Lucy did not cry; though she found it very hard to refrain. Her father and mother, and Miss Anne and Royal, were all going, and she had to remain at home. They were going, too, in a kind of barouche; and when it drove up to the door, Lucy thought there would be plenty of room for her. She found it hard to submit; but submission was made somewhat easier by her mother’s not giving her any reasons. When a mother gives a girl reasons why she cannot have something which she is very strongly interested in, they seldom satisfy her, for she is not in a state of mind to consider them impartially. It only sets her to attempting to answer the reasons, and thus to agitate and disturb her mind more than is necessary. It is therefore generally best not to explain the reasons until afterwards, when the mind of the child is in a better condition to feel their force.
After the barouche drove away, Lucy went out into the kitchen to see Joanna; and she asked Joanna what she should do. Joanna advised her to go out and play in the yard until she had got her work done, and then to come in and sit with her. Lucy did so. She played about in the grass until Joanna called from the window, and told her that she was ready.
Then Lucy came in. She found the kitchen all arranged in good order, and Joanna was just sitting down before a little table, at the window, to sew. Lucy got her basket of blocks, and began to build houses in the middle of the floor.
“Joanna,” said she, after a little while, “I wish you would tell me something more about when you were a farmer’s daughter.”
“Why, I am a farmer’s daughter now,” said Joanna.
“But I mean when you were a little girl, and lived among the stumps,” said Lucy.
“Well,” said Joanna,—“what shall I tell you about? Let me see.—O, I’ll tell you how I got lost in the woods, one day.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lucy, “I should like to hear about that very much indeed.”
“One day,” said Joanna, “my father was going a fishing, and my brother was going with him.”
“The same one that made your hen-coop?” asked Lucy.