CONTENTS.
| PAGE. | |
|---|---|
| CHAPTER I. | |
| The Marble Box, | [9] |
| CHAPTER II. | |
| Metaphysics, | [26] |
| CHAPTER III. | |
| Stories, | [42] |
| CHAPTER IV. | |
| The Ride to Town, | [56] |
| CHAPTER V. | |
| The Gypsy Party, | [72] |
| CHAPTER VI. | |
| The Morocco Book—The Lonely Sleigh-Ride, | [90] |
| CHAPTER VII. | |
| Mary Jay’s Sunday School, | [108] |
| CHAPTER VIII. | |
| The Present, | [126] |
| CHAPTER IX. | |
| A Fright, | [138] |
| CHAPTER X. | |
| Royal a Protector, | [156] |
| CHAPTER XI. | |
| The Dictionary, | [172] |
LUCY AT PLAY.
CHAPTER I.
THE MARBLE BOX.
There was a box, or chest, of a somewhat singular character, in the house where Lucy lived; it was called the marble box. It was not really made of marble; it was made of wood; but then it was painted marble color, and that was the reason why it was called the marble box.
The marble box had books and playthings in it. It was pretty large, and so it would hold a considerable number. There was a handle at each end, and when Lucy took hold of one handle, and Royal, her brother, of the other, the box was just about as much as they could conveniently carry. The place where the marble box was usually kept, was under a table in the back chamber entry, not far from the head of the stairs.
There was a lock to the marble box, and Lucy’s mother kept the key. She tied a piece of blue ribbon to the key to mark it, and she kept it hung up under the mantel shelf in her room.
The rule of the marble box was this—that it never was to be opened except when the children were sick,—or, rather, when they were convalescent. When children are attacked with sickness, they do not generally, for a time, wish for any playthings. But, then, when the disease is once subdued, and the pain, or the unpleasant feelings, whatever they may be, have disappeared,—then there is a period, while the patient is recovering his health and strength, which is called the period of convalescence. Now, during convalescence, children are more in need of playthings to interest and occupy their minds than at any other time.
There are various reasons why this is so. In the first place, they cannot usually be allowed to go out of doors; for, after such an attack of sickness, it generally takes some time for the system to become restored to its usual state, so as to bear safely the ordinary exposures. Thus, by being confined to the house, the child is cut off from some of his sources of enjoyment, which makes it more necessary that he should have agreeable books and playthings.
Then, besides, during convalescence, the mind is not generally in a proper state to engage in study, or in any of the usual duties of life. This is peculiarly the case if the sickness has been severe. We feel weak, and are easily fatigued, and exhausted with exertion, either of mind or body. Consequently the ordinary duties of life are usually suspended during convalescence, and this leaves a large portion of time unoccupied. It is always difficult for mothers to find the means to occupy this time pleasantly, in the case of the convalescence of their children.
There is one more reason why it is desirable to have interesting books and playthings for children, when they are in a state of convalescence; and that is, that the mind is in such a state that it is in some respects more difficult to be interested and amused then than at other times. When recovering from sickness, there is often a kind of lassitude and weariness, which makes the patient indisposed to be long occupied in any one way. Occupations and amusements, which would please him very much at some times, fail altogether now. The common books and playthings, which he is accustomed to use at other times, do not afford him much pleasure now. He very soon gets tired of them.
For these reasons, Lucy’s mother had often found it very difficult to provide the means of amusing her, and occupying her mind, when she was sick; and still more difficult to do this in the case of Royal. So she told them, one day, that she meant to have a trunk to keep books and playthings in, expressly for this purpose. She looked about the house for a trunk, but she could not find any one, which was not in use. At last, however, she met with this wooden box or chest, which was about as large as a trunk; and she said that that would do very well indeed. Royal helped her to bring it down stairs.
It was one day when Royal had been sick with the croup, that his mother first formed the plan of such a box; and she wanted to amuse and occupy him then, as well as to prepare to do it at future times, when he should be sick. So she proposed to him to take the chest into the kitchen, and line the inside of it with blue paper, so as to make it look neat and pretty within. She brought him some blue paper in large sheets; Joanna made him some paste; and then he pasted the blue paper in.
It took all the afternoon to line the box; and in the evening, when Royal’s father came home, Lucy brought him out into the kitchen to see it. It was then almost dry, and was lying down upon its side, not a great way from the kitchen fire. Lucy wanted to place it nearer; but Royal said that there was danger, if it was placed too near, that the heat would warp the wood, and so spoil the box.
“What do you think of our plan, father?” said Royal.
“I think it is a very excellent plan, indeed,” said his father. “I should like to have had a share in the execution of such an excellent plan myself.”
“What do you mean by that, father?” asked Lucy.
“Why, that I should have liked to have done something myself about this box. Mother formed the plan and found the box, and Royal has lined it. Joanna made the paste, and you,—you have done something, I suppose.”
“Yes, father,” said Lucy, “I held down the corners of the great sheets, while Royal was pasting them.”
“Yes,” rejoined her father, “all have helped excepting me.”
“Well, father,” said Royal, “I wish you would make us a till.”
“A till,” repeated his father; “what kind of a till?”
“Why, a till here in the side,” said Royal, “to keep the small things in.”
Royal explained more fully to his father what he meant by a till; and his father said that he would see if he could make one; and that he would go to work upon it that very evening, after tea.
Accordingly, about an hour after this conversation, they all came out into the kitchen to see the process of making the till. Royal and Lucy set out the table, and put the box upon the back side of it. Their mother brought her work, and took her seat upon the side opposite to the one where the children had placed a chair for their father.
“What do you suppose father is going to make the till of, Royal?” asked Lucy.
“Of boards,” said Royal.
“O Royal!” exclaimed Lucy; “boards are too heavy.”
“I mean very thin boards,” said Royal, “very thin indeed.”
But just at this time their father came into the room with a large, smooth board under his arm. The board was about as large as the top of the box; and it was pretty thick and heavy. He brought this board, and placed it down upon the table.
“O father,” said Royal, “are you going to make our till of such a great, heavy board as this?”
“Not of it, but on it,” replied his father.
“What do you mean by that, sir?” said Lucy.
“Why, I am going to make your till of pasteboard; and I am going to cut it out upon this smooth board.”
He then went out again, and presently returned bringing with him a large sheet of very thick pasteboard. He laid the pasteboard down upon the board, and then, after measuring upon the box, he marked out a square upon it, as long as the box was wide; and as it was a square which he marked out, it was, of course, as wide as it was long.
“What is that for, father?” said Lucy.
“That is for the bottom of your till,” replied her father.
He then took a large pair of dividers, which he had brought with him, and began to mark and measure in various ways, so that Lucy could not understand at all what he was doing.
Presently he said,—
“Should you prefer to have a fixed, or a sliding till, children?”
“O, a sliding till,” said Royal; “let’s have a sliding till, Lucy. But, father,” he continued, after a moment’s pause, “what is a sliding till?”
“How do you know that you should like a sliding till, if you do not know what it is?” asked his father.
“Why, I am pretty sure,” said Royal, “that I should like a till that would slide. But I never saw one that would slide. They are almost always fastened in at the end.”
Royal was correct in this statement. The till of a chest is commonly a shallow box passing across the end of it, near the top, and is usually fastened to its place. But there is an inconvenience in having it fastened, unless it is made quite small; for, if it is large, it covers and conceals the things which are below it, in the bottom of the chest.
Now, Lucy’s father wanted to make his till pretty large. He cut it out square, as long, each way, as the width of the marble box. Now, as the marble box was about twice as long as it was wide, it follows that the till was large enough to cover one half of the upper part of the box. If, therefore, it had been fixed into its place, it would have been inconvenient on account of its covering and concealing the things beneath it, and making it difficult to get them out. So Royal’s father concluded to make it movable.
The arrangement which he adopted to secure this object was this: He brought in two strips of wood, which he cut off so as to make them just as long as the box itself, inside. He then bored two holes in each of these strips, and, by means of some little screws, he screwed them to the sides of the box, within, about three inches from the top. Royal and Lucy watched their father very intently while he was doing this; but they did not ask any questions. They thought that it might interrupt him, and disturb his calculations, if they were to ask him questions; so they preferred to look on and observe for themselves.
“Now I understand,” said Royal, when his father was screwing on the second strip.
“What?” said Lucy. “What is it? Tell me.”
“Why, these strips are for the till to slide on. Father is going to make a till, and put it in there, and let it rest upon those strips. Those must be the sliders for the till to slide upon. Isn’t it so, father?”
His father did not answer, but went on with his work.
“It must be so, I know,” said Royal; “and it is an excellent plan. I like a sliding till a great deal better than one that’s nailed in, so that you can’t move it.”
When Royal’s father had got the sliders secured in their proper places, he began to work again upon the till itself.
“Father,” said Lucy, “why did not you finish the till before you made the sliders? You very often tell us that we must always finish one thing before we begin another.”
“Did I say always?” asked her father, “or generally?”
“Always, I believe, father,” said Lucy, pausing a moment, as if trying to think. “Yes, I believe you said always.”
“Then I made a mistake,” said her father; “I ought to have said generally: it is a good general rule, but there are some exceptions. There are very few rules which have not some exceptions.”
While this and similar conversation was going forward, Lucy’s father continued industriously at work upon the till. He cut out a piece of pasteboard of such a shape that there was a large, square piece for a bottom in the middle, and side pieces all around. He then carefully folded up the sides, and the pasteboard thus assumed the form of a box.
“Now,” said Royal, “how are you going to fasten the sides up in their places?”
“Why, mother can sew them,” said Lucy.
“No,” replied her father, “that will not do very well; for the stitches would show through the paper that I am going to cover the till with. Besides, it would be very hard indeed to sew such stiff, thick pasteboard as this is.”
“The paper will hold it,” said Royal. “When it is all covered over with blue paper, pasted down strong, that will hold the sides together in their places.”
“No,” said his father, “not strong enough. The paste would hold; but then the paper itself would break away at the corners, after a time, and so the till would be spoiled.”
“How shall you do it, then?” asked Lucy.
“You’ll see,” replied her father.
By observing him continually, the children did see. Their father took some strips of cotton cloth, and pasted them over the corners, turning the edges over inside of the box, and pasting them down smooth. Then he covered the whole with blue paper, just as Royal had lined the inside of the box; and when this work was completed, the till was done.
He then put the till carefully into the box, and let it rest upon the sliders. He showed the children, too, how it would slide along from one end to the other.
“Let me slide it,” said Lucy.
“Very carefully,” said her father, “for it is not dry yet.”
“And will it tear, now that it is not dry?” said Lucy.
“Perhaps it may not tear, but it will easily get bent out of shape. To-morrow you can slide it as much as you please.”
The top of the till was just level with the top of the chest, so that the lid would shut down tight, just as if there was no till in it. So Lucy’s father shut the lid down when it was all ready, and told the children that they might put the box away.
“We call it the marble box,” said Lucy.
“I should think you had better call it the convalescent box,” said her father, “since it is to be kept exclusively for cases of convalescence.”
“What does that mean, sir?” said Lucy.
“Convalescence means getting well,” replied her father, “after you have been sick. So I should think that that would be the most appropriate name. It is not really a marble box.”
“No, sir,” said Lucy; “only it looks like marble, and so we call it the marble box.”
“Yes, sir,” said Royal; “and, besides, I don’t think that convalescent box would be a very good name, for that would mean that the box itself was getting well,—whereas, in fact, it is only the children.”
“True,” replied his father; “that is an objection. But let me see; I believe we do use descriptive epithets in that way.”
“Descriptive epithets,” repeated Royal; “what are descriptive epithets?”
“Why, the word convalescent,” replied his father, “is an epithet. It is applied to box, in order to describe it; and so it is called a descriptive epithet.”
“Then I think,” said Royal, “that it ought to describe the box, and not the persons that are to use it; or else it is not a good descriptive epithet.”
“So should I,” added Royal’s mother.
“But I believe we do use epithets in that way. For example, we say a sick room; but we don’t mean that the room is sick, but only the persons that are in it. And so we say a long and weary road; but it is not the road that is weary but only the people that travel it.”
“It is the road that is long,” said Royal.
“Yes,” replied his father, “but not weary.”
“But perhaps,” said Lucy’s mother, “all such expressions are incorrect.”
“No,” said her father; “usage makes them correct. There is no other rule for good English than good usage.”
“Very well, then,” said Lucy’s mother; “I’ll call it the convalescent box; and I think it will be a very convenient box indeed.”
They did no more about the box that evening; for it was now time for the children to go to bed. The next day, however, they made some rules for the box, which Royal wrote out in a very plain hand, and pasted upon the under side of the lid. They were as follows:—
“Rules.
“1. This box must not be opened for Royal or Lucy, unless they have been sick enough to have to take medicine.
“2. It must be shut and locked again, the first time they are well enough to go out of doors.
“3. The playthings and books must always be put back in good order, and the key given to mother.”
When Royal had pasted the paper containing a copy of the rules into its place, he and Lucy began to look around the house to find books and playthings to put into it. Lucy said that she meant to go and ask her mother what she had better put in.
“What do you think, mother,” said she, “that we had better put into the marble box?”
“That is rather a hard question to settle,” her mother replied. “You want very interesting books and playthings when you are sick; but then all that you put in will be entirely lost to you while you continue well; for you know the box is never to be opened when you are well.”
“Would you put in my little paint-box, mother?” asked Lucy.
“Why, no,” answered her mother, “I think I should not; for you often want to use your paint-box when Marielle comes to see you.”
“Well, at any rate,” said Royal, “we will put in all our little pictures; for we don’t care much about pasting pictures, except when we can’t go out of doors.”
They accordingly collected all their loose pictures, and old, worn-out picture-books, such as they were accustomed to cut the pictures out of, to make new picture-books with of their own. They also had a number of pieces of marble paper, and gilt paper, and other kinds of paper, of various colors, which they were accustomed to use for making little pocket-books, and wallets, and portfolios. These they tied up neatly together, and laid in the bottom of the box.
Then they selected a number of books, such as they thought they could best spare, and placed them in two rows in the bottom of the box, across the end. They also put in a number of playthings, the large ones below, and the smaller ones in the till. When all was ready, they locked it up, and gave their mother the key.
That night, however, when their father came home, the marble box had to be opened again a moment, to put in two parcels which he brought. One looked as if it had books in it, and the other something of an irregular shape. Their father would not tell them what was in the parcels. He only said it was something to amuse convalescents, whenever there should be any. He then locked up the box again immediately, and gave the key to the children, to be carried to their mother.
That evening Lucy said to Royal,—
“Royal, how long do you think it will be before you or I shall be sick?”
“I don’t know,” said Royal. “Why?”
“Because,” said Lucy, “only I should like to open our marble box.”
CHAPTER II.
METAPHYSICS.
Notwithstanding their father’s recommendation of the name convalescent box, the children continued to call it the marble box. Lucy said that that name was a great deal easier, and she thought it was prettier, besides. For some time after this, therefore, the children were accustomed to call it by one name, and the parents by the other. Whatever might be its name, however, it was found to answer a very excellent purpose. It continued to be used, according to the rules pasted upon its lid; and as, in consequence, it was not opened very often, and as new books and playthings were frequently put into it, it came to be a very valuable resource when the children were confined to the house by indisposition; so much so that Lucy’s mother said that she thought it would be an excellent plan for every family to have a convalescent box.
One time, when Lucy had been sick,—long after the convalescent box was made, and in fact, after it had been used a great many times,—she carried a little cricket up to it, in the back entry, and sat down before it, and began to read. Royal had helped her first to move it out near a window. It was placed with one end towards the window, and the lid was turned back against a chair which she had placed behind it. She had also placed another chair before it, in such a way that, when she was sitting upon her cricket, she could lay her book in this chair, using it as a sort of table. When Royal had helped her move out the great box, he had gone down into the yard to play, leaving her to arrange the other things herself.
Accordingly, when they were all arranged, Lucy asked Royal if he would not come up and see her study.
“Yes,” said Royal, “I will come.”
So Royal went up stairs again, to see Lucy’s study, as she called it. He found her seated upon the cricket, with a picture-book open before her upon the chair.
“Well, Lucy,” said Royal, “I think you have got a very good study. What are you reading?”
“I am reading stories,” answered Lucy.
“What stories?” said Royal.
“One is about a parrot,” replied Lucy; “and there are some others which I am going to read after I have finished this.”
“But I think,” said Royal, “that you had better come down and play with me, behind the garden.”
The fact was, that Royal was going to make a little ship. He was going to work upon it at a seat in a shady place beyond the garden, and he wanted some company.
“Come, Lucy,” said he, “do go.”
“But I don’t think that mother will let me go out yet,” replied Lucy. “I have not got well enough to go out.”
“I’ll run and ask her,” said Royal.
Lucy called to him to stop, but he paid no attention to her call. She did not want to have him go and ask her mother; for, even if her mother would consent, she did not wish to go out. She did not assign the true reason. The true reason was, that she was interested in the story about a parrot, that could say, “Breakfast is ready; all come to breakfast,”—and she did not wish to leave it. Her fear that her mother would not allow her to go out was, therefore, not the true reason. It was a false reason.
People very often assign false reasons, instead of true ones, for what they do, or are going to do. But it is very unwise to do this. They very often get into difficulty by it. Lucy got into difficulty in this case; for, in a few minutes, Royal came back, and said that his mother sent her word that she might go out, if she chose, and stay one hour.
Thus the false reason which Lucy gave for not going with Royal, was taken away, and yet she did not want to go; but then she was embarrassed to know what to say next. That is the way that persons often get into difficulty by assigning reasons which are not the honest and true reasons; for the false reasons are sometimes unexpectedly removed out of the way, and then they are placed in a situation of embarrassment, not knowing what to say next. It is a great deal better not to give any reasons at all, than to give those which are not the ones which really influence us, but which we only invent to satisfy other persons.
When Royal told Lucy that her mother was willing to have her go out, she hesitated a moment, and then she said,—
“Well, Royal, if I go out now, I must shut and lock the marble box; and then we cannot open it again till the next time we are sick; and that may be a great while.”
“Well,” said Royal, “and suppose it is.”
“Why, then I shall have to wait a great while before I can hear the rest about the parrot.”
“O, never mind the parrot,” said Royal; “I will tell you some stories that will be prettier than that is, a great deal, I dare say.”
“What kind of a story will it be?” said Lucy.
“O, I don’t know,” answered Royal. “What sort of a story should you like?”
“I don’t know much about the different kinds,” said Lucy. “How many different kinds of stories are there?”
“Come with me,” replied Royal, “and I will tell you. I can tell you all about it, while I am making my ship.”
“But I wish you would tell me a little about it now,” said Lucy, “and then I can decide better whether to come or not.”
“Well,” said Royal, “there are three kinds of stories—true stories, probable stories, and extravagant stories.”
“Which is the best kind?” said Lucy. “I expect true stories.”
“Why, I don’t know,” said Royal. “If you will come with me, I will tell you one of each kind, and then you can judge for yourself.”
“She looked out at the window, and saw Royal walking along through the garden.”—Page [33]
“Well, Royal,” said Lucy, as she saw that he was going away, “just tell me what sort of stories extravagant stories are.”
“Why, they are a very queer sort of stories indeed; you’ll know when you come to hear one.”
So saying, Royal went away, leaving Lucy in much perplexity of mind. She thought that she would just finish the story of the parrot, and that she would then go and hear Royal’s stories. But she could not read very fast, and her mind was distracted with wondering what sort of a story an extravagant story could be.
She looked out at the window, and saw Royal walking along through the garden. She wished very much that it was consistent with the rules of the marble box for her to go out and play with Royal an hour, and then come back and finish her story; but she knew that it was not.
Finally, her curiosity to hear the extravagant story triumphed, and she accordingly put the books away into the box, returned the till into its place, which she had taken out in order to gain more easy access to the books below, and then shut the lid and locked it. She was not strong enough to put the box back, where it belonged, without Royal; but she put away all the other furniture very carefully, and then went down stairs.
She carried the key to her mother, and said, “Here, mother, here is the key. I am going out to play with Royal. He is going to tell me an extravagant story.”
“An extravagant story!” repeated her mother, with some surprise; “what sort of a story is that?”
“I don’t know,” replied Lucy; “only Royal is going to tell me one.”
Her mother laughed, saying that she should like to hear one of Royal’s extravagant stories; and then Lucy walked away.
Lucy walked through the garden, and then climbed over the stile at the foot of it; and when at the top of the stile, she saw Royal sitting at a little distance in a shady place near some rocks.
“Ah, Lucy,” said he, when he saw her, “I am very glad that you have come; I want you very much. Come, run.”
Lucy descended from the stile, and walked along towards Royal pretty fast, but she did not run.
Royal was tying a knot, about his rigging; and he wanted Lucy to put her finger on to hold the first tie, until he secured it by a second. So he sat still, holding the ends of the thread, and waiting for Lucy to come.
“Why don’t you run, Lucy? Here I am waiting all this time,—while you are coming along so slow.”
“No,” rejoined Lucy, “I am not coming along slow. I am walking as fast as I can.”
“Walking!” repeated Royal; “well, that is coming slow. There, put your finger on there while I tie again.”
Lucy put her finger upon the place, saying, at the same time, that she did not think that all walking was slow. “I can walk very fast indeed,” she added.
“But I don’t see why you could not have run a little,” said Royal.
“Because,” said Lucy, “it is not proper for sick persons to run. I have not got well enough yet to run.”
Royal laughed aloud and heartily at this,—while Lucy looked disturbed and troubled. They came very near getting into a serious disagreement on this subject. They were both partly in the wrong. Royal ought not to have required Lucy to run to him, in that absolute manner, as if he had any right to claim that she should do it. But, then, on the other hand, when Lucy saw that Royal was in haste to have her come quick, and do something for him, she ought to have had the kindness to have run. She was mistaken in supposing that her being sick was the reason; for, in about half an hour after this, when Royal went away to sail his vessel, she ran after a black butterfly, with yellow spots, for a considerable distance.
Any serious difficulty, however, between the children, was prevented by an occurrence which fortunately intervened. It happened that, soon after Lucy left the house, her mother asked Miss Anne to be kind enough to walk down through the garden, and see where she and Royal were sitting, in order to be sure that it was a safe place, as she wished to be careful that she should not incur any danger of taking cold.
Now, it happened that, just as the conversation between Royal and Lucy was beginning to take this unfavorable turn, Miss Anne appeared coming over the stile.
Lucy walked along towards Miss Anne, with a countenance expressing some uneasiness of mind, which Miss Anne immediately observed, and she said,—
“Well, Lucy, and what is the matter now?”
“Royal is laughing at me,” said Lucy, in a complaining tone. Here Royal laughed again. “And besides,” continued Lucy, “he wants me to keep running all the time.”
“O Lucy,” said Royal; “not so. I only wanted you to run once, a little; just to put your finger on the knot while I tied it. Do you think there was any harm in that, Miss Anne?”
“No,” replied Miss Anne, “not if you asked in a proper manner. If you demanded it of her, or spoke harshly to her because she would not come,—then you did wrong; for she was under no obligation at all to run.”
“He scolded me a little,” said Lucy, “because I would not run.”
“O no,” said Royal.
“A little,” replied Lucy. “I only said a little.”
“Did you know what he wanted of you?” asked Miss Anne.
“No,” replied Lucy. “Only I supposed he wanted me to do something about his ship.”
“Well, I think, as he was waiting for you, you might have run along a little, Lucy. We ought to be willing to help one another. It is as much a duty to be kind to each other in little things as in great things; so that I think you were both somewhat to blame.”
“What was I to blame for?” asked Royal.
“For finding fault with her for not running,” replied Miss Anne, “and for speaking to her as if you had a right to require it of her. She was certainly under no obligation to come and help you at all, unless she chose to, herself.”
“Why, Miss Anne!” said Royal; “is not every body under obligation to do their duty? You said just now that it was Lucy’s duty to come.”
Miss Anne did not immediately answer this question, but stood still, looking into vacancy, as if thinking; and presently a smile, of a peculiar expression, came over her face.
“What are you laughing at, Miss Anne?” said Lucy.
Miss Anne did not answer, but only smiled the more.
“Miss Anne,” said Lucy again, pulling her hand, “what are you laughing at?”
“Why, I am laughing,” continued Miss Anne, “to think how I am cornered.”
“What do you mean by cornered?” asked Lucy, looking perplexed.
“I don’t see,” continued Miss Anne, “but that I am checkmated entirely.”
“What does that mean, Miss Anne?” asked Lucy. “I don’t understand one word you say.”
“Why, I told Royal,” replied Miss Anne, “that it was your duty to have helped him, and——”
“But I did help him, Miss Anne,” said Lucy.
“But I mean, to run along quick to help him,” replied Miss Anne.
“I did walk along as quick as I could,” said Lucy, “and I am not well enough yet to run.”
“Because I said it was your duty to make an exertion to do him a kindness,” continued Miss Anne, without appearing to notice much what Lucy said. “And that seems to be true, without any doubt. But, then, on the other hand,” she continued, “I told him that he did wrong to require it of you, for you were under no obligation to do it. That, too, seems to be true, without any doubt. Both seem to be true, considered separately; and yet, when brought together, they seem to be inconsistent; for, as Royal says, we are all under obligation to do whatever is our duty. I don’t think that I can get out of the difficulty very well.”
“I don’t see that there is any difficulty at all,” said Lucy; “for I am sure that Royal ought not to make me run when I am sick.”
The truth was, that Lucy was not old enough to understand metaphysical reasoning very well,—or any reasoning, in fact. So they dropped the subject. Miss Anne would not go on talking, and pretending to understand the subject, when really she did not; and Royal, satisfied with his victory, was desirous of turning his attention to his vessel.
“Who is going to make your sails for you, Royal?” said Miss Anne.
“I shall have to make them myself, I suppose, unless you will. See, there is my sail-cloth.”
Miss Anne looked upon a little sort of shelf in the rock where Royal kept his stores, and saw there a piece of white cotton cloth, neatly folded up, and lying in one corner. By the side of it were a pair of scissors and a spool of thread.
“Where are your needles?” asked Miss Anne.
“They are in the spool,” said Royal.
“In the spool!” repeated Miss Anne. She had never heard of needles in a spool.
“Yes,” said Royal; and he took up the spool, and showed it to Miss Anne. There was a hole through the centre of it, as is usual with spools. One end of this hole Royal had stopped with a plug, of such a shape that, when it was in, the end of it was smooth with the end of the spool; so that the spool could stand up upon this end for a bottom. Then, at the other end of the hole Royal had fitted a stopper, with a part projecting, by which he could take it out and put it in.
Thus the spool made quite a good needle-case. Royal kept it thus always in readiness for making his sails, and for rigging his little ships.
“Very well,” said Miss Anne; “and now where’s your thimble?”
“I have not got any thimble,” said Royal. “I don’t know how to sew with a thimble.”
“Well,” said Miss Anne, “if you will cut out your sails, I will hem the edges for you. Lucy and I will walk along up towards the house, where I can get a thimble; and then I can be at work, while walking back slowly through the garden.”
Royal did this, and Miss Anne made his sails. They were better sails than he had ever had before. And so much interested did they all become in this work, that Lucy did not think of the stories which Royal had promised to tell her. So she did not hear the extravagant story until another time.
CHAPTER III.
STORIES.
A few afternoons after this, when Royal came down stairs from the room where he was accustomed to study, he saw Lucy walking away from the house, with a little parcel in her hand.
Lucy turned round, but she continued moving,—walking now, however, backwards; and she said with a tone of voice expressive of great pleasure,—
“I am going of an errand, Royal, all by myself. I am going of an errand, and a good long errand too.”
Lucy was so young, that she had been very seldom, if ever, before employed to go of errands; and she was very much pleased that her mother had intrusted her with one now.
“I’ll go with you, Lucy,” said Royal.
“No,” said Lucy, “I don’t want you to go with me. I must go all alone by myself.” Lucy thought that having a companion like Royal would detract somewhat from the credit that she would deserve by going alone.
“But, Lucy,” said Royal, “I won’t trouble you at all; and, besides, I’ll show you the way.”
But Lucy did not wish to have the way shown to her. One great part of the pleasure which she took in the expedition was in the idea of finding the way herself.
Lucy kept walking along backwards all this time, and was just upon the point of turning round again, when her foot stuck the upper part of a long and large root, which ran from one of the trees which grew near the sidewalk, and the course of which was so near to the surface of the ground, that the upper part of it rose a little above the path. Royal had just time to say, “There you go,” when Lucy fell over upon the grass.
Although it was in the walk, still it was a grassy place, for the walk was not much travelled; so that Lucy was hurt only a very little. She began to cry; but, perceiving that it was not necessary in such a case, she stopped just as Royal came up to her.
“There, Lucy, I told you that you were not big enough to go alone.”
Royal did wrong to say this; for Lucy had not boasted improperly of her age and powers, but only expressed a pleasure which it was very proper that she should feel at being intrusted by her mother with a mark of increased confidence in her strength and intelligence. Besides, even if Lucy had been vaingloriously boasting, her fall ought to have protected her from taunts; for whenever people are led into difficulty by their errors, the pain they feel is punishment enough. They do not need our reproaches.
However, though Royal at first accosted Lucy in a harsh manner, he soon changed his tone, and went to help her up. He smoothed her dress, and picked up her parcel, and gave it to her; for it had been thrown off up against the tree by the concussion.
“Lucy,” said he, “I’m sorry that you fell down; but you had better let me go along with you, to take care of you, and help you up if you fall down again.”
“No,” said Lucy, “I want to go and do the errand myself alone. I shall not fall down, if you are not behind me to talk to me, and make me turn round and walk backwards.”
Royal perceived that he had been the cause of Lucy’s fall; so he said no more upon that subject, but only added,—
“Well, Lucy, since you won’t let me go with you, just sit down here a few minutes on the grass, and tell me where you are going, and all about it.”
“No,” said Lucy, “I must not stop to play or sit down by the way, when I am going of errands,—only I am going to stop half an hour at Mary Jay’s.”
“Then you are going to Mary Jay’s,” said Royal.
“Yes,” answered Lucy, “to carry this book.”
While they had been talking thus, they had both been slowly advancing along the path.
“Well, Lucy,” said Royal, “it does not do any harm for me to walk along with you like this. I will keep a little behind you, and so let you find the way yourself; and then you shall do the errand to Mary Jay, all alone. I won’t speak a word.”
By these and similar persuasions Lucy was induced, at last, to allow Royal to accompany her; and they walked along together.
“Now,” said Royal, after they had been walking along together a little while,—“Now, Lucy, I’ll tell you about the different kinds of stories.”
“Well,” said Lucy, “I should like to hear very much.”
“First,” said Royal, “there are true stories.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, “and I like true stories very much.”
“Next, there are probable stories. The things did not really happen, but there is nothing in them but what might have happened well enough.”
“Now tell me a probable story,” said Lucy.
“Well,” said Royal. “Once there was a boy who had a cat,—a beautiful Malta cat. He tied a pink ribbon around her neck for a collar.”
“O Royal,” said Lucy, “I never heard of a cat with a collar.”
“No,” replied Royal; “they generally put collars upon dogs; but this boy had no dog, and so he put a collar on his cat.”
“What was his name?” asked Lucy.
“His name was—George;—no, Jeremiah,” said Royal, correcting himself.
“How came you to say it was George first?” asked Lucy.
“Why, first,” replied Royal, “I thought I would have him named George; but then I thought that would not be so good a name; and so I changed it to Jeremiah.”
“But, Royal,” said Lucy, “I want to know what his real name was.”
“Why, he had no real name,” answered Royal, “only what I give him.”
“Why, isn’t it a true story?”
“No,” said Royal, “certainly not; this is only a probable story. I have to make it up as I go along.”
“O,” said Lucy. “Very well,—only I was thinking that it was true.”
“The boy,” continued Royal, “taught his cat to follow him like a dog. He would walk down into the fields and woods, and the cat would follow him all about. Sometimes she would climb up to the tops of the trees, trying to catch squirrels.”
“And could she catch them?” asked Lucy.
“No, indeed,” said Royal, in reply; “they were a great deal too nimble for her. Besides, they were light, and she was heavy; and so they could run out upon the light and slender branches, where she could not go. Once, she went out after one, and the branch was so slender, that it bent away down, and she came tumbling down upon Jeremiah’s shoulders.”
Here Lucy and Royal stopped to have a good laugh at this idea, which Lucy seemed to consider very amusing.
“But Jeremiah caught a great many mice with his cat,” said Royal, “although he could not catch squirrels. He caught field mice, in the grass. He would walk about, and whenever he saw a mouse, he would call, ‘Here, Merry Merry, Merry!’”
“What did he mean by that?” asked Lucy.
“Why, he meant his cat,” replied Royal; “her name was Merry.”
“And would Merry come?” asked Lucy.
“Yes,” said Royal, “she would come running along, with her red collar about her neck, and the large bow-knot under her chin.”
“You did not tell me any thing about the bow-knot before,” said Lucy.
“No,” said Royal; “I just thought it would be a good plan to have a bow-knot.”
“Well, what else?” said Lucy.
“When the boy found that he could teach his cat so much, he concluded that he would teach her to sail on a board, in the little pond;—for you must understand that there was a little pond behind his father’s house. So, in order to teach her, he used to feed her at first very near the water; then on the board, which he would place every day more and more on the water. At last he taught her to go on eating a piece of meat while the board was sailing about the pond; and finally she would lie quietly on the board, when she had not any thing to eat, and so let him sail her all about the water. He made a board of the shape of the deck of a vessel, and put two masts into it; and he fastened a long string to the bows, and he would take hold of the end of this string himself, standing on the shore. When his cat was sailing, he used to call her Captain Merry of the ship Floater. She looked beautifully when she was sailing, sitting up straight, with her face towards the bows, her tail curled round to one side, and the beautiful bow-knot under her chin.”
Here Lucy clapped her hands, and seemed much delighted with the picture which Royal thus presented to her imagination.
“Besides,” said Royal, “Merry’s red collar was useful as well as beautiful; for, after a while, the mice in the field were all terribly afraid when they saw any thing red; and so Jeremiah just scattered a parcel of red rags about, and that frightened them all away.”
Here Royal and Lucy made the road ring with long and loud peals of laughter. When their glee, however, had in some measure subsided, Lucy said,—
“And is that what you call a probable story, Royal?”
“Why—yes,” said Royal, with some hesitation, “all except frightening the mice away. I don’t think that is very probable. But all the rest is; for a boy might very easily put a red ribbon around his cat’s neck for a collar, and then he might teach her to sail on a board, by managing kindly and carefully. But as for frightening away all the mice by red rags, I think myself that that was rather extravagant.”
“And now, Royal,” said Lucy, “tell me an extravagant story.”
“Well,” said Royal. “Once there were some chimney swallows who built their nests in a great hollow tree. They thought it was a chimney.”
“O Royal,” said Lucy, “they would know, because it was not square.”
“No,” said Royal, “not at all. Chimney swallows don’t understand geometry.”
“What is geometry?” asked Lucy.
“Why, it is about squares and rounds, and all other shapes. Chimney swallows don’t know any thing about it.”
“I should think,” said Lucy, “that, if they could see at all, they could tell whether any thing was square or round.”
“Besides,” said Royal, “some chimneys are round, and perhaps these swallows thought that this was a round chimney. At any rate, they built their nests in it, and found that it was a very good place.
“By and by,” continued Royal, “there came two large gray squirrels, and they built a nest in a small hole pretty near the bottom of the tree, about as high as a man’s head. The hole went in above a branch, and was just big enough for the squirrels to creep in. And it was large enough inside to hold ever so many nuts and acorns.”
“Wasn’t the tree all hollow, from top to bottom?” said Lucy.
“No,” replied Royal, “only a small place at the top, where it had been broken off by the lightning. That let the rain in, and rotted it down some way; but the bottom of the tree was large and strong.
“So the squirrels and the chimney swallows lived here in peace for some time. At last there came a great monkey, and he climbed up into the middle of the tree, and held on there by his tail.”
“By his tail!” said Lucy.
“Yes; he curled his tail around a branch, and so held on while he gathered nuts.”
“Were there any nuts on the tree?” asked Lucy.
“Yes,” replied Royal, “monstrous great nuts, as big as my fist,—and very sweet. Well, one of the squirrels, when he saw the monkey, went up and said, ‘Monkey, this is our tree.’
“But the monkey begged the squirrel to let him stay. He said that, if they would, he would do them some favor, some day or other. So the squirrel let him stay.
“By and by, a man came along through the woods with an axe; and he went up to look at this tree. He concluded that he would cut it down. So he began to take off his coat.
“The squirrel came out of his hole, and crept around the back side of the tree, where the man could not see him, and said to the monkey, ‘Monkey, there is a man going to cut down our tree.’
“‘Ah!’ said the monkey; ‘well, I’m pretty cunning; I can contrive some way to drive him off. Do you go up and tell the swallows while I think.’ So the squirrel went up and told the swallows, and they all came down; and then the other squirrel and all the little squirrels came up, and gathered around the monkey in the middle of the tree. He then told them what to do. He told the swallows to fly off softly, and one by one, into the neighboring trees. Then he told the two old squirrels and all the little squirrels to creep down to the branches that were directly over the man’s head. Then he said that he would break off a great many branches, and have them all ready; and when he gave the signal, the birds must all fly together about his ears, making as loud a chirping as they could, and the squirrels must jump down upon his head, and he would throw his branches down, and then come tumbling down himself with a prodigious noise and chattering; and all that, he thought, would frighten the man away.”
“And did they do so?” asked Lucy.
“Yes,” replied Royal. “The monkey gave the signal, and they all came upon the man together,—branches, birds, squirrels, and monkey,—and with such a screaming, chirruping, chattering, and fluttering, that the man was frightened away out of the woods; and he did not dare to come back until the next day, even to get his coat.”
Lucy smiled a little at this ingenious plan formed by the monkey, and then, after a moment’s pause, she asked,—
“Is that an extravagant story, Royal?”
“Yes,” said Royal, “I think that is extravagant enough.”
“Well,” rejoined Lucy, “I like it pretty well.
“And now have you told me all the kinds of stories?”
“Yes, I believe so,” replied Royal.
“No,” added Lucy, “you have not told me any true story. Just tell me one true story, and that will be all.”
“Well,” replied Royal, “let me consider.—Well. Once there was a little girl, and she was going of an errand for her mother.”
“What was her name?” asked Lucy.
“O, never mind about her name,” said Royal. “She was going of an errand to carry a book.”
“That’s just like my errand,” said Lucy.
“After she had set out,” continued Royal, “her brother came and called to her, and she turned round to speak to him. While she was speaking to him, she kept walking on backwards.”
“Why, that’s me, Royal. I verily believe you are telling about me.”
“And she tripped over a root, and tumbled down,” continued Royal.
“It is nobody but me,” said Lucy, “I know, and I don’t want to hear that.”
“But that is a true story, and you said, before I began, that you liked true stories the best.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Lucy; “I like the extravagant stories the best.”
By this time, Lucy and Royal reached Mary Jay’s, and Lucy went in to do her errand, while Royal walked around behind the house to see the water post, which is described in the book called Lucy At Study.
CHAPTER IV.
THE RIDE TO TOWN.
Lucy’s father lived not a great many miles from a town which was quite large; and the family used often to ride to the town in a chaise or carryall. When only two wanted to go, they took the chaise; but if more than two, the carryall, as that had seats for four.
One pleasant morning, Lucy, Miss Anne, and Royal, set out in the carryall to go to the town, to do some shopping. Royal sat upon the front seat to drive. Lucy and Miss Anne sat behind. Royal moved out to the end of the front seat, and then sat with his back turned a little to the side of the carryall; and by this arrangement he could see the horse, and could also join in the conversation with Lucy and Miss Anne.
“What are you going to buy in town, Miss Anne?” asked Royal.
“O, various things,” replied Miss Anne; “among the rest, I am going to buy a book for Lucy.”
“We have not decided. We are going to choose it when we get to the bookstore.”
Just at this moment, Royal’s attention was attracted by the sight of the heads of a yoke of oxen, just coming into view, in the road before them, as they were coming up a hill. The heads seemed to shake and to be agitated, as if the oxen were running. As they came up higher, and Royal could see a part of their bodies, he found that they were running, and drawing after them a large hay cart; that is, a cart with a large rack upon the axletree, for holding hay, instead of the common cart-body. The hay cart was empty. There was nobody near the oxen to drive them.
In an instant, however, Royal’s eye glanced farther down the hill,—for he had now advanced so far towards the brow of it, that he could see better,—and there he perceived a man running up the hill, with a goad-stick in his hand, and shouting out all the time, for the oxen to stop.
“O dear me!” said Lucy, “O dear me! now we shall all be run over.”
“Take the reins, Miss Anne,” said Royal; “just take the reins.” So saying, he passed the reins into Miss Anne’s hands on the back seat, and sprang out of the carryall. He ran forward, and began to march up towards the oxen with a bold and determined look, brandishing his whip, and shouting to them, to make them stop.
The oxen slackened their pace a little, but did not seem much inclined to stop. They, however, turned a little to one side. Royal then concluded to let them go on, but to drive them away out to one side, so that they should not run against the carryall. So he flourished his whip at them, and turned them off more and more. The oxen shook their heads at Royal, but ran on, until, at length, one wheel of the cart passed over a large stone by the side of the road, while the other sank into a hole, and the cart upset. The great rack tumbled off upon one side, and the oxen, having come up against the fence, stopped. Just at this moment, the man came running up to them.
“I am very much obliged to you for stopping my steers,” said the man. “They are as wild as a pair of colts.”
Royal looked at the oxen, and observed that they were quite small.
“I have been to get this hay cart,” continued the man, “and, while I stepped into the blacksmith’s shop a minute, they got away, and undertook to run home. I am much obliged to you for stopping them.”
“But I am sorry your cart is broken,” said Royal.
“O, it is not broken,” replied the man, “only the rack has come off. I can put it right on again,—if you would be so good as to stop and help me a moment, about backing the oxen.”
Just then the man happened to see a boy coming up the road, and he immediately said,—
“Ah, no; here comes Jerry. Jerry!” said he, in a louder voice, calling to the boy, “come here quick, and help me get this rack on.”
Then Royal, finding that he was no longer needed, got into the carryall again, took the reins from Miss Anne’s hands, and drove on.
“The man seems very glad to get his oxen again,” said Miss Anne.
“His steers,” said Lucy. “He said they were steers.”
“Yes,” added Royal; “but he need not have thanked me so much for stopping his steers; I did not think of doing him any good,—but only of keeping them from running against the carryall.”
Lucy here kneeled up upon the seat, and put her head out at the side of the carryall, where the curtain had been rolled up, and looked back to see what they were doing.
“How do they get along, Lucy?” said Royal.
“Why, the man has got the hay cart out in the road, and the oxen and the wheels too.”
“The hay rack, you mean,” said Royal.
“Yes,” said Lucy, “that great thing like a cage, which tumbled off. Now the man is holding it up, and the boy is backing the oxen so as to get the wheels under it. Do you think you could have backed the oxen, Royal, if his boy had not come?”
“Yes,” said Royal, “I could have backed them, I have no doubt.”
“There was one thing,” said Miss Anne, “that I noticed, that was singular.”
“What was it?” asked Royal.
“Why, the great difference in the man’s way of speaking, when he was asking Royal to help him put his cart together, and when he called the boy to come.”
“Yes,” said Royal; “he asked me if I would be kind enough to do it; but he said to Jerry, ‘Here, Jerry, come here quick.’”
“Yes,” rejoined Miss Anne; “now, what was the reason of the difference?”
“Why, Jerry was his boy, I suppose,” said Lucy.
“I don’t see that that makes any difference,” said Royal. “A man ought to speak as pleasantly to his boy as to any other boy.”
“He did speak pleasantly,” said Miss Anne, “only he spoke to Jerry in the form of command; but in speaking to you, he only made a request. The reason was, as Lucy says, that Jerry was his boy, and so bound to do whatever he should say; but you were not his boy, and therefore under no obligation to help him.”
“No,” said Royal, “I might do just as I pleased about it.”
“And yet,” said Miss Anne, “are you not under obligation to help any one whom you find in trouble or difficulty when you can do it so easily?”
“Why, yes,” said Royal.
“So it seems, in that point of view, that you were under obligation to help the man, as truly as his boy Jerry was,—though it was an obligation of a different kind. He was bound to do it, because it is every boy’s duty to obey his father; you, because it is every boy’s duty to help those who are in difficulty or trouble.”
“Yes,” said Royal.
“It is a case very much like the one we had the other day, when Lucy would not run to help you tie the knot. I asked your father about it afterwards, and he explained it to me.”
“And what did he say about it?” asked Royal.
“Why, he said,” rejoined Miss Anne, “that it very often happens that there is a duty which we ought to perform to a person, and yet we are not responsible to him if we do not perform it. He told me a story to help explain it.”
“What was the story, Miss Anne?” said Lucy. “Tell it to us.”
“It was about a widow and her garden. The widow was poor, and rather cross, and she had one son, who took care of her garden. At last her son became sick, and so the poor widow’s garden was neglected.
“Now, it happened that a gentleman lived near, who had a gardener. He was walking by the widow’s house, and he looked over the fence, and he saw that the weeds were getting up pretty high. So he told the widow that the next morning he would bring his gardener, and let him put it in order for her.
“The widow said that she had hired a man to come the next morning.
“‘Very well,’ said the gentleman, ‘I will let my gardener come and help; and then you will not have so much to pay.’
“Accordingly he came the next morning, and set his gardener at work, telling him what to do. Then he went away, and the two men went on working, one upon one side of the garden, and the other on the other.
“At length, after they had been working about an hour, the woman came out and began to scold them because they did not work faster. When she came to the gentleman’s gardener, he stopped, and listened to her a few minutes, leaning on his hoe, and then he said,—
“‘I will thank you, ma’am, to go and scold your own man. I am responsible to my master.’”
“Is that all the story, Miss Anne?” said Lucy, when she found that Miss Anne paused.
“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “that is all.”
“I don’t see how that explains the difficulty, exactly,” said Royal.
“Why, it is to show that, though the gardener was performing a duty which was for the advantage of the woman, yet he was not responsible to her for the performance of it. He was under obligation, but not under obligation to her. So it often happens that persons are under obligation to do things, and yet they are not under any obligations to us. And in such cases, we have no right to insist upon their doing them, nor to command them to do them. You were under obligation to help the man out of his difficulty with the cart, but you were not under obligation to him.”
“Who is it, then, that I am under obligation to, in such a case?” asked Royal.
“Why, to conscience,—or to God. But you are not responsible to the man at all. Of course, if he wishes you to do it, he ought only to request it. He must not command. But his boy is under obligation to him. The obligation is, perhaps, no greater in itself, but it runs to the man himself, and the man has a right to exact the fulfilment of it. But your obligation is not to him at all; and he has no right to insist upon your fulfilling it, or to call you to account for it at all.”
Royal listened very attentively to this explanation, though Lucy did not understand it very well. However, Lucy understood better what followed.
“Your father told me,” continued Miss Anne, “that this was a distinction in moral philosophy, very important for children to understand.”
“Is that moral philosophy?” asked Royal.
“Yes,” rejoined Miss Anne. “He said it would very much promote peace and harmony among children, if they only knew the difference between what they have a right to insist upon from each other, and what they have not. They often think that, because a playmate ought to do a thing, therefore they have a right to insist upon it. For instance, one boy wanted another to go and be his horse, and was displeased with him because he would not go, and found a great deal of fault with him. Another boy, named Thomas, had two apples, and his brother James had none. James asked Thomas to give him one, but Thomas would not. So James sat down muttering sullenly, and looking very ill-humored, and every now and then would tease Thomas to give him an apple. Just then his father came along, and asked him what was the matter. ‘Why, Thomas won’t give me an apple,’ said he, ‘when he has got two, and I haven’t got any.’ ‘Well,’ said his father, ‘you ought not to look out of humor about that, and to try to compel him to give you the apple, by teasing and fretting.’ ‘Why, father,’ said James, ‘I am sure he ought to do as he would be done by; and I know he would want me to give him an apple if I had two.’ ‘Yes,’ replied his father, ‘I don’t deny that he ought to give you the apple. I only deny that you have any right to insist upon it. He is not responsible to you, at all. If he had agreed to give you an apple, on account of something which you had done for him, then the obligation would have been to you, and you might have insisted upon it. But in this case it is only his general obligation to be kind and friendly; and you have no jurisdiction over that. He is not responsible to you for that, at all.’
“So, you see,” continued Miss Anne, “children often insist upon things which they have no right to insist upon,—though perhaps the other children ought to do them.”
“Yes,” said Royal. “Once we were playing together, and there were four boys, and it takes four to play ball,—and we all wanted to play but one, and he wouldn’t, and so the rest of us could not play.”
“Yes,” said Miss Anne. “Now, I suppose that, in such a case, he ought to have been willing to play; but, if he would not, you would have no right to insist upon it. Children very often are unreasonable in urging others to play with them, when they do not wish to.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, “that is the way that Royal always does with me.”
“O no, I don’t, Lucy, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” added Lucy, “you want me to be your horse, very often, when I don’t want to;—and, besides, I don’t think it is proper for me to be your horse.”
“Well, never mind that now,” said Miss Anne. “We won’t spoil the pleasure of our ride by a dispute.”
“Well,” said Lucy, “and I mean to take out my money-purse, and count my money, and see if it is all safe.”
Lucy had several pieces of money which her father had given her to buy something with, in the town. She was going to buy a book, and any thing besides, which Miss Anne might approve. So she poured the money out upon her lap, and began to count it.
“What would you buy with this money, Miss Anne?” said Lucy, after she had counted it, and found it all safe.
“Why, I can hardly say, till I see what they have got to sell. But I can tell you what I think I would not buy.”
“Well,” said Lucy, “what?”
“Why, I think I would not buy any very perishable property.”
“What do you mean by perishable property?”
“Property that is soon consumed or destroyed. Sugar-plums are very perishable property indeed; for you eat them, and they are gone.”
“But a doll isn’t perishable, is it?” said Lucy.
“No, not so perishable as sugar-plums or candy. But you have got a doll.”
“Yes, but I want a new one, for my doll is old and worn out.”
“So, you see, dolls are perishable; that is, they will wear out.”
“Then every thing is perishable,” said Royal, “for every thing will wear out in time.”
“Yes,” replied Miss Anne, “but then some things will last so long that we do not consider them perishable. A silver bowl, for instance, will last for several generations; but then it would wear out in time.”
“I should not think it would ever wear out, if it was really silver,” said Lucy.
“Yes, if it was used, it would wear out in time; but it would take a very long time. At any rate, we should not consider it perishable property. A silver thimble would not be perishable property.”
“Is a book perishable?” asked Lucy.
“Yes, more so than many other things; for it gets worn out and defaced, so that its value is destroyed before a great while. A box is not so perishable,—a handsome, well-made box.”
“I believe I’ll buy a box,” said Lucy.
“I’d buy something not very perishable, if I were you, at any rate, and then you can keep it and enjoy it a great many years.”
“Well,” replied Lucy. “But what other kind of things are there that you would not buy?”
“I would not buy any thing that you are growing away from. I would rather buy something that you are growing up to.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Lucy.
“Why, once there was a boy about three years old. He had never had any playthings bought for him, because his father had no money to spare. But one day his uncle came to visit him, and he gave him a shilling to go and buy himself a plaything with. So he went to the toy-shop, and they showed him a whistle and a ball. Now, he was not quite old enough to play with a ball, though it was almost time for him to be too old to be amused much with a whistle. However, he concluded to take the whistle. It was a very good whistle, and it lasted a long time; but he very soon ceased to care any thing about it. On the other hand, he very soon became big enough to play ball, and then almost every time that he saw his whistle for two years, he wished that it was a ball. He did not consider, when he bought it, that the time for him to be pleased with a whistle was almost gone by, while the time for him to be pleased with a ball was all to come. He bought something that he was growing away from.”
“What kind of a ball was it, Miss Anne?” asked Royal.
“An India rubber ball,” replied Miss Anne, “large, and round, and smooth.”
“What a foolish boy!” said Royal.
“Yes, he was not so wise as a girl I knew once, named Harriet.”
“Why, what did she do?” asked Lucy.
“When she was twelve years old, her father gave her five dollars to buy whatever she pleased with, for a birthday present. There were two things which she thought of, which she could have for five dollars. One was a beautiful waxen doll, with eyes that would open and shut, and a handsome cradle to put it in. The other was a portable desk, to hold writing materials,—such as paper, pens, an inkstand, wafers, sealing-wax, &c. There was also room in it to keep her notes and papers, and any valuable treasures which she might have. She asked her mother which she thought she had better take; and her mother said that she thought the doll would give her the most pleasure for a few days.
“‘And after that, would the desk give me most pleasure?’ asked Harriet.
“‘Yes,’ said her mother,—‘because your time for playing with dolls has nearly gone by. You will feel less and less interest in them now every year,—and the interest will soon be gone entirely. But your interest in writing and in other intellectual pleasures, will increase every year. So that I would recommend to you to buy the desk. If you were three years old instead of twelve, perhaps I should recommend to you to buy the doll; but for you to buy it now, would be like a man’s buying a trunk at the end of his journey.’”
“Well,” said Lucy, “and what did Harriet do?”
“O, she bought the desk, and she liked it better and better every year. She used to write notes, and a journal upon it; and she kept the notes which the other girls wrote to her, and her journal books, and her drawings, and her pencils, and all her treasures, in it. Thus she bought something that she was growing up to.”
Lucy determined to follow Miss Anne’s advice; but she had not time to hear any more, for very soon after this they reached the town.
CHAPTER V.
THE GYPSY PARTY.
One Wednesday evening, in summer, Royal and Lucy were sitting on the front door steps, eating bread and milk, which their mother had given them for supper, when they saw a boy coming along the road, with a little letter in his hand.
“There comes a boy with a letter,” said Royal. “I wonder whether he is going to bring it here for my father.”
The boy walked along, and, when he reached the front gate, he opened it, came up, and handed the note to Royal. “There’s a letter for you.” Then he turned round, and went away again.
Royal looked at the outside of the note, and saw that his own name and Lucy’s were written there. He accordingly opened it, and read as follows:—
“Mary Jay sends her compliments to Royal and Lucy, and would be happy to have their company at a gypsy party, at her house, to-morrow, at 3 o’clock.
“Wednesday Morning.”
“A gypsy party! I wonder what a gypsy party is,” said Lucy.
“It is a party to have a supper out of doors,” said Royal. “We’ll go, Lucy; we’ll certainly go. I should like to see a gypsy supper.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, “if mother will let us. I’ll go directly and ask her.”
Lucy went and showed her note to her mother. Her mother seemed much pleased with it, and she said that Lucy might go.
“And Royal too?” asked Lucy.
“Why,—yes,” said her mother, with some hesitation. “I suppose that I must let Royal go, since he is invited; but it is rather dangerous to admit boys to such parties.”
“Why, mother?” said Lucy.
“Because,” replied her mother, “boys are more rough in their plays than girls, and they are very apt to be rude and noisy.”
Lucy went back to the door, and told Royal that their mother said that they might go.
“But she thinks,” added Lucy, “that perhaps you will be noisy.”
“O no,” said Royal, “I will be as still as a mouse.”
Just then, Royal and Lucy saw a little girl, dressed very neatly, walking along towards their house. As she came nearer, Lucy saw it was Marielle, her old playmate at the school where Lucy first became acquainted with Mary Jay. Marielle advanced towards the house, looking at Lucy with a very pleasant smile. Royal went and opened the gate for her.
“How do you do, Lucy?” said Marielle.
Lucy did not answer, but looked at Marielle with an expression of satisfaction and pleasure upon her countenance.
“Are you going to Mary Jay’s gypsy party to-morrow?” she asked.
“Yes, and Royal too,” replied Lucy. “Are you going?”
“Yes, I am going, and Harriet, and Jane, and Laura Jones, and little Charlotte, and one or two others. My brother is going, too, and William Jones. And we are all going to carry something in baskets to eat.”
“Why, what is that for?” asked Royal.
“Why, you see,” she replied, “Mary Jay is going away in two or three days, and is not coming back for a year; and so she invited us to come and pay her a farewell visit,—all of us that she used to teach in the school. And my mother thought that, as she was going away so soon, she must be very busy; and so she sent me to go and ask her not to make any preparation herself, but to let us all bring things in our baskets; and then she could put them on the table and arrange them after we got there.”
“And what did she say?” asked Lucy.
“Why, she laughed, and said it was a funny way to give a party, to have the guests bring their suppers with them. But, then, pretty soon she said that we might do so; and she told me to say to my mother that she was very much obliged to her indeed.”
“Well,” said Royal, “let’s go in and tell mother about it.”
So the children went in and told their mother, and she said that she thought it was an excellent plan, and that she would give them a pie and some cake, and a good bottle of milk, for their share.
“My mother,” said Marielle, “wanted me to ask you not to send a great deal.”
“Well, that will not be sending a great deal; besides, what would be the harm if I should?”
“Why, she says that generally, in such cases, they carry too much.”
“Yes,” said Royal’s father, who was then sitting in the room reading. “When people form a party to go up a mountain, they each generally take provisions enough for themselves and all the rest of the party besides; so that they have to lug it all up to the top of the mountain, and then to lug it down again.”
They all laughed at this; and Royal’s father went on with his reading. His mother then said that she would not send a great deal, and Marielle bade Lucy and Royal good evening, and went home. The next day, at three o’clock, there were quite a number of children walking along the road towards Mary Jay’s house, all with small baskets in their hands.
Royal, Lucy, and Marielle, went together; and, as they reached the house, they found a boy in the yard, who told them that Mary Jay was at her seat down beyond the garden. So they went through the garden, and thence over into the walk which led down through the trees, as described in Lucy At Study.
“Royal, Lucy, and Marielle, went together.”—Page [76].
As they drew near the place where they were to come in sight of the little pond of water, they heard the sound of voices; and, after a few steps more, they caught a glimpse of something white through the trees. They walked on, and presently they came in sight of a pretty long table, just beyond the pond, upon a flat piece of grass ground, up a little from the pond, and under the trees. The table was surrounded with girls moving about in all directions. Some were opening their baskets, some were hanging up their bonnets upon the branches of the trees, and several were standing around Mary Jay, who was seated at the head of the table, upon a chair, with her feet upon a small cricket, and a crutch lying down by her side.
“O, there they are,” said Lucy, as soon as she saw them; and she began to run. Royal followed, carrying the provisions.
“Ah, Royal,” said Mary Jay, “I am glad you have come; for I want you to help William make us a fireplace to roast our apples and corn. It would not be a gypsy supper without some cooking.”
“A fireplace?” said Royal; “I don’t know how to make a fireplace.”
“O, it is only a gypsy fireplace,” replied Mary Jay; “and that is very easy to make. All you have to do is to cut two crotched sticks, and drive them down into the ground, about as far apart as you can reach; and then cut a green pole, and lay across from one to the other. Then we can build our fire upon one side, and stand up our ears of corn against the pole, on the other; and so they will roast. Only we must turn them.”
“Well,” said Royal; “but where shall I get an axe?”
“You will have to go up to the house and get the axe. You will find one in the shed, just beyond the water post.”
So Royal and William went off after the axe, while the girls were all busy, some about the table, taking out the various stores and arranging them; others rambling about in the paths around, looking at Mary Jay’s stone seat, or playing with the pebble-stones on the margin of the water.
In a short time, Royal returned; and he and William began to look around, among the small trees, for two with branches which would form a crotch.
“Here is one, Royal,” said a gentle voice, at a little distance through the trees.
Royal turned, and saw that Marielle had found one for him. He went to it, to look at it.
“Yes, indeed,” said Royal; “it is a beautiful crotch.”
In fact, it did look very beautiful and regular. The two branches diverged equally from the main stem below, so as to give the fork a very symmetrical form. Royal cut it down. Then he cut off the main stem about a foot from the crotch, and then the two branches a few inches above. He carried it to Mary Jay, to show her what a beautiful crotch he had got, for one.
“And now,” said he, “where shall we make our fireplace?”
“O, any where about here, where there is a level place; you and William can find a place. Marielle may help you.”
So they began to look about for a place. They found a very good place near the brook, and not very far from the table. Royal began to drive down the crotch. But here he soon found difficulty. The two branches of the fork diverged equally from the main stem, and of course, when the point was set into the ground, neither of them was directly over it; so that, when Royal struck upon one of them, the tendency of the blow was to beat the stake over upon one side, and if he struck upon the other branch, it beat it over upon the other side. In a word, it would not drive.
“Strike right in the middle of the crotch,” said William.
Royal did so. This seemed to do better at first; but the axe did not strike fair, as the head of it, in this case, went down into the wedge-shaped cavity between the branches, instead of finding any solid resistance to fall upon. And after a few blows, the branches were split asunder by the force of the axe wedging itself between them; and there was, of course, an end of the business.
“O dear me!” said Royal, with a long sigh, as he stopped from his work, and leaned upon his axe.
As he looked up, he saw an old man, on the other side of the brook, with a sickle in his hand, who had been down in a field at his work, and who was now returning. He had seen Royal driving the stake as he was passing along.
“The trouble is, boy,” said the old man, “that you have not got the right sort of crotch. The arms of it branch off both sides.”
“I thought it was better for that,” said Royal.
“No,” said the man; “it looks better, perhaps, but it won’t drive. Get one where the main stem grows up straight, and the crotch is made by a branch which grows out all on one side. Then you can drive on the top of the main stem.”
“O yes,” said Royal, “I see.”
“Besides,” said the old man, “if that is the place that you have chosen for your fire, I don’t think that it is a very good one.”
“Why not?” said Royal.
“Why, the smoke,” replied the old man, “will drift right down upon the tables. It is generally best to make smokes to leeward.”
So saying, the old man turned around, and walked slowly away.
“What does he mean by making smokes to leeward?” asked a little girl who was standing near. It was Charlotte.
“I know,” said Royal; “let us see,—which way is the wind?” And he began to look around upon the trees, to see which way the wind was blowing.
“Yes, I see,” he added. “It blows from here directly towards the table; we should have smoked them all out. We must go around to the other side of the brook, and then the smoke will be blown away. But first we must go, William, and get some more crotched stakes.”
So Royal and William went looking about after more stakes. They tried to find them of such a character as the old man had described; and this was easy; for it was much more common for a single branch to grow off upon one side, leaving the main stem to go up straight, than for such a fork to be produced as Marielle had found. Marielle seemed to be sorry that her fork had proved so unsuitable; but Royal told her that it was no matter. He said that hers was a great deal handsomer than the others, at any rate, although it would not drive.
They found suitable crotches very easily, and drove them into the ground. Then they cut a pole, and laid it across, and afterwards built a fire upon one side of it; and by the time that the other preparations were ready for their supper they had a good hot fire, and were ready to put the ears of corn down to roast.
The children had a very fine time eating their supper. Some stood at the table; and some carried their cakes and their blueberries away, and sat, two or three together, under the trees, or on the rocks. Lucy went to Mary Jay’s seat, and took possession of that. They made little conical cups of large maple leaves, which they formed by bringing the two wings of the leaf together and pinning them; and then the stem served as a little handle below. They were large enough to hold two or three spoonfuls of blueberries.
They had milk to drink too, and water, which they got from a spring not far from Mary Jay’s seat. Lucy went there to get some water; and, as she was coming back to her seat, bringing it carefully, she saw Royal doing something on the shore of the little pond. She put down her mug, and went to see.
He was making a vessel of a small piece of board. He had a large leaf fastened up for a sail. He secured the leaf, by making a slender mast, and running this mast through the leaf, in and out, as you do with a needle in sewing; and then, leaving the leaf upon the mast, he stuck the end of the mast into the board. Then he loaded his vessel with a cake, and some blueberries, and said that he was going to send it over to the other side, to Charlotte, who was waiting there to receive it. The children all gathered around to see it sail. It went across very beautifully, and Charlotte ate the cargo.
Then they brought the ship round back again, to load it again; and at this time, when it was nearly loaded with other things, Marielle brought the saucer of an acorn which she had gathered from a neighboring tree, and filled it with milk, and then set it carefully upon the stern of the vessel. She said that she wanted Charlotte to have something to drink. But just before they got ready to sail the vessel, they heard a little bell ring at the table, which they all understood at once to be a summons from Mary Jay to them to go there, and attend to what she had to say to them.
So those who were at the water left it at once, and the others came in from the places where they were playing; and all gathered around the table.
“Now, children,” said Mary Jay, “we’ll clear away the table, and then you will have an hour and a half to play before it will be time to go home. First, put all the fragments carefully into the large basket under the table.”
The children looked under the table, and saw a good-sized basket there; and they took all that was left upon the table, and put it carefully in. Then Mary Jay told them to fold up the cloth, and put that in; and they did it. Then William and Royal took the board which formed the table, and carried it up towards the house, and stood it up by the stile at the foot of the garden; the other children carried the basket which was under the table, and the cloth, and all the other baskets, and put them down, in regular order, near the same place. When the children came back, they found that Mary Jay had moved to her stone seat, where she sat waiting for them.
“Now,” said Mary Jay, “the things are all ready to be carried home, and the ground is clear for our plays.”
“What shall we play?” said several voices.
“We’ll see presently,” said Mary Jay, “when you get ready.”
So the children all collected around Mary Jay, some standing and some sitting in various places, upon the flat stones.
“Now,” said Mary Jay, “how many are there here? One, two, three,”—and so she went on counting until she ascertained the number. There were ten.
“There are ten; that will be about eight minutes apiece. Each of you may choose a play for eight minutes. First you may mention any plays that you would like,—so that you may all have a good number in mind to choose from.”
One of the girls said, “Blind man’s buff;” another, “A march;” another, “Hunt the stag;” and several other plays were named.
“Now,” said Mary Jay, “I will call upon one of the oldest children to choose a play. Laura, what should you like for your eight minutes?”
“A march,” said Laura.
“Yes,” said all the children, “let’s have a march.”
“Would any of the rest of you,” said Mary Jay, “like to have your eight minutes added to Laura’s? and that will make sixteen minutes for a march.”
“Yes, I,” and “I,” said several voices.
“But then you must remember,” said Mary Jay, “that whoever gives up her eight minutes to a march, cannot choose any other play for it.”
“O, well, then I don’t want to give mine,” said one of the girls, “for I want to have Blind-man’s-buff for mine.”
However, there was one of the girls who decided to add her eight minutes to Laura’s for the march; and so, at Mary Jay’s command, they all formed a line, and marched about under the trees for quarter of an hour. Mary Jay appointed Royal to be the captain; and so they all followed him around and under the trees, singing a merry song all the way. They had branches of the trees for banners.
When the march was over, Mary Jay called for more plays, and they played three more times, about eight minutes each, as near as Mary Jay could estimate the time.
“But, Mary Jay,” said Royal, “you have passed by Marielle; and she is older than the others that you have called upon.”
“So I have,” said Mary Jay. “Marielle, I did not mean to forget you.”
“O, it’s no matter,” said Marielle.
“Well, what play should you like? You shall take your turn now.”
“Cannot we choose any thing besides plays?” asked Marielle.
“Why, yes,” replied Mary Jay, “perhaps so; I’ll see. What should you like?”
Marielle looked down, and appeared half afraid to say what she wished; but presently she said,—
“Why, if you would be kind enough to read us a story out of your Morocco Book.”
“O yes,” “Yes,” exclaimed all the children, “let us have a story out of the Morocco Book.”
“Very well,” said Mary Jay; “I have no objection. I can find a short one, which will not take more than eight minutes.”
But the children did not want a short one, and those who had not chosen plays agreed to appropriate all their time to the Morocco Book.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MOROCCO BOOK.
Mary Jay accordingly sent up two of the children after the Morocco Book. She told them that her sister would give it to them. They knocked at the door of the house, and, when Mary Jay’s sister came to the door, they told her what they wanted. Then her sister went in, and presently came back, and brought the Morocco Book, which she had wrapped up carefully in a newspaper; for she knew that Mary Jay was very careful of the Morocco Book.
When the messengers had returned to where the children were assembled, Mary Jay took off the newspaper, and brought the handsome Morocco Book to view. She looked at the index a few minutes, and then turned to a place at about the middle of the book, and read the following story.—