Marianne was a little girl of about eight years old; she was remarkably
good-tempered; she could bear to be disappointed, or to be contradicted,
or to be blamed, without looking or feeling peevish, or sullen, or
angry.--Her parents, and her school-mistress and companions, all loved
her, because she was obedient and obliging.
Marianne had a cousin, a year younger than herself, named Owen, who was
an ill-tempered boy; almost every day he was crying, or pouting, or in a
passion, about some trifle or other; he was neither obedient nor
obliging.--His playfellows could not love him; for he was continually
quarrelling with them; he would never, either when he was at play or at
work, do what they wished; but he always tried to force them to yield to
his will and his humour.
One fine summer's evening, Marianne and Owen were setting out, with
several of their little companions, to school. It was a walk of about a
mile from the town in which their fathers and mothers lived to the
school-house, if they went by the high-road; but there was another way,
through a lane, which was a quarter of a mile shorter.
Marianne, and most of the children, liked to go by the lane, because
they could gather the pretty flowers which grew on the banks, and in the
hedges; but Owen preferred going by the high-road, because he liked to
see the carts and carriages, and horsemen, which usually were seen upon
this road.
Just when they were setting out, Owen called to Marianne, who was
turning into the lane.
"Marianne," said he, "you _must_ not go by the lane to-day; you must go
by the road."
"Why must not I go by the lane to-day?" said Marianne; "you know,
yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, we all went by
the high-road, only to please you; and now let us go by the lane,
because we want to gather some honey-suckles and dog-roses, to fill our
dame's flower-pots."
"I don't care for that; I don't want to fill our dame's flower-pots; I
don't want to gather honey-suckles and dog-roses; I want to see the
coaches and chaises on the road; and you _must_ go my way, Marianne."
"_Must!_ Oh, you should not say _must_," replied Marianne, in a gentle
tone.
"No, indeed!" cried one of her companions, "you should not; nor should
you look so cross: that is not the way to make us do what you like."
"And, besides," said another, "what right has he always to make us do as
he pleases?--He never will do any thing that we wish."
Owen grew quite angry when he heard this; and he was just going to make
some sharp answer, when Marianne, who was good-natured, and always
endeavoured to prevent quarrels, said, "Let us do what he asks, this
once; and I dare say he will do what we please the next time--We will go
by the high-road to school, and we can come back by the lane, in the
cool of the evening."
To please Marianne, whom they all loved, they agreed to this proposal.
They went by the high-road; but Owen was not satisfied, because he saw
that his companions did not comply for his sake; and as he walked on,
he began to kick up the dust with his feet, saying, "I'm sure it is much
pleasanter here than in the lane; I wish we were to come back this
way--I'm sure it is much pleasanter here than in the lane: is not it,
Marianne?"
Marianne could not say that she thought so.
Owen kicked up the dust more and more.
"Do not make such a dust, dear Owen," said she; "look how you have
covered my shoes and my clean stockings with dust."
"Then, say, it is pleasanter here than in the lane. I shall go on,
making this dust, till you say that."
"I cannot say that, because I do not think so, Owen."
"I'll make you think so, and say so too."
"You are not taking the right way to make me think so: you know that I
cannot think this dust agreeable."
Owen persisted; and he raised continually a fresh cloud of dust, in
spite of all that Marianne or his companions could say to him.--They
left him, and went to the opposite side of the road; but wherever they
went, he pursued--At length they came to a turnpike-gate, on one side of
which there was a turn-stile; Marianne and the rest of the children
passed, one by one, through the turn-stile, whilst Owen was emptying his
shoes of dust. When this was done, he looked up, and saw all his
companions on the other side of the gate, holding the turn-stile, to
prevent him from coming through.
"Let me through, let me through," cried he, "I must and will come
through."
"No, no, Owen," said they, "_must_ will not do now; we have you safe;
here are ten of us; and we will not let you come through till you have
promised that you will not make any more dust."
Owen, without making any answer, began to kick, and push, and pull, and
struggle, with all his might; but in vain he struggled, pulled, pushed
and kicked; he found that ten people are stronger than one.--When he
felt that he could not conquer them by force, he began to cry; and he
roared as loud as he possibly could.
No one but the turnpike-man was within hearing; and he stood laughing at
Owen.
Owen tried to climb the gate; but he could not get over it, because
there were iron spikes at the top.
"Only promise that you will not kick up the dust, and they will let you
through," said Marianne.
Owen made no answer, but continued to struggle till his whole face was
scarlet, and till both his wrists ached: he could not move the
turn-stile an inch.
"Well," said he, stopping short, "now you are all of you joined
together; you are stronger than I; but I am as cunning as you."
He left the stile, and began to walk homewards.
"Where are you going? You will be too late at school, if you turn back
and go by the lane," said Marianne.
"I know that, very well; but that will be your fault, and not mine--I
shall tell our dame, that you all of you held the turn-stile against
me, and would not let me through."
"And we shall tell our dame why we held the turn-stile against you,"
replied one of the children; "and then it will be plain that it was your
fault."
Perhaps Owen did not hear this; for he was now at some distance from the
gate. Presently he heard some one running after him--It was Marianne.
"Oh, I am so much out of breath with running after you!--I can hardly
speak!--But I am come back," said this good-natured girl, "to tell you
that you will be sorry if you do not come with us; for there is
something that you like very much, just at the turn of the road, a
little beyond the turnpike-gate."
"Something that I like very much!--What can that be?"
"Come with _me_, and you shall _see_," said Marianne; "that is both
rhyme and reason--Come with _me_, and you shall _see_."
She looked so good-humoured, as she smiled and nodded at him, that he
could not be sullen any longer.
"I don't know how it is, cousin Marianne," said he; "but when I am
cross, you are never cross; and you can always bring me back to
good-humour again, you are so good-humoured yourself--I wish I was like
you--But we need not talk any more of that now--What is it that I shall
see on the other side of the turnpike-gate?--What is it that I like very
much?"
"Don't you like ripe cherries very much?"
"Yes; but they do not grow in these hedges."
"No; but there is an old woman sitting by the road-side, with a board
before her, which is covered with red ripe cherries."
"Red ripe cherries! Let us make haste then," cried Owen. He ran on, as
fast as he could; but as soon as the children saw him running, they also
began to run back to the turn-stile; and they reached it before he did;
and they held it fast as before, saying, "Promise you will not kick up
the dust, or we will not let you through."
"The cherries are very ripe," said Marianne.
"Well, well, I will not kick up the dust--Let me through," said Owen.
They did so, and he kept his word; for though he was ill-humoured, he
was a boy of truth; and he always kept his promises--He found the
cherries looked red and ripe, as Marianne had described them.
The old woman took up a long stick, which lay on the board before her.
Bunches of cherries were tied with white thread to this stick; and as
she shook it in the air, over the heads of the children, they all
looked up with longing eyes.
"A halfpenny a bunch!--Who will buy? Who will buy? Who will buy?--Nice
ripe cherries!" cried the old woman.
The children held out their halfpence; and "Give me a bunch," and "give
me a bunch!" was heard on all sides.
"Here are eleven of you," said the old woman, "and there are just
eleven bunches on this stick." She put the stick into Marianne's hand,
as she spoke.
Marianne began to untie the bunches; and her companions pressed closer
and closer to her, each eager to have the particular bunches which they
thought the largest and the ripest.
Several fixed upon the uppermost, which looked indeed extremely ripe.
"You cannot all have this bunch," said Marianne; "to which of you must
I give it? You all wish for it."
"Give it to me, give it to _me_," was the first cry of each; but the
second was, "Keep it yourself, Marianne; keep it yourself."
"Now, Owen, see what it is to be good-natured, and good-humoured, like
Marianne," said Cymon, the eldest of the boys, who stood near him--"We
all are ready to give up the ripest cherries to Marianne; but we should
never think of doing so for you, because you are so cross and
disagreeable."
"I am not cross _now_; I am not disagreeable _now_," replied Owen; "and
I do not intend to be cross and disagreeable any more."
This was a good resolution; but Owen did not keep it many minutes.--In
the bunch of cherries which Marianne gave to him for his share, there
was one which, though red on one side, was entirely white and hard on
the other.
"This cherry is not ripe; and here's another that has been half eaten
away by the birds.--Oh, Marianne, you gave me this bad bunch on
purpose--I will not have this bunch."
"Somebody must have it," said Cymon; "and I do not see that it is worse
than the others; we shall all have some cherries that are not so good as
the rest; but we shall not grumble and look so cross about it as you
do."
"Give me your bad cherries, and I will give you two out of my fine
bunch, instead of them," said the good-natured Marianne.
"No, no, no!" cried the children; "Marianne, keep your own cherries."
"Are not you ashamed, Owen?" said Cymon--"How can you be so greedy?"
"Greedy!--I am not greedy," cried Owen, angrily; "but I will not have
the worst cherries; I will have another bunch."
He tried to snatch another bunch from the stick.--Cymon held it above
his head.--Owen leaped up, reached it, and when his companions closed
round him, exclaiming against his violence, he grew still more angry; he
threw the stick down upon the ground, and trampled upon every bunch of
the cherries in his fury, scarcely knowing what he did, or what he
said.
When his companions saw the ground stained with the red juice of their
cherries, which he had trampled under his feet, they were both sorry and
angry.
The children had not any more halfpence; they could not buy any more
cherries; and the old woman said that she could not _give_ them any.
As they went away sorrowfully, they said, "Owen is so ill-tempered, that
we will not play with him, or speak to him, or have any thing to do
with him."
Owen thought that he could make himself happy without his companions;
and he told them so.--But he soon found that he was mistaken.
When they arrived at the school-house, their dame was sitting in the
thatched porch before her own door, reading a paper that was printed in
large letters--"My dears," said she to her little scholars, "here is
something that you will be glad to see; but say your lessons first--One
thing at a time--Duty first, and pleasure afterwards----Which ever of
you says your lesson best, shall know first what is in this paper, and
shall have the pleasure of telling the good news."
Owen always learned his lessons very well, and quickly: he now said his
lesson better than any of his companions said theirs; and he looked
round him with joy and triumph; but no eye met his with pleasure; nobody
smiled upon him, no one was glad that he had succeeded: on the contrary,
he heard those near him whisper, "I should have been very glad if it had
been Marianne who had said her lesson, because she is so good-natured."
The printed paper, which Owen read aloud, was as follows:
"On Thursday evening next, the gate of the cherry-orchard will be
opened; and all who have tickets will be let in, from six o'clock till
eight.--Price of tickets, six-pence."
The children wished extremely to go to this cherry orchard, where they
knew that they might gather as many cherries as they liked, and where
they thought that they should be very happy, sitting down under the
trees, and eating fruit--But none of these children had any money; for
they had spent their last halfpence in paying for those cherries which
they never tasted--those cherries which Owen, in the fury of his
passion, trampled in the dust.
The children asked their dame what they could do to earn six-pence a
piece; and she told them, that they might perhaps be able to earn this
money by plaiting straw for hats, which they had all been taught to
make by their good dame.
Immediately the children desired to set to work.
Owen, who was very eager to go to the cherry orchard, was the most
anxious to get forward with the business: he found, however, that nobody
liked to work along with him; his companions said, "We are afraid that
you should quarrel with us--We are afraid that you should fly into a
passion about the straws, as you did about the cherries; therefore we
will not work with you."
"Will not you? then I will work by myself," said Owen; "and I dare say
that I shall have done my work long before you have any of you finished
yours; for I can plait quicker and better than any of you."
It was true that Owen could plait quicker and better than any of his
companions; but he was soon surprised to find that his work did not go
on so fast as theirs.
After they had been employed all the remainder of this evening, and all
the next day, Owen went to his companions, and compared his work with
theirs.
"How is this?" said he; "how comes it, that you have all done so much,
and I have not done nearly so much, though I work quicker than any one
of you, and I have worked as hard as I possibly could?--What is the
reason that you have done so much more than I have?"
"Because we have all been helping one another, and you have had no one
to help you: you have been obliged to do every thing for yourself."
"But still, I do not understand how your helping one another can make
such a difference," said Owen: "I plait faster than any of you."
His companions were so busy at their work, that they did not listen to
what he was saying--He stood behind Marianne, in a melancholy posture,
looking at them, and trying to find out why they went on so much faster
than he could--He observed that one picked the outside off the straws;
another cut them to the proper length; another sorted them, and laid
them in bundles; another flattened them; another (the youngest of the
little girls, who was not able to do any thing else) held the straws
ready for those who were plaiting; another cut off the rough ends of
the straws when the plaits were finished; another ironed the plaits with
a hot smoothing-iron; others sewed the plaits together. Each did what he
could do best, and quickest; and none of them lost any time in going
from one work to another, or in looking for what they wanted.
On the contrary, Owen had lost a great deal of time in looking for all
the things that he wanted; he had nobody to hold the straws ready for
him as he plaited; therefore he was forced to go for them himself, every
time he wanted them; and his straws were not sorted in nice bundles for
him; the wind blew them about; and he wasted half an hour, at least, in
running after them. Besides this, he had no friend to cut off the rough
ends for him; nor had he any one to sew the plaits together; and though
he could plait quickly, he could not sew quickly; for he was not used
to this kind of work. He wished extremely for Marianne to do it for him.
He was once a full quarter of an hour in threading his needle, of which
the eye was too small--Then he spent another quarter of an hour in
looking for one with a larger eye; and he could not find it at last, and
nobody would lend him another--When he had done sewing, he found that
_his hand was out for plaiting_; that is, he could not plait so quickly
after his fingers had just been used to another kind of work; and when
he had been smoothing the straws with a heavy iron, his hand trembled
afterwards for some minutes, during which time he was forced to be idle;
thus it was that he lost time by doing every thing for himself; and
though he lost but few minutes or seconds in each particular, yet, when
all these minutes and seconds were added together, they made a great
difference.
"How fast, how very fast, they go on! and how merrily!" said Owen; as he
looked at his former companions--"I am sure I shall never earn sixpence
for myself before Thursday; and I shall not be able to go to the
cherry-orchard--I am very sorry that I trampled on your cherries; I am
very sorry that I was so ill-humoured--I will never be cross any more."
"He is very sorry, that he was so ill-humoured; he is very sorry that he
trampled on our cherries," cried Marianne; "do you hear what he says; he
will never be cross any more."
"Yes, we hear what he says," answered Cymon; "but how can we be sure
that he will do as he says."
"Oh," cried another of his companions, "he has found out at last that
he must do as he would be done by."
"Aye," said another; "and he finds that we who are good-humoured and
good-natured to one another, do better even than he who is so quick and
so clever."
"But if, besides being so quick and so clever, he was good-humoured and
good-natured," said Marianne, "he would be of great use to us; he plaits
a vast deal faster than Mary does, and Mary plaits faster than any of
us--Come, let us try him, let him come in amongst us."
"No, No, No," cried many voices; "he will quarrel with us; and we have
no time for quarrelling--We are all so quiet and happy without him!--Let
him work by himself, as he said he would."
Owen went on, working by himself; he made all the haste that he
possibly could; but Thursday came, and his work was not nearly
finished--His companions passed by him with their finished work in their
hands--Each, as they passed, said, "What, have not you done yet, Owen?"
and then they walked on to the table where their Dame was sitting ready
to pay them their sixpences.
She measured their work, and examined it; and when she saw that it was
well done, she gave to each of her little workmen and workwomen the
sixpence which they had earned, and she said, "I hope, my dears, that
you will be happy this evening."
They all looked joyful; and as they held their sixpences in their hands
they said, "If we had not helped one another, we should not have earned
this money; and we should not be able to go to the cherry-orchard."
"Poor Owen!" whispered Marianne to her companions, "look how melancholy
he is, sitting there alone at his work!--See! his hands tremble, so that
he can scarcely hold the straws; he will not have nearly finished his
work in time, he cannot go with us."
"He should not have trampled upon our cherries; and then perhaps we
might have helped him," said Cymon.
"Let us help him, though he did trample on our cherries," said the
good-natured Marianne,--"He is sorry for what he did, and he will never
be so ill-humoured or ill-natured again--Come, let us go and help
him--If we all help, we shall have his work finished in time, and then
we shall all be happy together."
As Marianne spoke, she drew Cymon near to the corner where Owen was
sitting; and all her companions followed.
"Before we offer to help him, let us try whether he is now inclined to
be good-humoured, and good-natured."
"Yes, yes, let us try that first," said his companions.
"Owen, you will not have done time enough to go with us,"--said Cymon.
"No, indeed," said Owen, "I shall not; therefore I may as well give up
all thoughts of it--It is my own fault, I know."
"Well, but as you cannot go yourself, you will not want your pretty
little basket; will you lend it to us to hold our cherries?"
"Yes, I will with pleasure," cried Owen, jumping up to fetch it:
"Now he is good-natured, I am sure," said Marianne.
"This plaiting of yours is not nearly so well done as ours," said
Cymon, "look how uneven it is."
"Yes, it is rather uneven, indeed," replied Owen.
Cymon began to untwist some of Owen's work; and Owen bore this trial of
his patience with good temper.
"Oh, you are pulling it all to pieces, Cymon," said Marianne; "this is
not fair."
"Yes, it is fair," said Cymon; "for I have undone only an inch; and I
will do as many inches for Owen as he pleases, now that I see he is
good-humoured."
Marianne immediately sat down to work for Owen; and Cymon and all his
companions followed her example--It was now two hours before the time
when the cherry-orchard was to be opened; and during these two hours,
they went on so expeditiously, that they completed the work.
Owen went with them to the cherry-orchard, where they spent the evening
all together very happily--As he was sitting under a tree with his
companions eating the ripe cherries, he said to them,--"Thank you all,
for helping me; I should not have been here now eating these ripe
cherries, if you had not been so good-natured to me--I hope I shall
never be cross to any of you again, whenever I feel inclined to be
cross, I will think of your good-nature to me, and of THE
CHERRY-ORCHARD."
_Printed by H. Bryer, Bridewell-Hospital, Bridge-Street._
Transcriber's Notes:
Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows:
Page 36: "your's" changed to "yours"
Page 39: "your's" changed to "yours"
Page 61: "childen" changed to "children"
Page 96: "good natured" changed to "good-natured"
Page 103: "your's" changed to "yours" and "in" changed to "is"
Punctuation has been corrected without note.