“And didn’t tell m-e!” said Fanny, in a whimpering tone.
“No,” replied George, “but I will tell you the reason why I did not. Had I told you then, Fanny, we should never have seen these little birds here. You haven’t the art of keeping a secret belonging to your own concerns or another’s, long enough for anything depending on its being kept to come to pass. You will surely, in some way, let it slip too soon. You would not tell it if you promised not to do so; but by some air or act, or mysterious manner, you would show them that you knew something that was unknown to others, and set them to watching and studying for it. If I had told you of the nest, you would have wanted to be running out every little while to see how it went on, till the bird would have found herself watched, and forsaken it, to build somewhere else. Or you would have wanted to break the blue shells, to see if the insides of the eggs were growing into birds; just as you dug up your flower-seeds, to know if they were sprouted; and broke open the green rose-buds, to find out if the under leaves were turning red. So your seeds never came up, and your roses didn’t bloom; all for your impatience and curiosity. If you had not done this, your continual coming would have drawn the attention of some of the boys or girls, to learn what was here, till they would have found the nest, and robbed it. You have too much curiosity, Fanny. If you choose, tell your own secrets, and take the consequences. But they who cannot keep their own, are not very likely to be trusted with those of others. And as to coming at them by prying, I should feel as if I was ‘tiefing,’ as the Frenchman told his little boy he had been doing, when he cut the shoot from grandpapa’s English walnut-tree, to make him a rattan. If I discovered, by accident, what concerned another, and was not designed for my knowledge, I should feel sorry, and that I had no more right to tell or expose it, than I should have to spend a piece of money that I saw another drop. This secret was the bird’s—and I should have caused her great distress by telling it. It is the kind of curiosity which makes you want to know what others are about, what they have, and so on, that gets you into your worst troubles, sister. You saw John bring in a covered basket, and put it on a shelf in the cellar closet. The next that was heard was the basket, eggs and all, smash upon the brick floor; and sister Fanny shouting lamentably and crying, ‘Oh, dear, dear, they are all over my feet!’ So none of us had pudding that day. Then, when you saw your mother wet her eyes with clear water from a phial, and thought you’d try it too, you found the sal volatile not quite so cooling to yours, as the rose-water to hers. No wonder that they wept!
“Now, Fanny, since I’ve played minister, and preached you such a sermon on curiosity over this nest, I know you’ll prove so good a hearer as not to show that you know anything about the secret, till the birds are a few days older, and can fly away.—Then they’ll come and do the singing part of the service, from the trees around our house.”
Fanny looked thoughtful and solemn, and only replied, “I’m glad I didn’t break the bird’s eggs. There never would have been any music nor pretty birds come from these if I did break them. They would have been made into a pudding; the pudding would have made me heavy and sleepy, so that I should not have got my lesson so well, and I should have been mortified at school.”
SCIENCE OF THE HUMAN FRAME.
THE SKIN.
Father. It is pleasant and profitable, my children, to learn the uses of various parts of the human body; for when we understand the uses of any member of the body, and the manner in which it is composed, we shall be better able to avoid all things which would interfere with those uses. It seems to me that it would be useful for you to give your attention to these subjects, and I will give you all the assistance that I am able.