Bobby was not quite six years old, but he thought himself quite a man,
and a very strong man too. He was a sturdy little fellow, and as he
never caught cold, his mother allowed him to run about without shoes and
stockings when the weather was warm and dry.
Bobby's mother was always a little afraid of his being hurt. She had
only two children--Lucy, who was twelve, and Bobby--and she was
sometimes very anxious lest Bobby should come to some harm when he would
work among the men. She also forbade him the use of knives and all sharp
instruments. This was a real grief to Bobby, as the men knew it, and
would sometimes tease him, and it was then so difficult to pretend to
himself that his knife wasn't in his pocket, as he could have done for
his own satisfaction.
One day in the spring, when the laurel hedge was being cut, one of the
men offered to lend Bobby a knife, and, without a thought of his
mother's wishes, Bobby took it, and began cutting in a great hurry.
Alas! after a few boughs had come off, Bobby tried to cut a thicker one,
which he had to hold down with his left hand, so that when the knife
slipped he cut his third finger rather badly. He ran at once to Lucy
with the knife in his hand, and then dropped it on the ground close to
his bare toes. In his thoughtlessness he might have cut his foot also if
Mother had not come out and picked up the knife. She was more sorry than
angry at Bobby's disobedience, but the boy was more careful to obey his
mother after that, and among the presents on his next birthday there was
a capital knife from Mother, but given on condition that at first it
should only be used when his father was present, and could show him what
ought to be done with it. Bobby is a very happy boy now, because no one
can tease him, as he has that precious knife of his very own.
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