Cousin Lucy's Conversations

That night, just before sundown, when Royal and Lucy went out to see their chickens, Royal told Lucy that she might have the little black chicken and two others for her own.

“Well,” said Lucy, clapping her hands, “and will you let me keep them in your coop?”

“Yes,” replied Royal; “or I will let you own the coop with me; – you shall have a share in the coop, in proportion to your share of the chickens.”

“In proportion?” said Lucy; “what does that mean?”

“Why, just as much of the coop as you have of the chickens,” said Royal.

“Well,” said Lucy, “how much of the coop will it be, for three chickens?”

“O, I don’t know,” said Royal.

“So much?” said Lucy, putting her hand upon the side of the coop, so as to mark off a small portion of it.

“O, I don’t mean,” said Royal, “to divide it. We will own it all together, in partnership; only you shall have a small share, just in proportion to your chickens.”

Lucy did not understand this very well, but she thought more about the chickens than about the coop; and she began to look at them, one by one, carefully, to consider which she should have for hers. She chose two, besides the black one; and she said that she meant to get Miss Anne to name them for her.

Royal took a great deal of pleasure, after this, every time that he came out to see his chickens, in observing how much interest Lucy took, every day, in coming to see her chickens, and how much enjoyment it afforded her to be admitted thus to a share in the property.

CONVERSATION XI

GETTING LOST

One afternoon, a short time after dinner, Lucy was sitting upon a seat under a trellis, near the door which led towards the garden, when her mother came out.

“Lucy,” said she, “I have got some rather bad news for you.”

“What is it?” said Lucy.

“I am rather afraid to tell you, for fear it will make you cry.”

“O no, mother; I shall not cry,” said Lucy.

“Well,” said her mother, “we shall see. The news is, that we are all going away this afternoon, and are going to leave you at home.”

“What, all alone?” said Lucy.

“Not quite alone; for Joanna will be here,” said her mother.

“Where are you going?” said Lucy.

“We are going away, to ride.”

“Why can’t I go too?” said Lucy.

“I can explain the reason better when we come back,” answered her mother.

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.

“No, he was a bigger one than that. I asked my father to let me go too. At first he said I was too little; but afterwards he said I might go.”

“How big were you?” said Lucy.

“I was just about your age,” said Joanna. “My mother said I could not possibly walk so far; but father said I should not have to walk but a little way, for he was going down the brook in a boat.

“So father concluded to let me go, and we started off, – all three together. We went across the road, and then struck right into the woods.”

“Struck?” said Lucy.

“Yes; that is, we went right in.”

“O,” said Lucy.

“We walked along by a sort of cart-road a little while, until we came to a place where I just began to see some water through the trees. Father said it was the brook.

“When we got down to it, I found that it was a pretty wide brook; and the water was deep and pretty still. There was a boat in the brook. The boat was tied to a tree upon the shore; my brother got in, and then my father put me in; and afterwards he untied the boat, and threw the rope in, and then got in himself. Then there were three of us in.”

“Wasn’t you afraid?” said Lucy.

“Yes, I was afraid that the boat would tip over; but father said that it wouldn’t. But he said that I must sit still, if I didn’t want the boat to upset. So I sat as still as I could, and watched the trees and bushes, moving upon the shore.”

“I wish I could go and sail in a boat,” said Lucy.

“It is very pleasant,” said Joanna, “when the water is smooth and still. The branches of the trees hung over the water where we were sailing along, and one time we sailed under them, and my brother broke me off a long willow stick.

“After a time, we came to the end of the brook, where it emptied into the pond.”

“Emptied?” said Lucy.

“Yes; that is, where it came out into the pond.”

“Do brooks run into ponds?” asked Lucy.

“Not always,” said Joanna; “sometimes they run into other larger brooks, and sometimes into rivers, and sometimes into ponds. This brook ran into a pond; and when we came to the end of the brook, our boat sailed right out into a pond. This pond was the place where they were going to catch the fishes.”

“Why didn’t they catch the fishes in the brook?” asked Lucy.

“I believe they could not catch such large fishes there,” said Joanna. “At any rate, they went out into the pond. There was a point of land at the mouth of the brook, and when my father had got out around this point, he began to fish.”

“Did he catch any?” asked Lucy.

“He caught one, and my brother caught one; and after that, they could not catch any more for some time. At last, my father said it was not worth while for them both to stay there all the afternoon, and that my brother might go back home by a road across through the woods, and he would stay and see what luck he should have himself. He said, too, that I might stay with him, if I chose.”

“And did you?” asked Lucy.

“No,” replied Joanna. “At first, I thought I should like to stay with father; but then I had already become pretty tired of sitting in the boat with nothing to do, and so I concluded to go with my brother. Besides, I wanted to see what sort of a road it was across through the woods.

“My father then took his line in, and paddled the boat to the shore, to let me and my brother get out. Then he went back to his fishing-ground again, and let down his line. As for my brother and myself, we went along a little way, until we came to a large pine-tree, which stood not very far from the shore of the pond; and there we turned into the woods, and walked along together.”

“And was it in these woods that you got lost?” said Lucy.

“Not exactly,” said Joanna; “but I will tell you all about it. We went along a little way without any difficulty, but presently we came to a bog.”

“What is a bog?” asked Lucy.

“Why, it is a low, wet place, where wild grass and rushes grow. The path led through this bog, and brother said he did not think that I could get along very well.”

“I should not think that he could get along himself,” said Lucy.

“Yes,” answered Joanna, “he could get along by stepping upon the stones and hummocks of grass; and he tried to carry me, at first; but he soon found that it would be a great deal of work, and he said that I had better go back to my father, and get into the boat, and stay with him.

“I said, ‘Well;’ and he carried me back as far as to hard ground; and then he told me to go back by the path, until I came to the pine-tree; and then he said I should only have to follow the shore of the pond, a short distance, when I should come in sight of father’s boat.”

“Yes, but how could you get into the boat,” said Lucy, “without getting wet, when it was so far from the shore?”

“O, I could call to my father, and he would come to the shore and take me in,” said Joanna.

“Well,” said Lucy, “tell on.”

“I walked along the path, without any trouble, until I came to the great pine-tree, where I saw a woodpecker.”

“A woodpecker?” said Lucy.

“Yes; that is, a kind of a bird which pecks the bark and wood of old trees, to get bugs and worms out of it, to eat.”

“I should not think that bugs and worms would be good to eat,” said Lucy.

“They are good for woodpeckers,” said Joanna. “This woodpecker was standing upon the side of the great pine-tree, clinging to the bark. He has sharp claws, and can cling to the bark upon the side of a tree. I looked at him a minute, and then went on.

“I followed the shore of the pond, until I came to the place where we had left my father fishing; but when I looked out upon the water there, the boat was nowhere to be seen. I was very much frightened.”

“Where was he gone?” said Lucy.

“I did not know then,” said Joanna; “but I learned afterwards that he had found that he could not catch any fishes there, and so he concluded to go up the brook again, and see if he could not catch any there. I did not know this then, and I could not think what had become of him. I was frightened. I did not see how I could ever find my way home again. What do you think I did first?”

“I don’t know,” said Lucy. “What was it?”

“I called out, Father! Father! Father! as loud as I could call; and then I listened for a reply, – but I could not hear any.”

“Then what did you do?” asked Lucy.

“Why, I began to consider whether I could not go home the way that my brother had gone, by walking along through the mud, even if it was deep. I thought I had better get my feet wet and muddy than stay there in the woods and starve.”

“Well, did you go that way?” asked Lucy.

“No,” said Joanna; “on thinking more of it, I was afraid to go. I did not know but that the mud would be deep enough somewhere to drown me; and then, besides, I did not know that I could find the way, any farther than I had gone with my brother.

“The next plan I thought of, was to follow the shore of the brook up. You remember that we came down the brook, in the boat; and of course I knew that, if I went up the brook, either on the water or close to it, upon the shore, I should be going back towards home. I tried this way, but I found that I could not get along.”

“Why couldn’t you get along?” asked Lucy.

“Because,” said Joanna, “the trees and bushes were so thick, and the ground was so wet and swampy, in some places, that I couldn’t get through. Then I came back, and sat down upon a log, near the shore of the pond, and began to cry.”

“And didn’t you ever get home?” said Lucy.

“Certainly,” said Joanna, laughing, “or else how could I be here now to tell the story?”

“O! – yes,” said Lucy. “But how did you get home?”

“Why, pretty soon I thought that the best plan would be for me to stay just where I was, for I thought that as soon as my father and brother should both get home, and find that I was not there, they would come after me; and if they came after me, I knew they would come, first of all, to the place where my brother had told me to go, near the mouth of the brook. So I concluded that I would wait patiently there until they came.

“I waited all the afternoon, and they did not come; and at last the sun went down, and still I was there alone.”

“Why did not they come for you sooner?” asked Lucy.

“Why, the reason was, that my father did not get home until night. When he went up the brook, he found a place where he could catch fishes quite fast; and so he staid there all the afternoon. He thought I was safe at home with my brother. And my brother, who was at home all this time, thought that I was safe in the boat with my father.

“When it began to grow dark, I thought I should have to stay in the woods all night; but then I thought that, at any rate, they would come for me the next morning; and I began to look around for a good place to lie down and go to sleep. But, just then, I heard a noise, like a noise in the water, through the woods; and I looked that way, and saw a light glancing along through the trees. It was my father and brother coming down the brook in the boat. I called out to them as loud as I could, and they heard me and answered. They came round the point of land, and then up to the shore where I was, and took me in. And so I got home.”

Here Lucy drew a long breath, very much relieved to find that Joanna was safe home again.

“What did you do when you got home?” said she.

“I don’t recollect very well,” said Joanna, “only I remember that my mother let me sit up pretty late, and eat some of father’s fishes, which she fried for supper.”

When Miss Anne came home that night, Lucy told her the story which Joanna had related to her. She told her while Miss Anne was putting her to bed. Lucy said that she should like to be lost in the woods.

“O no,” said Miss Anne, “you would not like the reality. It makes an interesting story to relate, but the thing itself must be very distressing.”

“Well, at any rate,” said Lucy, “I should like to sail under the trees in a boat.”

“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “that would be pleasant, no doubt.”

“And to see a woodpecker,” said Lucy.

“Yes, very likely,” said Miss Anne.

CONVERSATION XII

LUCY’S SCHOLAR

After this, Lucy often “played boat” for amusement. She built her boat of chairs and crickets, and had the hearth brush for a paddle.

One evening, just after tea, when she was playing in this way, in the parlor, Royal looking on, she said to Miss Anne,

“I wish we had a real boat.”

“A real boat,” said Miss Anne, “would do no good, unless you had a place to sail it in.”

“Couldn’t we sail it in our brook?” asked Lucy.

“No, indeed,” said Royal; “there is scarcely water enough in our brook to float my turtle.”

“O Royal,” said Lucy, “it is a great deal too deep for your turtle.”

“In some places,” said Miss Anne; “but to sail a boat, you must have a long extent of deep water. I should think, however, that you might have a better boat than you can make of chairs and crickets.”

“How could we make it?” said Lucy.

“Why, Royal might find a long box, out behind the barn; or two common boxes, and put them together, end to end, out in the yard. You might put two boards across for seats, and have poles for paddles.”

“But it would not sail any,” said Royal.

“If you want it to sail, you must put some rollers under it, and then you can push it along a little.”

Royal said that that was an excellent plan, and that he meant to go and make such a boat the very next day. He said he did not believe but that he could put a mast in, and hoist up a sail; or at least a flag or a streamer.

“Well,” said Lucy, “we will.”

“I mean to go now and see if there is a box,” said Royal; “it is just light enough.”

So Royal went off out of the room.

“Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “how much does a real boat cost?”

“I don’t know, exactly, how much,” said Miss Anne.

“I don’t suppose I should have money enough to buy a boat, even if we had a deep brook to sail it in,” added Lucy.

“I don’t know,” said Miss Anne; “how much money have you got?”

“I have not got but a little; it is a dollar, or else a half a dollar; or a sixpence; I don’t know exactly. Royal has got more than I.”

Miss Anne merely said, “Has he?” and then the conversation dropped. She had just taken her seat at her work table, and began to be busy.

“I wish I knew of some way that I could earn money,” said Lucy. “Do you know of any way, Miss Anne?”

“What did you say?” asked Miss Anne.

“Don’t you know of some way that I could earn money?”

“Why, I don’t know; earning money is rather hard work, as I’ve heard people say. I believe young ladies generally earn money by teaching.”

“Well,” said Lucy, “if I could only get any scholars.”

“Why, you must be your own scholar; teach yourself to read. Come, I think that will be an excellent plan.”

“Can I earn any money so?” said Lucy.

“Yes, I should think so. It would take you three months, at a school, to learn your letters, and three months is twelve weeks. Now, I suppose that your father would have to pay about sixpence a week for you to go to school, and that would make twelve sixpences; and I presume he would be willing to give you as much as eight of the sixpences, if you would learn to read yourself.”

“Why not all the twelve?” asked Lucy.

“Because you would not do quite all yourself. Somebody would have to answer your questions, and show you what the letters were, at first; so that you could not do it all yourself. I should think that perhaps you might earn eight out of the twelve sixpences. That would be one sixpence for every three letters.”

“Well,” said Lucy, “I mean to try.”

“If you think you would like to try,” said Miss Anne, “I’ll form a plan for you, so that you can begin to-morrow.”

Lucy said she should like to try, and accordingly Miss Anne reflected upon the subject that evening, endeavoring to contrive some plan by which Lucy might sit down by herself and study her letters, half an hour every day, until she had learned them all. She thought of a plan which she hoped might answer pretty well; and the next morning she made preparations for carrying it into execution.

First she got Lucy’s little table, and set it near one of the windows in her room; she also put her little chair before it. Then she got a large flat pin-cushion, and put upon the table.

“Why, Miss Anne!” said Lucy, who stood by looking at all these preparations, “what is the pin-cushion for? I never heard of studying with a pin-cushion.”

“You’ll see,” said Miss Anne. “I am going to have you learn to read on the pin-cushion method.”

Then Miss Anne opened an ebony box, which she had upon her table, and took out a very large pin, and also a stick of red sealing-wax. She carried these into the kitchen, Lucy following her; then she lighted a lamp, and melted some of the sealing-wax, and stuck it upon the head of the pin, turning it round and round, and then warming it, and pressing it with her fingers, until at last she had made a little ball of sealing-wax, about as big as a pea, which covered and concealed the original head of the pin.

“There,” said Miss Anne, “that is your pointer.”

“Let me take it, Miss Anne,” said Lucy. “I want to take it.”

Miss Anne handed the pointer to Lucy, and she looked at it carefully, as she walked slowly along back into Miss Anne’s room. When she got there, Miss Anne took it, and stuck it into the pin-cushion, and requested Lucy not to touch it.

Then she went and found some of the scattered leaves of an old picture-book, which had once been Royal’s, but was now nearly worn out and almost destroyed. She took one of these leaves, and spread it out upon the pin-cushion. Then she seated Lucy before it, and put the pointer in her hands.

“Now, Lucy,” said she, “what letter do you know?”

“I know o the best,” said Lucy.

Then Miss Anne pointed to the upper line, and in the third word there was an o.

“There,” said she – “prick it with your pointer.”

Lucy pricked through the o with great force, so as to sink the pin for half its length into the pin-cushion.

“That will do,” said Miss Anne. “Now look along until you find another o.”

Lucy found one about the middle of the line.

“Now,” said Miss Anne, “prick him too, – only do it gently, so as just to put the point in a little way; and when you are doing it, say, o.”

Lucy did so. She pressed the point of the pin through the letter, and at the instant that it went through, she said, o.

“Now,” said Miss Anne, “the plan is for you to go on in that way. Look all through that line, and prick every o you can find. Then take the next line, and the next, and so on regularly through the whole, and prick every o. After you have done, put the pointer into the pin-cushion, and the pin-cushion into your drawer. Then set your chair back, and bring the paper to me.”

Lucy was very ready to go on with this work. In fact, while Miss Anne was speaking, she had found another o, and was just going to prick; but Miss Anne stopped her, and told her that it was not rulable to begin to obey her orders until she had finished giving them.

At last, Miss Anne went out of the room, and left Lucy at her work. Lucy pricked away, very industriously, for nearly half an hour. She had then got almost to the bottom of the page. There she found a capital o, thus, O, at the beginning of a sentence; and she did not know whether she ought to prick such a one as that or not. While she was considering, she heard Royal’s voice in the entry way, calling her.

Lucy answered, in a loud voice,

“Here I am, Royal, – here, in Miss Anne’s room.”

Royal advanced to the door of Miss Anne’s room, and looked in. He had his cap on, and seemed to be in haste.

“Come, Lucy,” said he, “let’s go and make our boat.”

“Well,” said Lucy, “just wait till I have pricked two more lines.”

“Pricked,” said Royal, – “what do you mean by pricking?”

Royal came up to the little table where Lucy was at work, and looked over her shoulder, while she explained to him what she was doing.

“I am going to find every o there is on this page, and prick them all. I have pricked down to here already, and now I have got only two lines more to prick, and then I shall come out.”

“O, come out now,” said Royal, “and let the pricking go.”

“No,” said Lucy, “I must wait and finish my work.”

“That isn’t work,” said Royal; “it is nothing but play. It does not do any good.”

“Yes it does,” said Lucy; “I am doing it to earn money.”

“To earn money!” repeated Royal; and he began to laugh aloud at the idea of earning money in any such way as that.

Lucy explained to Royal that this was a way which Miss Anne had contrived for her to learn her letters herself, without troubling other people, and that she had told her that she should have sixpence for every three letters.

Royal then perceived that the plan was at least worthy of being treated with more respect than he had at first supposed; – but then he told Lucy that, in his opinion, she was beginning wrong.

“You ought to begin with some letter that you don’t know, Lucy,” said he; “you know o now, as well as I know my own thumb; and of course it’s of no use to prick it.”

Lucy did not know what to reply to this reasoning, – only that Miss Anne had told her to prick o, and Miss Anne knew best.

“At any rate,” said Royal, “you can finish it another time; so come out with me now, and help me get out the boxes for our boat.”

Lucy concluded that she would go out a few minutes with Royal, and then come back again, and finish her work. They accordingly went out together.

They found one long box, which Royal said would do very well indeed for a boat. The box was made to pack bedsteads in, and of course it was more than six feet long; but it was narrow, like a boat, and Royal said it was just the thing.