MARY JAY’S INSTRUCTIONS.
After Lucy had been several days in Mary Jay’s school, and had learned
to work quietly by herself, for half an hour at a time, Mary Jay said,
one day, that she would go and take a walk with her in the recess.
“Well,” said Lucy, “and I wish you would go down behind the garden, by
the great rock, and show me where that path leads to.”
Mary Jay assented to this proposal, and they set out together. Lucy
clambered over the stile without any trouble, and Mary Jay herself
got over much more easily than Lucy had supposed possible. In fact,
although Mary Jay appeared to be very lame in walking, yet she could
walk without any pain, and without much inconvenience to herself. The
difficulty was rather apparent than real.
Lucy was surprised, therefore, to see how readily Mary Jay mounted the
steps of the stile, and descended on the other side.
“I believe I will leave one of my crutches here,” said she to Lucy,
“and then I can take hold of your hand.”
So she led Lucy with one of her hands, while she managed the remaining
crutch with the other; and thus they walked along the path which led
towards the rocky precipice.
“Now, Lucy,” said Mary Jay, “I will tell you of some of the
difficulties which children meet with in school. There are three
things, which it belongs to a good scholar to do, which are rather
hard.”
“What are they?” said Lucy.
“To continue to study after you have got tired of study, to try to do
what you think you can’t do, and to obey orders when you think they are
wrong.”
“When they are wrong?” replied Lucy.
“Yes,” replied Mary Jay. “It is pretty easy to obey when you think
the orders are right; the difficulty comes when you think the orders
are wrong. For example, there was a boy once, and his name was Thomas.
He used to hold his slate pencil just as we commonly hold a pen. The
teacher told him that that wasn’t right. She showed him how a slate
pencil ought to be held, and then she went away and left Thomas at his
work. He tried the teacher’s way, and said to himself, ‘This isn’t half
as good a way as mine. I can’t make the figures half as well.’ Then he
changed his pencil, and held it just as he had done it before, that is,
as a pen is held.”
“How?” said Lucy.
“I will show you,” said Mary Jay. Then she looked about upon the
ground, and found a little sprig, which would answer to represent a
pen, and she placed it between the fingers of her right hand, leaning
upon her crutch while she did it,--and thus showed Lucy how a pen ought
to be held.
“And now,” said Lucy, “show me how the teacher told him to hold it.”
So Mary Jay broke off a short piece of the sprig, which was of suitable
length to represent a slate pencil, and she placed that between her
fingers, in such a way as to show how a slate pencil ought to be held.
“Now, Thomas,” she continued, “when he found that he could not work
so conveniently by holding the pencil in the way that the teacher had
directed him to hold it, concluded that she must have been wrong, and
so he returned to his old method.”
“Method?” said Lucy, “what is that?”
“The _way_,--his old way of holding it,” replied Mary Jay.
“And what did the teacher say?” said Lucy.
“Why, when the teacher came there again,” said Mary Jay, “she found
him disobeying her. She said, ‘Why, Thomas, I told you not to hold the
pencil so.’
“‘Yes,’ said Thomas, ‘I tried the other way, but I found that I
couldn’t make my figures so well.’”
Here Mary Jay paused a moment; but Lucy did not say any thing, and so
she proceeded.
“Thomas thought,” said she, “that he was not bound to obey his teacher,
unless he thought that her directions were right. But the truth is,
that children ought to obey their parents and teachers _always_; no
matter whether they think the commands are right and reasonable, or
not. It is very easy to obey, when you see that the command is right
and reasonable; but when you do not understand why the command is
given, or when it seems unreasonable or wrong, then comes the trial.”
“I shouldn’t think,” said Lucy, “that the teacher would want him to
make the figures the hardest way.”
[Illustration: “Mary Jay said that she had seen boys climb up nearly
to the top.”--Page 101.]
“No,” said Mary Jay; “the truth was this: Thomas’s way was the hardest,
and the teacher’s the easiest; only Thomas had become so accustomed to
his method, that he couldn’t at once do quite so well in the other.
There are a great many things, which children have to do, that can be
done most easily in one particular way, when they are once accustomed
to that way. But before they are accustomed to it, it may perhaps be
harder than some other way, which they are familiar with. Children are
often told to hold their pens, or their knife and fork, or spoon, at
table, in a way which seems to them inconvenient and troublesome; and
so they think the command is unreasonable and wrong. They think their
parent or teacher is mistaken, and so they don’t obey. But if they
would obey, they would soon become accustomed to the proper way, and
then they would find it altogether better than their old habit. That’s
the philosophy of it, Lucy; that’s the philosophy of it.”
At this time, they had reached the rocky precipice, and the path
passed around near the foot of it. Lucy looked up at the rocks, and was
a little afraid that they would fall down upon her head. Mary Jay said,
that she had seen boys climb up nearly to the top. From this place, the
path passed along among some trees, and Lucy and Mary Jay went on; and,
as they walked, Mary Jay resumed the conversation.
“Then there is another thing,” she added, “which I mentioned--being
willing to try to do what you think you can’t do, or what you can’t do
very well. Once, when I was at a school, there was a girl that sat next
to me, and her name was Sarah. The teacher was choosing a copy for her
to write. He had several in his hands, and he gave her one that had
some figures at the end of it. Sarah looked at it, and then carried it
back to the teacher’s desk, and asked him if he would be kind enough to
give her another copy, for that one had figures at the end of it.
“‘Well,’ said the teacher, ‘and why is that an objection?’
“‘Why, I can’t make figures very well,’ replied Sarah.
“‘Can’t you?’ said the teacher.
“‘No,’ said Sarah, ‘and so I should like to have a copy that hasn’t got
any figures in it.’
“The teacher then began to look over his copies, and Sarah supposed
that he was endeavoring to find one which had no figures in it. While
he was doing this, she said,--
“‘I think Lucy Dane would like that copy very well, for she can make
figures beautifully.’”
“Lucy Dane?” said Lucy; “was her name Lucy?”
“Yes,” said Mary Jay.
“That’s the same as my name,” added Lucy.
“Presently,” continued Mary Jay, “the teacher took out a copy, which
was all figures from the beginning of the line to the end, and handed
it to Sarah.
“‘There,’ said he, ‘I am glad you told me that you can’t make figures
very well, for I want to have you learn; so I’ll give you copies of
figures altogether, for a while. And as for Lucy Dane, I will be
careful not to give her any more copies with figures in them, if she
can make figures beautifully already.’”
“Why, Mary Jay!” said Lucy. She was quite surprised at this decision of
the teacher.
“Children very often,” continued Mary Jay, “make objections to do what
their teacher requires, because they say they can’t do it. They forget
that this is the very reason why they should set to work and learn. You
don’t go to school to do over again what you can already do very well,
but to learn to do things which you can’t do when you go.
“There was another girl in the same school,” continued Mary Jay; “and
one day, when the teacher told us that we must write every other page
in our writing books without ruling, in order that we might learn to
write straight without lines to guide us, she said that she couldn’t
write _at all_ without ruling.
“‘Can’t you?’ said the teacher; ‘then you’ll have to write _every_ page
so, instead of every other, until you learn a little; and when you get
so as to write tolerably straight, then it will not be necessary for
you to write so much without a guide.’”
“What was _her_ name?” said Lucy.
But Mary Jay did not have time to answer this question, for Lucy had
hardly spoken the words, when her eye caught a view of quite a little
sheet of water before her, under the trees. So she left Mary Jay, and
ran on towards it.
It was a broad and shallow sheet of water, made by the expansion of
a brook, which flowed here over smooth, yellow sands. A little below
where they stood, the surface of the water was contracted, and the
brook flowed over gravel and small stones, with a rapid motion, and
finally fell down some rocks, making quite a little waterfall. Large
trees overhung the whole scene, and made it shady and cool.
“Now,” said Mary Jay, “I will show you my seat.”
So she led Lucy along up a bank, by a narrow path, until she came to a
place where were some rocks, which were, like the water, overhung with
trees. Here there was placed a long, flat stone, in front of a sort
of wall or precipice of rock, in such a manner that the stone made a
very good seat, and the rock behind it, which was smooth and inclined
backwards a little, made a very good back to lean upon.
“Is this your seat?” said Lucy.
“Yes,” said Mary Jay.
“Who made it for you?” said Lucy.
“I made it myself,” said Mary Jay.
“Why, did you lift this great stone?” said Lucy, putting her hand down
upon the stone seat.
“Yes,” said Mary Jay.
“I shouldn’t think that you could lift such a great, heavy stone,” said
Lucy.
“No,” replied Mary Jay, “I couldn’t have lifted it exactly. I pried it
along.”
“How did you do it?” asked Lucy.
“Why, I saw the stone lying a little way off, half in the ground, and
I went, one day, and got my little hoe, which my father bought for me
when I was about as large as you are, to hoe my garden with; and with
that I dug the stone out. Then I brought down a little iron bar, and
pried it up. My sister put stones under to keep it from falling back
again into its old place. At last I got it up so high, that she could
put a pole under; and at length we got it entirely out of its hole.
Then we pried it along, one end at a time; and finally we got it in its
place, and I pried it up, and my sister put the stones under which keep
it up.”
Then Lucy looked under the seat, and found that at each end there were
several flat stones, one over the other, forming a little pile; and the
stone seat rested upon them.
“But, Mary Jay,” said Lucy, “why didn’t you get your father to come and
do it for you?”
“Because,” said Mary Jay, “my father is always busy at his work; and,
besides, I knew that I should enjoy my seat a great deal more, to do it
all myself.”
“But then your sister helped you,” said Lucy.
“Yes,” replied Mary Jay, “my sister helped me; and she and I own the
seat together. I come down here sometimes to read.”
“I wish,” said Lucy, “that you would let me come down here sometimes,
and study my lesson.”
“Well,” said Mary Jay, “when you get so that you can go alone, I will.
If you are down here, there will be nobody to watch you, or help you
when you are in difficulty, so that it will be of no use for you to
come until you can go alone.”
After this, Lucy and Mary Jay walked slowly back to the house.