LESSONS
Moses felt elevated some inches in the world by the gift of a new Latin
grammar, which had been bought for him in Brunswick. It was a step
upward in life; no graduate from a college ever felt more ennobled.
"Wal', now, I tell ye, Moses Pennel," said Miss Roxy, who, with her
press-board and big flat-iron, was making her autumn sojourn in the
brown house, "I tell ye Latin ain't just what you think 'tis, steppin'
round so crank; you must remember what the king of Israel said to
Benhadad, king of Syria."
"I don't remember; what did he say?"
"I remember," said the soft voice of Mara; "he said, 'Let not him that
putteth on the harness boast as him that putteth it off.'"
"Good for you, Mara," said Miss Roxy; "if some other folks read their
Bibles as much as you do, they'd know more."
Between Moses and Miss Roxy there had always been a state of sub-acute
warfare since the days of his first arrival, she regarding him as an
unhopeful interloper, and he regarding her as a grim-visaged,
interfering gnome, whom he disliked with all the intense, unreasoning
antipathy of childhood.
"I hate that old woman," he said to Mara, as he flung out of the door.
"Why, Moses, what for?" said Mara, who never could comprehend hating
anybody.
"I do hate her, and Aunt Ruey, too. They are two old scratching cats;
they hate me, and I hate them; they're always trying to bring me down,
and I won't be brought down."
Mara had sufficient instinctive insight into the feminine role in the
domestic concert not to adventure a direct argument just now in favor of
her friends, and therefore she proposed that they should sit down
together under a cedar hard by, and look over the first lesson.
"Miss Emily invited me to go over with you," she said, "and I should
like so much to hear you recite."
Moses thought this very proper, as would any other male person, young or
old, who has been habitually admired by any other female one. He did not
doubt that, as in fishing and rowing, and all other things he had
undertaken as yet, he should win himself distinguished honors.
"See here," he said; "Mr. Sewell told me I might go as far as I liked,
and I mean to take all the declensions to begin with; there's five of
'em, and I shall learn them for the first lesson; then I shall take the
adjectives next, and next the verbs, and so in a fortnight get into
reading."
Mara heaved a sort of sigh. She wished she had been invited to share
this glorious race; but she looked on admiring when Moses read, in a
loud voice, "Penna, pennae, pennae, pennam," etc.
"There now, I believe I've got it," he said, handing Mara the book; and
he was perfectly astonished to find that, with the book withdrawn, he
boggled, and blundered, and stumbled ingloriously. In vain Mara softly
prompted, and looked at him with pitiful eyes as he grew red in the face
with his efforts to remember.
"Confound it all!" he said, with an angry flush, snatching back the
book; "it's more trouble than it's worth."
Again he began the repetition, saying it very loud and plain; he said it
over and over till his mind wandered far out to sea, and while his
tongue repeated "penna, pennae," he was counting the white sails of the
fishing-smacks, and thinking of pulling up codfish at the Banks.
"There now, Mara, try me," he said, and handed her the book again; "I'm
sure I _must_ know it now."
But, alas! with the book the sounds glided away; and "penna" and
"pennam" and "pennis" and "pennae" were confusedly and indiscriminately
mingled. He thought it must be Mara's fault; she didn't read right, or
she told him just as he was going to say it, or she didn't tell him
right; or was he a fool? or had he lost his senses?
That first declension has been a valley of humiliation to many a sturdy
boy--to many a bright one, too; and often it is, that the more full of
thought and vigor the mind is, the more difficult it is to narrow it
down to the single dry issue of learning those sounds. Heinrich Heine
said the Romans would never have found time to conquer the world, if
they had had to learn their own language; but that, luckily for them,
they were born into the knowledge of what nouns form their accusatives
in "um."
Long before Moses had learned the first declension, Mara knew it by
heart; for her intense anxiety for him, and the eagerness and zeal with
which she listened for each termination, fixed them in her mind.
Besides, she was naturally of a more quiet and scholar-like turn than
he,--more intellectually developed. Moses began to think, before that
memorable day was through, that there was some sense in Aunt Roxy's
quotation of the saying of the King of Israel, and materially to
retrench his expectations as to the time it might take to master the
grammar; but still, his pride and will were both committed, and he
worked away in this new sort of labor with energy.
It was a fine, frosty November morning, when he rowed Mara across the
bay in a little boat to recite his first lesson to Mr. Sewell.
Miss Emily had provided a plate of seed-cake, otherwise called cookies,
for the children, as was a kindly custom of old times, when the little
people were expected. Miss Emily had a dim idea that she was to do
something for Mara in her own department, while Moses was reciting his
lesson; and therefore producing a large sampler, displaying every form
and variety of marking-stitch, she began questioning the little girl, in
a low tone, as to her proficiency in that useful accomplishment.
Presently, however, she discovered that the child was restless and
uneasy, and that she answered without knowing what she was saying. The
fact was that she was listening, with her whole soul in her eyes, and
feeling through all her nerves, every word Moses was saying. She knew
all the critical places, where he was likely to go wrong; and when at
last, in one place, he gave the wrong termination, she involuntarily
called out the right one, starting up and turning towards them. In a
moment she blushed deeply, seeing Mr. Sewell and Miss Emily both looking
at her with surprise.
"Come here, pussy," said Mr. Sewell, stretching out his hand to her.
"Can you say this?"
"I believe I could, sir."
"Well, try it."
She went through without missing a word. Mr. Sewell then, for curiosity,
heard her repeat all the other forms of the lesson. She had them
perfectly.
"Very well, my little girl," he said, "have you been studying, too?"
"I heard Moses say them so often," said Mara, in an apologetic manner,
"I couldn't help learning them."
"Would you like to recite with Moses every day?"
"Oh, yes, sir, so much."
"Well, you shall. It is better for him to have company."
Mara's face brightened, and Miss Emily looked with a puzzled air at her
brother.
"So," she said, when the children had gone home, "I thought you wanted
me to take Mara under my care. I was going to begin and teach her some
marking stitches, and you put her up to studying Latin. I don't
understand you."
"Well, Emily, the fact is, the child has a natural turn for study, that
no child of her age ought to have; and I have done just as people always
will with such children; there's no sense in it, but I wanted to do it.
You can teach her marking and embroidery all the same; it would break
her little heart, now, if I were to turn her back."
"I do not see of what use Latin can be to a woman."
"Of what use is embroidery?"
"Why, that is an accomplishment."
"Ah, indeed!" said Mr. Sewell, contemplating the weeping willow and
tombstone trophy with a singular expression, which it was lucky for Miss
Emily's peace she did not understand. The fact was, that Mr. Sewell had,
at one period of his life, had an opportunity of studying and observing
minutely some really fine works of art, and the remembrance of them
sometimes rose up to his mind, in the presence of the _chefs-d'oeuvre_
on which his sister rested with so much complacency. It was a part of
his quiet interior store of amusement to look at these bits of Byzantine
embroidery round the room, which affected him always with a subtle sense
of drollery.
"You see, brother," said Miss Emily, "it is far better for women to be
accomplished than learned."
"You are quite right in the main," said Mr. Sewell, "only you must let
me have my own way just for once. One can't be consistent always."
So another Latin grammar was bought, and Moses began to feel a secret
respect for his little companion, that he had never done before, when
he saw how easily she walked through the labyrinths which at first so
confused him. Before this, the comparison had been wholly in points
where superiority arose from physical daring and vigor; now he became
aware of the existence of another kind of strength with which he had not
measured himself. Mara's opinion in their mutual studies began to assume
a value in his eyes that her opinions on other subjects had never done,
and she saw and felt, with a secret gratification, that she was becoming
more to him through their mutual pursuit. To say the truth, it required
this fellowship to inspire Moses with the patience and perseverance
necessary for this species of acquisition. His active, daring
temperament little inclined him to patient, quiet study. For anything
that could be done by two hands, he was always ready; but to hold hands
still and work silently in the inner forces was to him a species of
undertaking that seemed against his very nature; but then he would do
it--he would not disgrace himself before Mr. Sewell, and let a girl
younger than himself outdo him.
But the thing, after all, that absorbed more of Moses's thoughts than
all his lessons was the building and rigging of a small schooner, at
which he worked assiduously in all his leisure moments. He had dozens of
blocks of wood, into which he had cut anchor moulds; and the melting of
lead, the running and shaping of anchors, the whittling of masts and
spars took up many an hour. Mara entered into all those things readily,
and was too happy to make herself useful in hemming the sails.
When the schooner was finished, they built some ways down by the sea,
and invited Sally Kittridge over to see it launched.
"There!" he said, when the little thing skimmed down prosperously into
the sea and floated gayly on the waters, "when I'm a man, I'll have a
big ship; I'll build her, and launch her, and command her, all myself;
and I'll give you and Sally both a passage in it, and we'll go off to
the East Indies--we'll sail round the world!"
None of the three doubted the feasibility of this scheme; the little
vessel they had just launched seemed the visible prophecy of such a
future; and how pleasant it would be to sail off, with the world all
before them, and winds ready to blow them to any port they might wish!
The three children arranged some bread and cheese and doughnuts on a
rock on the shore, to represent the collation that was usually spread in
those parts at a ship launch, and felt quite like grown people--acting
life beforehand in that sort of shadowy pantomime which so delights
little people. Happy, happy days--when ships can be made with a
jack-knife and anchors run in pine blocks, and three children together
can launch a schooner, and the voyage of the world can all be made in
one sunny Saturday afternoon!
"Mother says you are going to college," said Sally to Moses.
"Not I, indeed," said Moses; "as soon as I get old enough, I'm going up
to Umbagog among the lumberers, and I'm going to cut real, splendid
timber for my ship, and I'm going to get it on the stocks, and have it
built to suit myself."
"What will you call her?" said Sally.
"I haven't thought of that," said Moses.
"Call her the Ariel," said Mara.
"What! after the spirit you were telling us about?" said Sally.
"Ariel is a pretty name," said Moses. "But what is that about a spirit?"
"Why," said Sally, "Mara read us a story about a ship that was wrecked,
and a spirit called Ariel, that sang a song about the drowned
mariners."
Mara gave a shy, apprehensive glance at Moses, to see if this allusion
called up any painful recollections.
No; instead of this, he was following the motions of his little schooner
on the waters with the briskest and most unconcerned air in the world.
"Why didn't you ever show me that story, Mara?" said Moses.
Mara colored and hesitated; the real reason she dared not say.
"Why, she read it to father and me down by the cove," said Sally, "the
afternoon that you came home from the Banks; I remember how we saw you
coming in; don't you, Mara?"
"What have you done with it?" said Moses.
"I've got it at home," said Mara, in a faint voice; "I'll show it to
you, if you want to see it; there are such beautiful things in it."
That evening, as Moses sat busy, making some alterations in his darling
schooner, Mara produced her treasure, and read and explained to him the
story. He listened with interest, though without any of the extreme
feeling which Mara had thought possible, and even interrupted her once
in the middle of the celebrated--
"Full fathom five thy father lies,"
by asking her to hold up the mast a minute, while he drove in a peg to
make it rake a little more. He was, evidently, thinking of no drowned
father, and dreaming of no possible sea-caves, but acutely busy in
fashioning a present reality; and yet he liked to hear Mara read, and,
when she had done, told her that he thought it was a pretty--quite a
pretty story, with such a total absence of recognition that the story
had any affinities with his own history, that Mara was quite astonished.
She lay and thought about him hours, that night, after she had gone to
bed; and he lay and thought about a new way of disposing a pulley for
raising a sail, which he determined to try the effect of early in the
morning.
What was the absolute truth in regard to the boy? Had he forgotten the
scenes of his early life, the strange catastrophe that cast him into his
present circumstances? To this we answer that all the efforts of Nature,
during the early years of a healthy childhood, are bent on effacing and
obliterating painful impressions, wiping out from each day the sorrows
of the last, as the daily tide effaces the furrows on the seashore. The
child that broods, day after day, over some fixed idea, is so far forth
not a healthy one. It is Nature's way to make first a healthy animal,
and then develop in it gradually higher faculties. We have seen our two
children unequally matched hitherto, because unequally developed. There
will come a time, by and by in the history of the boy, when the haze of
dreamy curiosity will steam up likewise from his mind, and vague
yearnings, and questionings, and longings possess and trouble him, but
it must be some years hence.
* * * * *
Here for a season we leave both our child friends, and when ten years
have passed over their heads,--when Moses shall be twenty, and Mara
seventeen,--we will return again to tell their story, for then there
will be one to tell. Let us suppose in the interval, how Moses and Mara
read Virgil with the minister, and how Mara works a shepherdess with
Miss Emily, which astonishes the neighborhood,--but how by herself she
learns, after divers trials, to paint partridge, and checkerberry, and
trailing arbutus,--how Moses makes better and better ships, and Sally
grows up a handsome girl, and goes up to Brunswick to the high
school,--how Captain Kittridge tells stories, and Miss Roxy and Miss
Ruey nurse and cut and make and mend for the still rising
generation,--how there are quiltings and tea-drinkings and prayer
meetings and Sunday sermons,--how Zephaniah and Mary Pennel grow old
gradually and graciously, as the sun rises and sets, and the eternal
silver tide rises and falls around our little gem, Orr's Island.