Incidents of childhood

by Anonymous

“Now,” said Peter, “here’s my fortune to be sure in this box: what should an Iron Box be for, but to keep gold and diamonds in. Nobody shall know a word of this till I see what’s in it.” He knocked and banged it about on the rocks for some time, to get it open; but finding his efforts vain, he determined, for the present, to carry it to the old sloop, where he spent so much of his time; and lodge it safely in the sand which filled the hold: by the time he had done this, it was nearly dark.

Although he had been kept awake some part of the night, in making various guesses of what might be in the box, and planning what he should do with his treasure, Peter rose two hours before his usual time the next morning. The rising sun shone upon the highest peak of the rocky headland, just as he climbed upon the deck of the sloop. He had brought a large knife, and a hammer with him, to force the box open; but he found he could not get the point of the knife in any where; and all his blows with the hammer only made the rusty flakes of iron peel off from the sides of the box: no trace of a key-hole could be found; and when the top of the box was cleaned, it appeared that the lid was screwed down on three sides. Peter buried the box again in the same place; and set himself to think what was to be done. He knew that the blacksmith at the village could open the box easily enough; but he would trust his secret to nobody. The only way therefore was to procure tools, and go to work upon it himself. Lazy folks, when they choose to exert themselves, are often very ingenious, and sometimes, even, very diligent. Peter had not a penny of his own. How was he to get money enough to buy a screw-driver?

Peter Simons, as we have said before, could plait a straw hat pretty neatly. It was a sort of employment that suited him; because he could do it while he sat lolling in the sunshine; thinking about nothing; with his eyes half shut, and his mouth half open. He thought that if he made two or three hats, he might be able to sell them at the town for as much money as would buy the screw-driver, or what other tools he might want. He procured the straw therefore, and taking it to the cabin of the old sloop, went to work more heartily than ever he had done in his life before. Peter’s father and mother concerned themselves very little with the manner in which he spent his time: and when he took his dinner with him, and was absent the whole day, his mother was glad to get rid of him, and asked him no questions when he came home in the evening.

The first thing that Peter did every morning before he sat down to his straw-hat making, was to take the box out of the sand, and make some violent efforts to force it open without further ado: but after spending some time in turning it about, looking at it, banging it against the rock, and trying to wheedle in the point of the knife, he quietly buried it in its place; having convinced himself afresh that the only way was to go on steadily with the plan he had determined upon. He often wondered that he could not hear the diamonds or the guineas rattle, when he shook the box; but he concluded that it was stuffed so full, that there was no room for them to wag.

After Peter had been thus diligently employed several days, he began to feel a pleasure in work which was quite new to him; although he now rose two or three hours earlier than he used to do, the days seemed to him shorter instead of longer than they did when he spent all his time in idleness. He almost lost his habit of yawning; and when he went home in the evening, instead of squatting down sulkily in the chimney corner, he would jump about the house, and do little jobs for his mother. “I don’t know what’s come to our Peter,” said his mother, “he’s not the same boy that he was.”

At length he finished three straw hats; which he reckoned he might sell to the boys on the quay, at the neighbouring sea-port town, for a shilling at least. Off he set, therefore, early the next morning; going a roundabout way, to avoid being seen by any one who knew him: the distance was ten miles. He sold his hats in the course of the day—bought a screw-driver and an iron wedge; and got back time enough to go and deposit his tools along with the box before he returned home.

Although he was very tired with his walk, he rose the next morning before day-break; and he felt no doubt that by the time his mother had made the kettle boil for breakfast, he should be a rich man: but Peter reckoned rather too hastily. He soon found that he could do nothing with the screw-driver: all his efforts only made the heads of the screws smooth and bright: he perceived that he must cut off the heads of the screws, by filing deep notches in the edge of the lid; for this purpose he must get two files; to procure which he must sell at least, two more hats; this was a sad trial of Peter’s patience. It was a whole week before he made his second journey to the town, and bought the two files. But he had now a long job before him. Not being used to hard work, it was late in the evening before he had made a notch so deep as completely to cut away the head of the first screw, and there were nine screws in the lid.

His arms ached so much, when he went to bed, that he could hardly sleep; and his wrists were so stiff the next morning, that he made very little progress in his work during the whole day; but kept filing faintly,—a little at one screw, and then a little at another. The third and fourth day, however, he seemed to have gained strength by labour; and after a week’s toil, he filed away the head of the last screw: but, even now, the screws were so completely rusted into their holes, that he began to think all the force he could use would never make the lid move: at length a lucky blow drove the iron wedge a full inch under the lid: and, after a great deal of twisting and hammering, the box came open. And what was in it? Nothing at all!—empty—empty—quite empty!

With the hammer in one hand, and the wedge in the other, Peter stood staring into the box a long while, scarcely knowing where he was. At last he scrambled up out of the hold of the vessel; laid himself down upon the deck, and cried and sobbed for an hour or two. But he resolved that he would not be laughed at for his disappointment, so he dried up his tears; slunk home when it grew dark; went to bed without taking his supper; and fretted till he fell asleep.

But Peter Simons had now learned to exert himself,—his thoughts had been actively engaged for several weeks; he had felt the satisfaction of earning money by his own labour; he had broke the habit of lying in bed till breakfast time; he had become really stronger by hard work; in short, he could not bear the thought of living for the future as he had done, in wretched idleness. “Father,” said he, “I should like to earn my living like other folks: I wish you’d put me to the blacksmith’s to work.”