“Your explanation,” said Louisa, “appears very clear and satisfactory.”
“The curve which Projectiles (that is to say, bodies projected into the air) describe, is termed a Parabola [(16)], although the resistance of the air, which is not recognised in the theory, produces a considerable influence on the practical result.”
The children now proceeded to amuse themselves with the sling. Louisa challenged Tom to a trial of skill. She fancied that she could hurl a stone with greater accuracy than her brother; but after several contests she acknowledged herself vanquished, for Tom had succeeded in striking the trunk of an old tree at a considerable distance, while his sister was never able to throw the stone within several yards of the mark.
“Well done, Tom!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour; “why you will soon equal in skill the ancient natives of the Balearic Islands!”
“And were they famous for this art?” asked Louisa.
“With such dexterity,” replied her father, “did they use the sling, that we are told their young children were not allowed any food by their mothers, except that which they could fling down from the beam where it was placed aloft. I fancy, however, Tom, that you would become very hungry before you could strike an object in yonder poplar.”
“At all events, I will try,” said Tom.
He accordingly whirled round his sling, and discharged stone, which flew forward with great velocity, but in a direction very wide from the mark at which it was aimed. In the next moment a violent hallooing was heard: it was from the vicar, who had narrowly escaped the boisterous salutation of the falling stone, which, in its anxiety to throw itself at the feet of the reverend gentleman, struck the beaver penthouse that defended his upper story, and by a resolution of forces which we have endeavoured to explain, darted off in the direction of the side of a parallelogram, and was thus averted from the equally sensitive antipodes of his venerable person, the brains in his head, and the corns in his shoes.
“Upon my word, young gentleman!” cried the vicar, “I expected nothing less than the fate of the giant of Gath.”
“My dear Mr. Twaddleton,” exclaimed Tom, in a tone of alarm, “I sincerely hope that you have not been struck?”