi
Contents
■
■Chapter 1: Getting Star ted������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 1
1.1 What is R, Anyway?���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 1
1.2 A First R Session�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 3
1.3 Your Second R Session����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 6
1.3.1 Working with Indexes�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 6
1.3.2 Representing Missing Data in R���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 7
1.3.3 Vectors and Vectorization in R������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 8
1.3.4 A Brief Introduction to Matrices����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 9
1.3.5 More on Lists������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 11
1.3.6 A Quick Introduction to Data Frames������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 12
■
■Chapter 2: Dealing with Dates, Strings, and Data Frames����������������������������������� 15
2.1 Working with Dates and Times��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 15
2.2 Working with Strings������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 16
2.3 Working with Data Frames in the Real World����������������������������������������������������������� 18
2.3.1 Finding and Subsetting Data������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 19
vii
■ Contents
■
■Chapter 3: Input and Output�������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 27
3.1 R Input���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 27
3.1.1 The R Editor��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 28
3.1.2 The R Data Editor������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 29
3.1.3 Other Ways to Get Data Into R����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 30
3.1.4 Reading Data from a File������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 31
3.1.5 Getting Data from the Web���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 31
3.2 R Output������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 33
3.2.1 Saving Output to a File���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 33
■
■Chapter 4: Control Structures������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 35
4.1 Using Logic��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 35
4.2 Flow Control������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 36
4.2.1 Explicit Looping��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 36
4.2.2 Implicit Looping��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 38
viii
■ Contents
■
■Chapter 6: Probability Distributions�������������������������������������������������������������������� 53
6.1 Discrete Probability Distributions����������������������������������������������������������������������������� 53
6.2 The Binomial Distribution����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 54
6.2.1 The Poisson Distribution�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 57
6.2.2 Some Other Discrete Distributions���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 58
References��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 65
■
■Chapter 7: Working with Tables��������������������������������������������������������������������������� 67
7.1 Working with One-Way Tables���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 67
7.2 Working with Two-Way Tables���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 71
■
■Chapter 8: Descriptive Statistics and Exploratory Data Analysis������������������������ 73
8.1 Central Tendency������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 73
8.1.1 The Mean������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 73
8.1.2 The Median���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 74
8.1.3 The Mode������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 75
8.2 Variability������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 76
8.2.1 The Range������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 76
8.2.2 The Variance and Standard Deviation������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 77
ix
■ Contents
■
■Chapter 9: Working with Graphics����������������������������������������������������������������������� 81
9.1 Creating Effective Graphics�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 81
9.2 Graphing Nominal and Ordinal Data������������������������������������������������������������������������� 82
9.3 Graphing Scale Data������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 84
9.3.1 Boxplots Revisited����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 84
9.3.2 Histograms and Dotplots������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 86
9.3.3 Frequency Polygons and Smoothed Density Plots����������������������������������������������������������������������� 87
9.3.4 Graphing Bivariate Data��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 89
References��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 92
■
■Chapter 10: Traditional Statistical Methods�������������������������������������������������������� 93
10.1 Estimation and Confidence Intervals���������������������������������������������������������������������� 93
10.1.1 Confidence Intervals for Means������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 93
10.1.2 Confidence Intervals for Proportions����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 94
10.1.3 Confidence Intervals for the Variance���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 95
x
■ Contents
■
■Chapter 12: Analysis of Variance���������������������������������������������������������������������� 111
12.1 Some Brief Background��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 111
12.2 One-Way ANOVA��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 112
12.3 Two-Way ANOVA��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 114
12.3.1 Repeated-Measures ANOVA����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 115
> results <- aov ( fitness ~ time + Error (id / time ), data = repeated) ��������������������������������������������� 116
12.3.2 Mixed-Model ANOVA���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 118
References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 120
■
■Chapter 13: Correlation and Regression������������������������������������������������������������ 121
13.1 Covariance and Correlation���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 121
13.2 Linear Regression: Bivariate Case������������������������������������������������������������������������ 123
13.3 An Extended Regression Example: Stock Screener���������������������������������������������� 129
13.3.1 Quadratic Model: Stock Screener�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 131
13.3.2 A Note on Time Series������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 134
xi
■ Contents
■
■Chapter 15: Logistic Regression������������������������������������������������������������������������ 163
15.1 The Mathematics of Logistic Regression������������������������������������������������������������� 163
15.2 Generalized Linear Models����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 164
15.3 An Example of Logistic Regression���������������������������������������������������������������������� 165
15.3.1 What If We Tried a Linear Model on Age?�������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 166
15.3.2 Seeing If Age Might Be Relevant with Chi Square������������������������������������������������������������������� 167
15.3.3 Fitting a Logistic Regression Model���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 168
15.3.4 The Mathematics of Linear Scaling of Data����������������������������������������������������������������������������� 169
15.3.5 Logit Model with Rescaled Predictor��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 170
15.3.6 Multivariate Logistic Regression��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 174
xii
■ Contents
■
■Chapter 17: Data Visualization Cookbook��������������������������������������������������������� 215
17.1 Required Packages���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 215
17.2 Univariate Plots���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 215
17.3 Customizing and Polishing Plots�������������������������������������������������������������������������� 226
17.4 Multivariate Plots������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 243
17.5 Multiple Plots������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 266
17.6 Three-Dimensional Graphs����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 272
References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 277
■
■Chapter 18: High-Performance Computing�������������������������������������������������������� 279
18.1 Data���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 279
18.2 Parallel Processing����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 293
18.2.1 Other Parallel Processing Approaches������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 296
References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 301
■
■Chapter 19: Text Mining������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 303
19.1 Installing Needed Packages and Software����������������������������������������������������������� 304
19.1.1 Java����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 304
19.1.2 PDF Software��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 305
19.1.3 R Packages������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 305
19.1.4 Some Needed Files������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 305
Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 321
xiii
About the Author
xv
In Memoriam
xvii
Other documents randomly have
different content
some cheerful hive; but after having explored to the very end, and
having found nothing but wood to reward her search, she crept
again up the steep narrow way, and with joy found herself once
more in the sunshine.
“What do you think of it?” said Violetta, rather proudly.
“I—I do not think that your hive would hold many bees. Is it
perfectly finished, may I inquire?”
“No; I have yet to divide it into chambers for my children, each
chamber filled with a mixture of pollen and honey, and divided from
the next by a ceiling of sawdust. But the boring was finished to-day.”
“You do not mean to say,” exclaimed Honeyball in surprise, “that that
long gallery was ever bored by bees!”
“Not by bees,” replied Violetta, with a dignified bow, “but by one
bee. I bored it all myself.”
The indolent Honeyball could not conceal her amazement. “Is it
possible that you sawed it all out with your teeth?”
“Every inch of the depth,” Violetta replied.
“And that you can gather honey and pollen enough to fill it?”
“I must provide for my children, or they would starve.”
“And you can make ceilings of such a thing as sawdust to divide your
home into cells?”
“This is perhaps the hardest part of my task, but nevertheless this
must be done.”
“Where will you find sawdust for this carpenter’s work?”
“See yonder little heap; I have gathered it together. Those are my
cuttings from my tunnel in the wood.”
“You are without doubt a most wonderful bee. And you really labour
all alone?”
“All alone,” replied Violetta.
Honeyball thought of her own cheerful hive, with its thousands of
workers and divisions of labour, and waxen cells dropping with
golden honey. She scarcely could believe her own five eyes when
she saw what one persevering insect could do. Her surprise and her
praise pleased the violet-bee, who took pride in showing every part
of her work, describing her difficulties, and explaining her manner of
working.
“One thing strikes me,” said Honeyball, glancing down the tunnel; “I
should not much like to have the place of your eldest larva,
imprisoned down there in the lowest cell, unable to stir till all her
sisters have eaten their way into daylight.”
Violetta gave what in Bee-land is considered a smile. “I have thought
of that difficulty, and of a remedy too. I am about to bore a little
hole at the end of my tunnel, to give the young bee a way of escape
from its prison. And now,” added Violetta, “I will detain you no
longer, so much remains to be done, and time is so precious. You
probably have something to collect for your hive. I am too much
your friend to wish you to be idle.”
Honeyball thanked her new acquaintance and flew away, somewhat
the wiser for her visit, but feeling that not for ten pairs of purple
wings would she change places with the carpenter-bee.
CHAPTER VIII.
A CHASE, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
HERE’S the pedlar! Oh dear! and just as mother has gone
out!” cried Polly, who on beginning her afternoon business of
nurse to the little children, saw, or thought that she saw, at
the end of her lane, a man with a pack travelling along the high-
road. “There he is. Oh, if I could only stop him, or if any one would
look after the baby whilst I am gone! Minnie Wingfield! Ah, how
stupid I am to forget that she is now at the afternoon school! I think
that baby would keep very quiet for five minutes; he cannot roll out
of his cradle. But Johnny, he’d be tumbling down, or setting the
cottage on fire; I cannot leave him for a minute by himself.—Johnny,”
said she suddenly, “I want to catch the pedlar and see his pretty
things; will you come with me, like a good little boy?”
Johnny scrambled to his feet in a moment, to the full as eager as
herself. Polly held his fat little hand tight within her own, and began
running as fast as she could drag him along. But the poor child’s
round heavy figure and short steps were altogether unsuited for
anything like a race. Polly felt him as a dead weight hanging to her
arm. In vain she pulled, dragged, and jerked, now began to
encourage, and now to scold; poor Johnny became tired, frightened,
and out of breath, and at last fairly tumbled upon his face.
“Get up—I’m in such a hurry!”—no answer but a roar. “Stupid child!
he’ll be gone!”—Johnny bellowed louder than before. “There, I’ll
leave you on the road, you great tiresome boy; you have half pulled
out my arm with dragging you on. I’ll leave you there, and silly Sally
may get you.”
Then, without heeding the poor little child’s cries and entreaties that
she would stop, as he lay on the ground, half suffocated with sobs,
Polly Bright, thinking only of the prize which her vanity made her so
much desire, hastened after the pedlar.
POOR SALLY.
Silly Sally, who has been twice mentioned in my tale, was a poor
idiot-woman who lived with some kind neighbours on a common
about two miles from the village. She was perfectly harmless, and
therefore allowed to go about with freedom wherever she chose; but
the terrible misfortune, alas! exposed her to the scorn and
sometimes even persecution of wicked children, who made the worst
use of the senses left them, by tormenting one already so much
afflicted. Poor Sally used to wander about the lanes, uttering her
unmeaning sound. Perhaps even she had some pleasure in life,
when the sun shone brightly and the flowers were out, for she would
gather the wild roses from the bank, or the scarlet poppies from the
field, and weave them into garlands for her head. Nothing pleased
her more than when she found a long feather to add to her gaudy
wreath. If the poor witless creature had delight in making herself
gay, Polly at least had no right to laugh at her.
Timid and easily frightened, the idiot felt a nervous terror for
schoolboys, for which they had given her but too much cause. She
had been hooted at, even pelted with mud, pursued with laughter
like a hunted beast. Twice had Minnie to interfere with her brother,
pleading even with tears for one so helpless and unhappy. If there
be anything more brutal and hateful than cruelty to a harmless
animal, it is heartless barbarity to a defenceless idiot—to one who
bears our image, is descended from our race, and whose only crime
is the being most unfortunate. Deal gently, dear children, with the
poor senseless idiot; we trust that there is a place in heaven even
for him. The powers denied him in this world may be granted in the
next; and in a brighter realm, although never here below, he may be
found at his Lord’s feet, clothed and in his right mind.
On hastened the little girl, breathless and panting. At the place
where the roads joined she looked anxiously up the highway, to see
if she had not been mistaken in her distant view of the traveller. No;
there was the pedlar, pack and all, and no mistake, but walking more
briskly than might have been expected from his burden and the
warmth of the afternoon. His pack must have been much lightened
since he first set out with it.
Polly called out; but he either did not hear, or did not attend. The
wind was blowing the dust in her face, she was tired with her vain
attempts to drag poor Johnny, her shoes were down at heel and
hindered her running; for it by no means follows that those who
wish to be fine care to be tidy also. But the brooch of false diamonds
—the coveted brooch—the thought of that urged her on to still
greater efforts; even the remembrance of her swelled nose was lost
in the hope of possessing such a beautiful ornament. Polly, as she
shuffled hastily along, saw more than one person meet the pedlar. If
they would but stop him—if only for one minute—to give her time to
get up with him at last. No one stopped him—how fast he seemed to
walk! Polly’s face was flushed and heated, her hair hung about her
ears—would that we were as eager and persevering in the pursuit of
what really is precious, as the girl was in that of a worthless toy!
At last her gasped-out “Stop!” reached the ear of the pedlar. He
paused and turned round, and in a few minutes more his pack was
opened to the admiring eyes of Polly. Ah, how she coveted this thing
and that! how she wished that her six pennies were shillings instead!
A cherry-coloured neckerchief, a pink silk lace, a large steel pin, and
a jewelled ring,—how they took her fancy, and made her feel how
difficult it is to decide when surrounded by many things alike
tempting!
But at last the wonderful brooch of false diamonds was produced.
There was only one left in the pedlar’s stock. How fortunate did Polly
think it that it also had not been sold! Neckerchief, lace, pin, or ring
was nothing compared to this. She tried it on, had some doubts of
the strength of the pin, tried in vain to obtain a lessening of the
price. It ended in the girl’s placing all her pence in the hand of the
pedlar, and carrying home her prize with delight. She had had her
wish. Her vanity was gratified—the brooch was her own; but to
possess is not always to enjoy.
POLLY AND THE PEDLAR.
Polly returned to her cottage with much slower steps; she was
heated, and tired, and perhaps a little conscious that she had not
been faithful to her trust. As she came near her home she quickened
her pace, for to her surprise she heard voices within, and voices
whose tones told of anxiety and fear. These were the words which
struck her ear, and made her pause ere she ventured to enter,—
“What a mercy it is that I returned for the basket that I had
forgotten! If I had not, what would have become of my poor babe!”
exclaimed Mrs. Bright in much agitation.
“I can’t understand how it happened,” replied another voice, which
Polly knew to be that of Mrs. Wingfield.
“You may well say that,” said the mother. Polly could hear that she
was rocking her chair backwards and forwards, as she sometimes
did when hushing the sick child to sleep. “I left Polly in charge of the
children: I came back to find her gone, and my poor, poor baby in a
fit.”
Polly turned cold, and trembled so that she could hardly stand.
“Is there no one who could go for a doctor?” continued the agitated
mother; “another fit may come on—I would give the world to see
him!”
“I am so feeble,” replied Mrs. Wingfield, “that I am afraid—”
“Take the baby, then, and I’ll go myself; not a moment is to be lost.”
“No, no; there’s my boy Tom,” cried Mrs. Wingfield, as she saw her
son run hastily into her little cottage, which was just opposite to Mrs.
Bright’s.
“Oh, send him, in mercy send him!” cried the mother; and her
neighbour instantly crossed over to fulfil her wishes, passing Polly as
she did so, and looking at her with mingled surprise and scorn,
though in too much haste to address her.
“My boy, my own darling!” murmured the anxious mother, pressing
her sick child to her bosom, “what will your father say when he
hears of this?” Except her low, sad voice, the cottage was so still
that the very silence was terrible to Polly; it would have been a relief
to have heard the feeble, fretful wail which had made her feel
impatient so often.
With pale, anxious face and noiseless step, dreading to meet her
mother’s eye, the unhappy girl stole into the cottage. There sat Mrs.
Bright, her bonnet thrown back from her head, her hair hanging
loose, her gaze fixed upon the child in her arms; whilst the poor little
babe, with livid waxen features and half-closed eyes, lay so quiet,
and looked so terribly ill, that but for his hard breathing his sister
would have feared that his life had indeed passed away.
Mrs. Bright raised her head as Polly entered, and regarded her with
a look whose expression of deep grief was even more terrible than
anger. She asked no question; perhaps the misery in which she saw
the poor girl made her unwilling to add to her suffering by reproach;
or perhaps, and this was Polly’s own bitter thought, she considered
her unworthy of a word. Whatever was the cause, no conversation
passed between them, except a few short directions from the
mother about things connected with the comfort of the baby, as
poor Polly, with an almost bursting heart, tried to do anything and
everything for him.
POLLY IN DISGRACE.
In the meantime Tom had gone for the doctor, though with an
unwillingness and desire to delay which had made his mother both
surprised and indignant.
“He should go by the fields,” he said, though he well knew that to be
the longest way; and he would have done so, had not Mrs. Wingfield
roused herself to such anger, that even her rude and undutiful son
did not dare to disobey her.
The doctor came in about an hour, Tom having happily found him at
home, and, with an anxiety which those who have attended beloved
ones in the hour of sickness only can tell, Mrs. Bright and Polly
listened for his opinion of the case. The doctor examined the child,
and asked questions concerning his illness: “How long had the fit
lasted?” There was a most painful pause. Mrs. Bright looked at her
daughter. Polly could not utter a word; it was not till the question
was repeated that the distressing reply, “No one knows,” was given.
“Was the child long ailing?”
“How was he when you left him?” said Mrs. Bright to the miserable
Polly.
“Very well—that’s to say—I don’t exactly—he was—I think—”
“There has been gross negligence here,” said the doctor sternly;
“gross negligence,” he repeated, “and it may cost the child his life.”
Polly could only clasp her hands in anguish; but the mother
exclaimed, “Oh, sir, is there no hope for my boy?”
“While there is life there is hope,” replied the doctor in a more kindly
tone; “he must be bled at once. Have you a basin here?” he added,
taking a small instrument-case from his pocket.
Polly was at all times timid and nervous, and quite unaccustomed to
self-command, and now, when she would have given worlds to have
been useful, her hand shook so violently, her feelings so overcame
her, that there was no chance of her doing anything but harm.
“Give the basin to me, dear,” said a gentle voice behind her; Minnie
Wingfield had just entered the cottage. “You look so ill, you must not
be present. Go up-stairs, Polly; I will help your mother.”
“Oh, what shall I do?” cried the miserable girl, wringing her hands.
“Go and pray,” whispered Minnie as she glided from her side; and
Polly, trembling and weeping, slowly went up the narrow wooden
staircase, and entering her little chamber, sank down upon her
knees.
“Oh, spare him, only spare him, my darling little brother!” she could
at first utter no other words. She had never loved the baby as she
did now, when she feared that she might be about to lose him, and
bitterly she lamented her own impatient temper that had made her
weary of the duty of tending him. Oh, that we would so act towards
our relations, that if death should remove any one from our home,
our grief should not be embittered by the thought, “I was no
comfort or blessing to him while he was here, and now the
opportunity of being so is gone for ever!”
But the most terrible thought to Polly was, that the baby’s danger
might be partly owing to her neglect. Should he die—should the little
darling be taken away—could her mother ever forgive her? As Polly
sobbed in an agony of grief, something fell from her bosom upon the
floor; she started at the sight of her forgotten brooch, that which
she had coveted so much, that which had cost her so dear.
Snatching it up, and springing to her feet, with a sudden impulse she
ran to the window, and flung it far out into the lane. Then once
more falling on her knees, again she prayed, but more calmly, and
she implored not only that the baby might live, but that her own
weak, vain heart might be cleansed, that she might henceforth live
not only for herself, but do her duty as a faithful servant of God. She
rose somewhat comforted, and creeping down-stairs, listened ere
she ventured to enter the little parlour.
“I hope that he may do well now. I shall send something for him to-
night. Keep him quiet. I shall call here to-morrow.” These were the
doctor’s parting words, and they were a great relief to Polly. She
came in softly, and bent down by the baby, now laid again in his
little cradle, and looking white as the sheet that was over him; she
would have kissed his thin, pale face, but she feared to disturb the
poor child. Her heart was full of mingled sorrow and love; she felt as
though she could never bear to leave him again.
“Thank you, Minnie, my girl,” said Mrs. Bright earnestly; “you have
been a real comfort to me in my time of need. Your mother is a
happy woman to have such a child.”
“Can I do anything else for you now?” said Minnie; “if you would
allow me to sit up instead of you to-night?”
“No, no; I could not close an eye. But I should be glad if you would
bring Johnny home, my dear; it is near his bed-time, and I do not
think that he will disturb the baby.”
“I will bring him with pleasure; where is he?” said Minnie.
“Where is he?” repeated Mrs. Bright; “is he not at your home?”
“No; he has not been there all day.” Polly started as if she had been
stabbed.
“Then where is he?” cried Mrs. Bright, looking anxiously round. “Is
he up-stairs, Polly?” The miserable girl shook her head. Her fears for
the baby had made her quite forget her little brother, and it now
flashed across her mind that she had not passed him in the lane,
when she had retraced her steps to the cottage. Where could he
have gone, where could he be now?
Mrs. Bright had endured much, but her cup seemed now to
overflow. She walked close up to Polly, laid a heavy grasp upon her
shoulder, and said, in a tone which the girl remembered to her dying
day, “When was your brother last with you?”
“About two hours ago, just before you returned home,” faltered Polly.
“And where did you leave him?”
“In the lane, near the high-road.”
“Go and find him,” said the mother, between her clenched teeth, “or
never let me set eyes on you again!”
Polly rushed out of the cottage, and began her anxious search up
and down the lane, by the hedge, in the ditch, along the road,
asking every person that she met, and from every one receiving the
same disheartening answer. No one had seen the boy, no one could
think what had become of him. He was too young to have wandered
far; had he run towards the road, he must have been met by Polly—
if the other way, he must have been seen by his mother; he could
not have got over the hedge; there was no possibility of his having
lost his way. Many neighbours joined in the search; many pitied the
unhappy mother, but she was less to be pitied than Polly.
CHAPTER IX.
PRISONS AND PRISONERS.
E will now return to our little friend, Honeyball, whom we left
flying from the curious dwelling of the carpenter-bee. We will
follow her as she lazily proceeded along the lane in which were
situated the cottages of Mrs. Wingfield and Mrs. Bright, the sweet
flowers in the garden of the former rendering it a favourite resort for
bees. This was not long after noon, and therefore a few hours
before all the troubles related in the last chapter had occurred, while
Polly and her two little charges were yet safe in their own
comfortable cottage.
Honeyball looked at Spinaway busily mending her net, torn by the
adventure of Sipsyrup, and laughed as she thought of the folly of
her companion. Honeyball was not vain enough to be enticed by
sugared words; her dangers arose from quite another source—her
greediness and great self-indulgence. Her eye was now attracted by
a little bottle hung up by the porch, not far from the rosebush; it had
been placed there by Tom to catch wasps. Perhaps he had hoped to
entrap some others of the winged tribes, for he had just taken a
fancy to make a collection of insects, and woe unto any small
creature that might fall into his merciless hands!
Honeyball alighted on the bottle, then fluttered to the top, allured by
the sugary scent. The brim was sticky; she unsheathed her long
bright tongue, tasted, approved, and then sipped again. At this
moment she heard a buzz near her, and looking up with her back
eyes, perceived her friend Silverwing.
“Do come from that huge, bright, hard cell,” cried the bee; “I am
sure that it never was formed by any of our tribe, and I do not
believe that it holds honey.”
“It holds something very good, and in such abundance too,” replied
Honeyball; “a thousand honeysuckles would not contain so much!”
“There is danger, I am certain that there is danger,” cried Silverwing.
“What if it should have been placed there on purpose to catch us?”
“You think me as foolish as Sipsyrup!”
“No, not foolish, but—”
“Too fond of good living, and too lazy to like trouble in procuring it.
Well, I daresay that you are right, Silverwing; I believe that, as you
say, there may be danger.”
“Then why not come away?” persisted the bee.
“Because the taste is so good,” said her companion, bending over
the rim—the next moment she was struggling in the syrup!
Ah, Honeyball, weak, foolish insect! In vain do you struggle, in vain
do you buzz, in vain your grieved friend flutters against the glass,—
you have sacrificed yourself for a little indulgence, like thousands
who look at the tempting glass, know their danger, yet will not
abstain!
As Silverwing on the outside of the bottle was uttering her hum of
pity and regret, suddenly a handkerchief was thrown over her, and
the loud, rough voice of Tom was heard.
“Rather a paltry beginning to my collection, a wretched hive-bee!
But I caught it so cleverly, without its being crushed, or spoiled by
the syrup; and I will keep it till I get that stuff which Ben told me of,
which kills insects without hurting their beauty!”
Poor unhappy Silverwing! she was indeed in a terrible position. She
had not even power to use her sting in self-defence, for to plunge it
into the handkerchief would have been useless indeed; and she felt
all that a bee might be expected to feel, in the power of its most
cruel foe. Tom carried her into the cottage, and carefully unclosing
the handkerchief, after he had mounted upon a chair to reach the
shelf easily, he shook his poor prisoner into his own mug, and tied
some paper firmly over the top.
Silverwing flew round and round, buzzing in terror; she only hurt her
wings against the sides. Then she crawled over the paper which
formed the ceiling of her prison; but no hole for escape could she
find. It was clear that she was now shut out from all hope,
condemned perhaps to some lingering death. While her companions
were flying about, busy and happy, she was to pine, a lonely
prisoner, here. At first her feelings were those of despair; then,
quietly, though sadly, she made up her mind to submit to her cruel
fate. She no longer fluttered about restlessly, but settling at the
bottom of the mug, in patience awaited the return of her tormentor.
Hours passed before Tom came back. There had been other voices
in the cottage, but no one had touched the place of Silverwing’s
imprisonment. Mrs. Wingfield had been called out hastily by her
neighbour Mrs. Bright, on the discovery of the illness of the baby;
and as Minnie had not then returned from school, the cottage was
left quite empty. Presently there was a rapid step, then the sound of
some one jumping up on the chair. Silverwing felt the mug moved,
then the paper raised; she was ready to make a last effort to escape
through the opening; but her little tyrant took good care to give no
time for that; he only shook in another victim, and then shut down
the paper quickly, and placed a book on the top.
Silverwing paid no attention to what was passing in the cottage
round her, though I may as well remind the reader of what passed in
the last chapter,—how Tom had scarcely got down from the chair
before his mother came in and ordered him to go off for the doctor,
as Mrs. Bright’s baby was very ill indeed; how Tom hesitated, and
said that he would go by the fields, and then was sent off direct by
his mother in much displeasure. To all this, as I said, Silverwing paid
no attention; her little world was contained in the mug, and all her
interest was aroused by her fellow-prisoner. Poor Violetta, with her
fine purple wings, was the prey of the collector of insects! He had
not cared to explore her curious home, to learn her customs and
ways, or admire her instinct; he only wished to have the dead body
of an insect that he thought curious, and had no scruple about
destroying it to gratify this wish.
Violetta was not so patient as poor Silverwing had been. She dashed
herself against the mug in passionate distress; she would listen to
no words of comfort! Then she vainly tried to exercise her wonderful
powers of gnawing. From a wooden box she perhaps might have
worked her way to freedom, but the hard slippery crockery resisted
her utmost efforts; her poor little teeth could not even make an
impression! Exhausted at last, she remained quite still, and
Silverwing, forgetful of her own distress, began to attempt to soothe
her companion.
Thus they remained till the evening without food, almost without
hope. Mrs. Wingfield had gone to attempt to comfort her neighbour,
nearly wild at the loss of her Johnny; and now Minnie and Tom both
entered the cottage together. Their conversation had no interest for
the bees, in their mug; but as it is possible that it may have some
for my reader, I shall proceed to give some account of it in the
following chapter.
CHAPTER X.
A CONFESSION.
H, Tom,” said Minnie, “is not this a terrible misfortune that has
happened to poor Mrs. Bright?”
Tom gave a sort of grunt of assent.
“And the baby so ill! Mother doubts if he will live over the night! I
am glad that you found the doctor so soon. But what can have
become of dear little Johnny? The Barnes and the Smiths have been
all on the search; they say that if the wind had not been blowing the
dust so much along the lane, the little fellow might have been
tracked by his footsteps. No one can imagine where he can have
gone,—he is so very young,—so unable to wander far. Poor Polly! I
am so sorry for her!”
“I wish that you would not be talking for ever about Johnny!”
exclaimed Tom in a petulant tone.
“How can one think or talk of anything else?” replied Minnie sadly,
—“I did so love that noble boy!”
“Have done with it!” cried her brother, more angrily than before.
Minnie looked at him with pain, and then said in a low tone, “I
thought that you had even joined in the search.”
“I have joined,—I would give anything to find him!” exclaimed Tom,
striking his hand on the table as he spoke, with such passionate
energy that he almost startled his sister.
“Did you see nothing of the dear child,” said Minnie, as a thought
suddenly occurred to her, “when you came to our cottage,—just
before you went for the doctor, you know?”
“Didn’t I tell you that I wanted to hear no more about the matter!”
cried Tom, his whole face becoming the colour of crimson.
Minnie’s eyes were fixed upon him, steadily, earnestly; rude, bold
boy as he was, he shrank from her piercing gaze. Going nearer to
her brother, and speaking very distinctly, but in a voice hardly above
a whisper, she said, “I believe that you know more about Johnny
than you will tell.”
“Believe what you like, and let me alone.”
“Tom, I implore you, hide nothing from us. Oh, think of the misery of
the poor broken-hearted mother!” and she laid her hand upon his
arm.
“Speak another word and I’ll strike you!” cried Tom, roughly shaking
her off.
“Strike me if you will, but I must speak. Where did you see that child
last?”
“You can get nothing out of me,” growled Tom.
“Then I must call those who can,” said Minnie firmly, turning round
as if to quit the cottage. “This is a matter of life or death.” She
looked pale, but very determined.
“Whom are you going to call?” said Tom, his manner betraying some
fear.
“My mother—if necessary, the clergyman—or—the magistrate!”
Tom caught her by the arm as he exclaimed, “Stop, Minnie, oh, stop,
—you shall hear all and judge! I don’t know where the boy is,—I
would give my right hand that I did. It is true that I saw him last,
and I have searched all the place again and again. You would not
betray me—you would not, Minnie?—you might ruin me, but could
not help Johnny. Sit down here, and listen to me quietly, and you
shall know everything that has happened!”
Minnie sat down beside him, her heart beating fast. He gave her a
short but true account of what had passed, omitting, however, some
little particulars which we shall relate more at length.
You will remember that we left poor Johnny crying in the lane, vainly
trying to call back his sister, as she hurried in pursuit of the pedlar.
When the child found his terrors unheeded, his loud roar gradually
sank into a low broken sob, he scrambled to his feet, rubbed his
plump dusty hand across his eyes to brush away the tears, and
began to think of trotting back to the cottage.
Just as the little fellow was commencing his journey, he heard a
voice call him from the other side of the hedge which bordered the
narrow lane. At first, fancying that it might be silly Sally, with whom
he had been threatened, Johnny was inclined to run the faster for
the call; but he soon knew Tom, when he saw him clambering over
and holding something in his hand.
“Here’s something for you, my jolly little man!” cried Tom, who
amused himself sometimes by playing with, but more often by
teasing, his little rosy-cheeked neighbour.
“What got?” asked the child, as Tom jumped down beside him.
Johnny was always sparing of his words.
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