To teach Bonnyboy the trade of a carpenter was a task which would have
exhausted the patience of all the saints in the calendar. If there was
any possible way of doing a thing wrong, Bonnyboy would be sure to hit
upon that way. When he was eleven years old he chopped off the third
joint of the ring-finger on his right hand with a cutting tool while
working the turning-lathe; and by the time he was fourteen it seemed a
marvel to his father that he had any fingers left at all. But Bonnyboy
persevered in spite of all difficulties, was always cheerful and of good
courage, and when his father, in despair, exclaimed: “Well, you will
never amount to anything, Bonnyboy,” he would look up with his slow,
winning smile and say:
“Don’t worry, father. Better luck next time.”
“But, my dear boy, how can I help worrying, when you don’t learn
anything by which you can make your living?”
“Oh, well, father,” said Bonnyboy, soothingly (for he was beginning to
feel sorry on his father’s account rather than on his own), “I wouldn’t
bother about that if I were you. I don’t worry a bit. Something will
turn up for me to do, sooner or later.”
“But you’ll do it badly, Bonnyboy, and then you won’t get a second
chance. And then, who knows but you may starve to death. You’ll chop
off the fingers you have left; and when I am dead and can no longer look
after you, I am very much afraid you’ll manage to chop off your head
too.”
“Well,” observed Bonnyboy, cheerfully, “in that case I shall not starve
to death.”
Grim had to laugh in spite of himself at the paternal way in which his
son comforted him, as if he were the party to be pitied. Bonnyboy’s
unfailing cheerfulness, which had its great charm, began to cause him
uneasiness, because he feared it was but another form of stupidity. A
cleverer boy would have been sorry for his mistakes and anxious about
his own future. But Bonnyboy looked into the future with the serene
confidence of a child, and nothing under the sun ever troubled him,
except his father’s tendency to worry. For he was very fond of his
father, and praised him as a paragon of skill and excellence. He
lavished an abject admiration on everything he did and said. His
dexterity in the use of tools, and his varied accomplishments as
a watch-maker and a horse-doctor, filled Bonnyboy with ungrudging
amazement. He knew it was a hopeless thing for him to aspire to rival
such genius, and he took the thing philosophically, and did not aspire.
It occurred to Grim one day, when Bonnyboy had made a most discouraging
exhibition of his awkwardness, that it might be a good thing to ask the
pastor’s advice in regard to him. The pastor had had a long experience
in educating children, and his own, though they were not all clever,
promised to turn out well. Accordingly Grim called at the parsonage, was
well received, and returned home charged to the muzzle with good advice.
The pastor lent him a book full of stories, and recommended him to read
them to his son, and afterward question him about every single fact
which each story contained. This the pastor had found to be a good way
to develop the intellect of a backward boy.