Behind his father’s house there was a little brook, flowing into the river. In this stream Robert had built a dam, and put up a water-wheel, which kept turning day and night till a freshet came and swept it into the river.
His father was a carpenter, and Robert spent a great part of his leisure hours in the shop, inventing or constructing queer machines, of which no one but himself knew the use; and I am not sure that he always knew himself.
On his birthday, when Robert was eleven years old, his oldest brother, who lived in Boston, sent him a copy of Robinson Crusoe as a birthday present. Almost every child reads this book, and I suppose there is not another book in the world which children like to read so well as this.
It is the story of a man who was wrecked on an island, far away from the main land, and on which no human being lived. The book tells how Robinson Crusoe lived on the island, what he had to eat, and how he obtained it; how he built a boat, and could not get it into the water, and then built another, and did get it into the water; about his dog and goats, his cat and his parrots, and his Man Friday.
The poor man lived alone for a long time, and most of us would think he could not have been very happy, away from his country and friends, with no one to speak to but his cat and goats, and his Man Friday, and none of them could understand him.
Robert Gray didn’t think so. He read the book through in two or three days after he received it, and thought Robinson Crusoe must have had a nice time of it with his cat and his goats, and his Man Friday.
He was even silly enough to wish himself on a lonely island, away from his father and mother. He thought he should be happy there in building his house, and roaming over his island in search of food, and in sailing on the sea, fishing, and hunting for shell fish.
Then he read the book through again, and the more he read the more he thought Crusoe was a great man, and the more he wished to be like him, and to live on an island far away from other people.
“Have you read Robinson Crusoe?” said Robert Gray to Frank Lee, as they were walking home from school one day.
“Yes, three times,” replied Frank; and his eyes sparkled as he thought of the pleasure which the book had afforded him.