[Illustration]
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THE LUCY BOOKS.
BY THE
Author of the Rollo Books.
_New York_,
CLARK AUSTIN & CO.
205 BROADWAY.
COUSIN LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF THE ROLLO BOOKS.
A NEW EDITION,
REVISED BY THE AUTHOR.
NEW YORK:
CLARK, AUSTIN & SMITH,
3 PARK ROW AND 3 ANN-STREET,
1854.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1841,
BY T. H. CARTER,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
NOTICE.
The simple delineations of the ordinary incidents and feelings which
characterize childhood, that are contained in the Rollo Books, having
been found to interest, and, as the author hopes, in some degree to
benefit the young readers for whom they were designed,--the plan is
herein extended to children of the other sex. The two first volumes
of the series are LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS and LUCY’S
STORIES. Lucy was Rollo’s cousin; and the author hopes that the
history of her life and adventures may be entertaining and useful to
the sisters of the boys who have honored the Rollo Books with their
approval.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CONVERSATION I.
THE TREASURY, 9
CONVERSATION II.
DEFINITIONS, 21
CONVERSATION III.
THE GLEN, 34
CONVERSATION IV.
A PRISONER, 43
CONVERSATION V.
TARGET PAINTING, 51
CONVERSATION VI.
MIDNIGHT, 60
CONVERSATION VII.
JOANNA, 75
CONVERSATION VIII.
BUILDING, 88
CONVERSATION IX.
EQUIVOCATION, 103
CONVERSATION X.
JOHNNY, 118
CONVERSATION XI.
GETTING LOST, 132
CONVERSATION XII.
LUCY’S SCHOLAR, 146
CONVERSATION XIII.
SKETCHING, 159
CONVERSATION XIV.
DANGER, 170
LUCY’S CONVERSATIONS.
CONVERSATION I.
THE TREASURY.
One day in summer, when Lucy was a very little girl, she was sitting in
her rocking-chair, playing keep school. She had placed several crickets
and small chairs in a row for the children’s seats, and had been
talking, in dialogue, for some time, pretending to hold conversations
with her pupils. She heard one read and spell, and gave another
directions about her writing; and she had quite a long talk with a
third about the reason why she did not come to school earlier. At last
Lucy, seeing the kitten come into the room, and thinking that she
should like to go and play with her, told the children that she thought
it was time for school to be done.
Royal, Lucy’s brother, had been sitting upon the steps at the front
door, while Lucy was playing school; and just as she was thinking that
it was time to dismiss the children, he happened to get up and come
into the room. Royal was about eleven years old. When he found that
Lucy was playing school, he stopped at the door a moment to listen.
“Now, children,” said Lucy, “it is time for the school to be dismissed;
for I want to play with the kitten.”
Here Royal laughed aloud.
Lucy looked around, a little disturbed at Royal’s interruption.
Besides, she did not like to be laughed at. She, however, said nothing
in reply, but still continued to give her attention to her school.
Royal walked in, and stood somewhat nearer.
“We will sing a hymn,” said Lucy, gravely.
Here Royal laughed again.
“Royal, you must not laugh,” said Lucy. “They always sing a hymn at the
end of a school.” Then, making believe that she was speaking to her
scholars, she said, “You may all take out your hymn-books, children.”
Lucy had a little hymn-book in her hand, and she began turning over the
leaves, pretending to find a place.
“You may sing,” she said, at last, “the thirty-third hymn, long part,
second metre.”
At this sad mismating of the words in Lucy’s announcement of the hymn,
Royal found that he could contain himself no longer. He burst into loud
and incontrollable fits of laughter, staggering about the room, and
saying to himself, as he could catch a little breath, “_Long part!--O
dear me!--second metre!--O dear!_”
“Royal,” said Lucy, with all the sternness she could command, “you
_shall not_ laugh.”
Royal made no reply, but tumbled over upon the sofa, holding his sides,
and every minute repeating, at the intervals of the paroxysm, “_Long
part--second metre!_--O dear me!”
“Royal,” said Lucy again, stamping with her little foot upon the
carpet, “I tell you, you shall not laugh.”
Then suddenly she seized a little twig which she had by her side, and
which she had provided as a rod to punish her imaginary scholars with;
and, starting up, she ran towards Royal, saying, “I’ll soon make you
sober with my rod.”
Royal immediately jumped up from the sofa, and ran off,--Lucy in hot
pursuit. Royal turned into the back entry, and passed out through an
open door behind, which led into a little green yard back of the
house. There was a young lady, about seventeen years old, coming out of
the garden into the little yard, with a watering-pot in her hand, just
as Royal and Lucy came out of the house.
She stopped Lucy, and asked her what was the matter.
“Why, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “Royal keeps laughing at me.”
Miss Anne looked around to see Royal. He had gone and seated himself
upon a bench under an apple-tree, and seemed entirely out of breath and
exhausted; though his face was still full of half-suppressed glee.
“What is the matter, Royal?” said Miss Anne.
“Why, he is laughing at my school,” said Lucy.
“No, I am not laughing at her school,” said Royal; “but she was going
to give out a hymn, and she said----”
Royal could not get any further. The fit of laughter came over him
again, and he lay down upon the bench, unable to give any further
account of it, except to get out the words, “_Long part!_ O dear me!
What shall I do?”
“Royal!” exclaimed Lucy.
“Never mind him,” said Miss Anne; “let him laugh if he will, and you,
come with me.”
“Why, where are you going?”
“Into my room. Come, go in with me, and I will talk with you.”
So Miss Anne took Lucy along with her into a little back bedroom. There
was a window at one side, and a table, with books, and an inkstand, and
a work-basket upon it. Miss Anne sat down at this window, and took her
work; and Lucy came and leaned against her, and said,
“Come, Miss Anne, you said you would talk with me.”
“Well,” said Miss Anne, “there is one thing which I do not like.”
“What is it?” said Lucy.
“Why, you do not keep your treasury in order.”
“Well, that,” said Lucy, “is because I have got so many things.”
“Then I would not have so many things;--at least I would not keep them
all in my treasury.”
“Well, Miss Anne, if you would only keep some of them for me,--then I
could keep the rest in order.”
“What sort of things should you wish me to keep?”
“Why, my best things,--my tea-set, I am sure, so that I shall not
lose any more of them; I have lost some of them now--one cup and two
saucers; and the handle of the pitcher is broken. Royal broke it. He
said he would pay me, but he never has.”
“How was he going to pay you?”
“Why, he said he would make a new nose for old Margaret. Her nose is
all worn off.”
“A new nose! How could he make a new nose?” asked Miss Anne.
“O, of putty. He said he could make it of putty, and stick it on.”
“Putty!” exclaimed Miss Anne. “What a boy!”
Old Margaret was an old doll that Lucy had. She was not big enough to
take very good care of a doll, and old Margaret had been tumbled about
the floors and carpets until she was pretty well worn out. Still,
however, Lucy always kept her, with her other playthings, in her
_treasury_.
The place which Lucy called her treasury was a part of a closet or
wardrobe, in a back entry, very near Miss Anne’s room. This closet
extended down to the floor, and upwards nearly to the wall. There were
two doors above, and two below. The lower part had been assigned to
Lucy, to keep her playthings and her various treasures in; and it was
called her _treasury_.
Her treasury was not kept in very good order. The upper shelf contained
books, and the two lower, playthings. But all three of the shelves were
in a state of sad disorder. And this was the reason why Miss Anne asked
her about it.
“Yes, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “that is the very difficulty, I know. I
have got too many things in my treasury; and if you will keep my best
things for me, then I shall have room for the rest. I’ll run and get my
tea things.”
“But stop,” said Miss Anne. “It seems to me that you had better keep
your best things yourself, and put the others away somewhere.”
“But where shall I put them?” asked Lucy.
“Why, you might carry them up garret, and put them in a box. Take out
all the broken playthings, and the old papers, and the things of no
value, and put them in a box, and then we will get Royal to nail a
cover on it.”
“Well,--if I only had a box,” said Lucy.
“And then,” continued Miss Anne, “after a good while, when you have
forgotten all about the box, and have got tired of your playthings in
the treasury, I can say, ‘O Lucy, don’t you remember you have got a box
full of playthings up in the garret?’ And then you can go up there,
and Royal will draw out the nails, and take off the cover, and you can
look them all over, and they will be new again.”
“O aunt Anne, will they be really _new_ again?” said Lucy; “would old
Margaret be new again if I should nail her up in a box?”
Lucy thought that _new_ meant nice, and whole, and clean, like things
when they are first bought at the toy-shop or bookstore.
Miss Anne laughed at this mistake; for she meant that they would be
_new_ to her; that is, that she would have forgotten pretty much how
they looked, and that she would take a new and fresh interest in
looking at them.
Lucy looked a little disappointed when Anne explained that this was her
meaning; but she said that she would carry up some of the things to the
garret, if she only had a box to put them in.
Miss Anne said that she presumed that she could find some box or old
trunk up there; and she gave Lucy a basket to put the things into, that
were to be carried up.
So Lucy took the basket, and carried it into the entry; and she opened
the doors of her treasury, and placed the basket down upon the floor
before it.
Then she kneeled down herself upon the carpet, and began to take a
survey of the scene of confusion before her.
She took out several blocks, which were lying upon the lower shelf,
and also some large sheets of paper with great letters printed upon
them. Her father had given them to her to cut the letters out, and
paste them into little books. Next came a saucer, with patches of red,
blue, green, and yellow, all over it, made with water colors, from Miss
Anne’s paint-box. She put these things into the basket, and then sat
still for some minutes, not knowing what to take next. Not being able
to decide herself, she went back to ask Miss Anne.
“What things do you think I had better carry away, Miss Anne?” said
she. “I can’t tell very well.”
“I don’t know what things you have got there, exactly,” said Miss Anne;
“but I can tell you what _kind_ of things I should take away.”
“Well, what kind?” said Lucy.
“Why, I should take the bulky things.”
“Bulky things!” said Lucy; “what are bulky things?”
“Why, _big_ things--those that take up a great deal of room.”
“Well, what other kinds of things, Miss Anne?”
“The useless things.”
“Useless?” repeated Lucy.
“Yes, those that you do not use much.”
“Well, what others?”
“All the old, broken things.”
“Well, and what else?”
“Why, I think,” replied Miss Anne, “that if you take away all those,
you will then probably have room enough for the rest. At any rate, go
and get a basket full of such as I have told you, and we will see how
much room it makes.”
So Lucy went back, and began to take out some of the broken, and
useless, and large things, and at length filled her basket full. Then
she carried them in to show to Miss Anne. Miss Anne looked them over,
and took out some old papers which were of no value whatever, and then
told Lucy, that, if she would carry them up stairs, and put them down
upon the garret floor, she would herself come up by and by, and find a
box to put them in. Lucy did so, and then came down, intending to get
another basket full.
As she was descending the stairs, coming down carefully from step to
step, with one hand upon the banisters, and the other holding her
basket, singing a little song,--her mother, who was at work in the
parlor, heard her, and came out into the entry.
“Ah, my little Miss Lucy,” said she, “I’ve found you, have I? Just come
into the parlor a minute; I want to show you something.”
Lucy’s mother smiled when she said this; and Lucy could not imagine
what it was that she wanted to show her.
As soon, however, as she got into the room, her mother stopped by the
door, and pointed to the little chairs and crickets which Lucy had left
out upon the floor of the room, when she had dismissed her school. The
rule was, that she must always put away all the chairs and furniture
of every kind which she used in her play; and, when she forgot or
neglected this, her punishment was, to be imprisoned for ten minutes
upon a little cricket in the corner, with nothing to amuse herself with
but a book. And a book was not much amusement for her; for she could
not read; she only knew a few of her letters.
As soon, therefore, as she saw her mother pointing at the crickets and
chairs, she began at once to excuse herself by saying,
“Well, mother, that is because I was doing something for Miss
Anne.--No, it is because Royal made me go away from my school, before
it was done.”
“Royal made you go away! how?” asked her mother.
“Why, he laughed at me, and so I ran after him; and then Miss Anne took
me into her room and I forgot all about my chairs and crickets.”
“Well, I am sorry for you; but you must put them away, and then go to
prison.”
So Lucy put away her crickets and chairs, and then went and took her
seat in the corner where she could see the clock, and began to look
over her book to find such letters as she knew, until the minute-hand
had passed over two of the five-minute spaces upon the face of the
clock. Then she got up and went out; and, hearing Royal’s voice in the
yard, she went out to see what he was doing, and forgot all about the
work she had undertaken at her treasury. Miss Anne sat in her room two
hours, wondering what had become of Lucy; and finally, when she came
out of her room to see about getting tea, she shut the treasury doors,
and, seeing the basket upon the stairs, where Lucy had left it, she
took it and put it away in its place.
CONVERSATION II.
DEFINITIONS.
A few days after this, Lucy came into Miss Anne’s room, bringing a
little gray kitten in her arms. She asked Miss Anne if she would not
make her a rolling mouse, for her kitten to play with.
Miss Anne had a way of unwinding a ball of yarn a little, and then
fastening it with a pin, so that it would not unwind any farther. Then
Lucy could take hold of the end of the yarn, and roll the ball about
upon the floor, and let the kitten run after it. She called it her
rolling mouse.
Miss Anne made her a mouse, and Lucy played with it for some time. At
last the kitten scampered away, and Lucy could not find her. Then Anne
proposed to Lucy that she should finish the work of re-arranging her
treasury.
“Let me see,” said Miss Anne, “if you remember what I told you the
other day. What were the kinds of things that I advised you to carry
away?”
“Why, there were the _sulky_ things.”
“The what!” said Miss Anne.
“No, the big things,--the big things,” said Lucy.
“The bulky things,” said Miss Anne, “not the _sulky_ things!”
“Well, it sounded like _sulky_,” said Lucy; “but I thought it was not
exactly that.”
“No, not exactly,--but it was not a very great mistake. I said
_useless_ things, and _bulky_ things, and you got the sounds
confounded.”
“Con-- what?” said Lucy.
“Confounded,--that is, mixed together. You got the _s_ sound of
_useless_, instead of the _b_ sound of _bulky_; but _bulky_ and _sulky_
mean very different things.”
“What does _sulky_ mean? I know that _bulky_ means _big_.”
“Sulkiness is a kind of ill-humor.”
“What kind?”
“Why, it is the _silent_ kind. If a little girl, who is out of humor,
complains and cries, we say she is fretful or cross; but if she goes
away pouting and still, but yet plainly out of humor, they sometimes
say she is _sulky_. A good many of your playthings are bulky; but I
don’t think any of them are sulky, unless it be old Margaret. Does she
ever get out of humor?”
“Sometimes,” said Lucy, “and then I shut her up in a corner. Would you
carry old Margaret up garret?”
“Why, she takes up a good deal of room, does not she?” said Miss Anne.
“Yes,” said Lucy, “ever so much room. I cannot make her sit up, and she
lies down all over my cups and saucers.”
“Then I certainly would carry her up garret.”
“And would you carry up her bonnet and shawl too?”
“Yes, all that belongs to her.”
“Then,” said Lucy, “whenever I want to play with her, I shall have to
go away up garret, to get all her things.”
“Very well; you can do just as you think best.”
“Well, would you?” asked Lucy.
“I should, myself, if I were in your case; and only keep such things in
my treasury as are neat, and whole, and in good order.”
“But I play with old Margaret a great deal,--almost every day,” said
Lucy.
“Perhaps, then, you had better not carry her away. Do just which you
think you shall like best.”
Lucy began to walk towards the door. She moved quite slowly, because
she was uncertain whether to carry her old doll up stairs or not.
Presently she turned around again, and said,
“Well, Miss Anne, which would you do?”
“I have told you that _I_ should carry her up stairs; but I’ll tell you
what you can do. You can play that she has gone away on a visit; and so
let her stay up garret a few days, and then, if you find you cannot do
without her, you can make believe that you must send for her to come
home.”
“So I can,” said Lucy; “that will be a good plan.”
Lucy went immediately to the treasury, and took old Margaret out, and
everything that belonged to her. This almost made a basket full, and
she carried it off up stairs. Then she came back, and got another
basket full, and another, until at last she had removed nearly half of
the things; and then she thought that there would be plenty of room to
keep the rest in order. And every basket full which she had carried
up, she had always brought first to Miss Anne, to let her look over
the things, and see whether they had better all go. Sometimes Lucy had
got something in her basket which Miss Anne thought had better remain,
and be kept in the treasury; and some of the things Miss Anne said
were good for nothing at all, and had better be burnt, or thrown away,
such as old papers, and some shapeless blocks, and broken bits of china
ware. At last the work was all done, the basket put away, and Lucy came
and sat down by Miss Anne.
“Well, Lucy,” said Miss Anne, “you have been quite industrious and
persevering.”
Lucy did not know exactly what Miss Anne meant by these words; but she
knew by her countenance and her tone of voice, that it was something in
her praise.
“But perhaps you do not know what I mean, exactly,” she added.
“No, not exactly,” said Lucy.
“Why, a girl is industrious when she keeps steadily at work all the
time, until her work is done. If you had stopped when you had got your
basket half full, and had gone to playing with the things, you would
not have been industrious.”
“I did, a little,--with my guinea peas,” said Lucy.
“It is best,” said Miss Anne, “when you have anything like that to do,
to keep industriously at work until it is finished.”
“But I only wanted to look at my guinea peas a little.”
“O, I don’t think that was very wrong,” said Miss Anne. “Only it would
have been a little better if you had put them back upon the shelf, and
said, ‘Now, as soon as I have finished my work, then I’ll take out my
guinea peas and look at them.’ You would have enjoyed looking at them
more when your work was done.”
“You said that I was something else besides industrious.”
“Yes, persevering,” said Miss Anne.
“What is that?”
“Why, that is keeping on steadily at your work, and not giving it up
until it is entirely finished.”
“Why, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “I thought that was _industrious_.”
Here Miss Anne began to laugh, and Lucy said,
“Now, what are you laughing at, Miss Anne?” She thought that she was
laughing at her.
“O, I am not laughing at you, but at my own definitions.”
“Definitions! What are definitions, Miss Anne?” said Lucy.
“Why, explanations of the meanings of words. You asked me what was the
meaning of _industrious_ and _persevering_; and I tried to explain them
to you; that is, to tell you the definition of them; but I gave pretty
much the same definition for both; when, in fact, they mean quite
different things.”
“Then why did not you give me different definitions, Miss Anne?” said
Lucy.
“It is very hard to give good definitions,” said she.
“I should not think it would be hard. I should think, if you knew what
the words meant, you could just tell me.”
“I can tell you in another way,” said Miss. Anne. “Suppose a boy should
be sent into the pasture to find the cow, and should look about a
little while, and then come home and say that he could not find her,
when he had only looked over a very small part of the pasture. He would
not be _persevering_. Perhaps there was a brook, and some woods that he
ought to go through and look beyond; but he gave up, we will suppose,
and thought he would not go over the brook, but would rather come home
and say that he could not find the cow. Now, a boy, in such a case,
would not be _persevering_.”
“_I_ should have liked to go over the brook,” said Lucy.
“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “no doubt; but we may suppose that he had been
over it so often, that he did not care about going again,--and so he
turned back and came home, without having finished his work.”
“His work?” said Lucy.
“Yes,--his duty, of looking for the cow until he found her. He was
sent to find the cow, but he did not do it. He became discouraged, and
gave up too easily. He did not _persevere_. Perhaps he kept looking
about all the time, while he was in the pasture; and went into all
the little groves and valleys where the cow might be hid: and so he
was _industrious_ while he was looking for the cow, but he did not
_persevere_.
“And so you see, Lucy,” continued Miss Anne, “a person might persevere
without being industrious. For once there was a girl named Julia. She
had a flower-garden. She went out one morning to weed it. She pulled
up some of the weeds, and then she went off to see a butterfly; and
after a time she came back, and worked a little longer. Then some
children came to see her; and she sat down upon a seat, and talked with
them some time, and left her work. In this way, she kept continually
stopping to play. She was not industrious.”
“And did she _persevere_?” asked Lucy.
“Yes,” said Miss Anne. “She persevered. For when the other children
wanted her to go away with them and play, she would not. She said she
did not mean to go out of the garden until she had finished weeding
her flowers. So after the children had gone away, she went back to
her work, and after a time she got it done. She was _persevering_;
that is, she would not give up what she had undertaken until it was
finished;--but she was not _industrious_; that is, she did not work all
the time steadily, while she was engaged in doing it. It would have
been better for her to have been industrious and persevering too, for
then she would have finished her work sooner.”
As Miss Anne said these words, she heard a voice out in the yard
calling to her,
“Miss Anne!”
Miss Anne looked out at the window to see who it was. It was Royal.
“Is Lucy in there with you?” asked Royal.
Miss Anne said that she was; and at the same time, Lucy, who heard
Royal’s voice, ran to another window, and climbed up into a chair, so
that she could look out.
“Lucy,” said Royal, “come out here.”
“O no,” said Lucy, “I can’t come now. Miss Anne is telling me stories.”
Royal was seated on a large, flat stone, which had been placed in a
corner of the yard, under some trees, for a seat; he was cutting a
stick with his knife. His cap was lying upon the stone, by his side.
When Lucy said that she could not come out, he put his hand down upon
his cap, and said,
“Come out and see what I’ve got under my cap.”
“What is it?” said Lucy.
“I can’t tell you; it is a secret. If you will come out, I will let you
see it.”
“Do tell me what it is.”
“No,” said Royal.
“Tell me something about it,” said Lucy, “at any rate.”
“Well,” said Royal, “I will tell you one thing. It is not a bird.”
Lucy concluded that it must be some curious animal or other, if it was
not a bird; and so she told Miss Anne that she believed she would go
out and see, and then she would come in again directly, and hear the
rest that she had to say. So she went out to see what Royal had got
under his cap.
[Illustration: “So she went out to see what Royal had got under his
cap.”--_Page_ 30.]
Miss Anne suspected that Royal had not got anything under his cap; but
that it was only his contrivance to excite Lucy’s curiosity, and induce
her to come out.
And this turned out to be the fact; for when Lucy went up to where
Royal was sitting, and asked him what it was, he just lifted up his
cap, and said, it was that monstrous, great, flat stone!
At first, Lucy was displeased, and was going directly back into the
house again; but Royal told her that he was making a windmill, and
that, if she would stay there and keep him company, he would let her
run with it, when it was done. So Lucy concluded to remain.
CONVERSATION III.
THE GLEN.
Behind the house that Lucy lived in, there was a path, winding among
trees, which was a very pleasant path to take a walk in. Lucy and Royal
often went to take a walk there. They almost always went that way when
Miss Anne could go with them, for she liked the place very much. It led
to a strange sort of a place, where there were trees, and high, rocky
banks, and a brook running along in the middle, with a broad plank to
go across. Miss Anne called it the glen.
One morning Miss Anne told Lucy that she was going to be busy for two
hours, and that after that she was going to take a walk down to the
glen; and that Lucy might go with her, if she would like to go. Of
course Lucy liked the plan very much. When the time arrived, they set
off, going out through the garden gate. Miss Anne had a parasol in one
hand and a book in the other. Lucy ran along before her, and opened the
gate.
They heard a voice behind them calling out,
“Miss Anne, where are you going?”
They looked round. It was Royal, sitting at the window of a little
room, where he used to study.
“We are going to take a walk,--down to the glen,” said Miss Anne.
“I wish you would wait for me,” said Royal, “only a few minutes; the
sand is almost out.”
He meant the sand of his hour-glass; for he had an hour-glass upon the
table, in his little room, to measure the time for study. He had to
study one hour in the afternoon, and was not allowed to leave his room
until the sand had all run out.
“No,” said Lucy, in a loud voice, calling out to Royal; “we can’t wait.”
“Perhaps we had better wait for him,” said Miss Anne, in a low voice,
to Lucy. “He would like to go with us. And, besides, he can help you
across the brook.”
Lucy seemed a little unwilling to wait, but on the whole she consented;
and Miss Anne sat down upon a seat in the garden, while Lucy played
about in the walks, until Royal came down, with his hatchet in his
hand. They then walked all along together.
When they got to the glen, Miss Anne went up a winding path to a seat,
where she used to love to sit and read. There was a beautiful prospect
from it, all around. Royal and Lucy remained down in the little valley
to play; but Miss Anne told them that they must not go out of her sight.
“But how can we tell,” said Royal, “what places you can see?”
“O,” said Miss Anne, “look up now and then, and if you can see me, in
my seat, you will be safe. If you can see me, I can see you.”
“Come,” said Royal, “let us go down to the bridge, and go across the
brook.”
The plank which Royal called a bridge, was down below the place where
Miss Anne went up to her seat, and Royal and Lucy began to walk along
slowly towards it.
“But I am afraid to go over that plank,” said Lucy.
“Afraid!” said Royal; “you need not be afraid; it is not dangerous.”
“I think it _is_ dangerous,” said Lucy; “it bends a great deal.”
“Bends!” exclaimed Royal; “the bending does no harm. I will lead you
over as safe as dry ground. Besides, there is something over there that
I want to show you.”
“What is it?” said Lucy.
“O, something,” said Royal.
“I don’t believe there is anything at all,” said Lucy, “any more than
there was under your cap.”
“O Lucy! there was something under my cap.”
“No, there wasn’t,” said Lucy.
“Yes, that great, flat stone.”
“_In_ your cap, I mean,” said Lucy; “that wasn’t _in_ your cap.”
“_In!_” said Royal; “that is a very different sort of a preposition.”
“I don’t know what you mean by a preposition,” said Lucy; “but I know
you told me there was something in your cap, and that is what I came
out to see.”
“_Under_, Lucy; I said _under_.”
“Well, you meant _in_; I verily believe you meant _in_.”
Lucy was right. Royal did indeed say _under_, but he meant to have her
understand that there was something _in_ his cap, and lying upon the
great, flat stone.
“And so you told me a falsehood,” said Lucy.
“O Lucy!” said Royal, “I would not tell a falsehood for all the world.”
“Yes, you told me a falsehood; and now I don’t believe you about
anything over the brook. For Miss Anne told me, one day, that when
anybody told a falsehood, we must not believe them, even if they tell
the truth.”
“O Lucy! Lucy!” said Royal, “I don’t believe she ever said any such a
word.”
“Yes she did,” said Lucy. But Lucy said this rather hesitatingly, for
she felt some doubt whether she was quoting what Miss Anne had told
her, quite correctly.
Here, however, the children arrived at the bridge, and Royal was
somewhat at a loss what to do. He wanted very much to go over, and to
have Lucy go over too; but by his not being perfectly honest before,
about what was under his cap, Lucy had lost her confidence in him, and
would not believe what he said. At first he thought that if she would
not go with him, he would threaten to go off and leave her. But in a
moment he reflected that this would make her cry, and that would cause
Miss Anne to come down from her seat, to see what was the matter, which
might lead to ever so much difficulty. Besides, he thought that he had
not done exactly right about the cap story, and so he determined to
treat Lucy kindly.
“If I manage gently with her,” said he to himself, “she will want to
come across herself pretty soon.”
Accordingly, when Royal got to the plank, he said,
“Well, Lucy, if you had rather stay on this side, you can. I want to go
over, but I won’t go very far; and you can play about here.”
So Royal went across upon the plank; when he had got to the middle of
it, he sprang up and down upon it with his whole weight, in order to
show Lucy how strong it was. He then walked along by the bank, upon the
other side of the brook, and began to look into the water, watching for
fishes.
Lucy’s curiosity became considerably excited by what Royal was
constantly saying about his fishes. First he said he saw a dozen little
fishes; then, going a little farther, he saw two pretty big ones; and
Lucy came down to the bank upon her side of the brook, but she could
not get very near, on account of the bushes. She had a great mind to
ask Royal to come and help her across, when all at once he called out
very eagerly,
“O Lucy! Lucy! here is a great turtle,--a monster of a turtle, as big
as the top of my head. Here he goes, paddling along over the stones.”
“Where? where?” said Lucy. “Let me see. Come and help me across, Royal.”
Royal ran back to the plank, keeping a watch over the turtle, as well
as he could, all the time. He helped Lucy across, and then they ran up
to the place, and Royal pointed into the water.
“There, Lucy! See there! A real turtle! See his tail! It is as sharp as
a dagger.”
It was true. There was a real turtle resting upon the sand in a shallow
place in the water. His head and his four paws were projecting out of
his shell, and his long, pointed tail, like a rudder, floated in the
water behind.
“Yes,” said Lucy. “I see him. I see his head.”
“Now, Lucy,” said Royal, “we must not let him get away. We must make a
pen for him. I can make a pen. You stay here and watch him, while I go
and get ready to make a pen.”
“How can you make it?” said Lucy.
“O, you’ll see,” said Royal; and he took up his hatchet, which he had
before laid down upon the grass, and went into the bushes, and began
cutting, as if he was cutting some of them down.
Lucy remained some time watching the turtle. He lay quite still, with
his head partly out of the water. The sun shone upon the place, and
perhaps that was the reason why he remained so still; for turtles are
said to like to bask in the beams of the sun.
After a time, Royal came to the place with an armful of stakes, about
three feet long. He threw them down upon the bank, and then began to
look around for a suitable place to build his pen. He chose, at last, a
place in the water, near the shore. The water there was not deep, and
the bottom was sandy.
“This will be a good place,” he said to Lucy. “I will make his pen
here.”
“How are you going to make it?” said Lucy.
“Why, I am going to drive these stakes down in a kind of a circle, so
near together that he can’t get out between them; and they are so tall
that I know he can’t get over.”
“And how are you going to get him in?” said Lucy.
“O, I shall leave one stake out, till I get him in,” answered Royal.
“We can drive him in with long sticks. But you must not mind me; you
must watch the turtle, or he will get away.”
So Royal began to drive the stakes. Presently Lucy said that the turtle
was stirring. Royal looked, but he found he was not going away, and so
he went on with his work; and before long he had a place fenced in with
his stakes, about as large round as a boy’s hoop. It was all fenced,
excepting in one place, which he left open to get the turtle through.
The two children then contrived, by means of two long sticks, which
Royal cut from among the bushes, to get the turtle into his prison.
The poor reptile hardly knew what to make of such treatment. He went
tumbling along through the water, half pushed, half driven.
When he was fairly in, Royal drove down the last stake in the vacant
space which had been left. The turtle swam about, pushing his head
against the bars in several places; and when he found that he could not
get out, he remained quietly in the middle.
“There,” said Royal, “that will do. Now I wish Miss Anne would come
down here, and see him. I should like to see what she would say.”
Miss Anne did come down after a while; and when the children saw her
descending the path, they called out to her aloud to come there and
see. She came, and when she reached the bank opposite to the turtle
pen, she stood still for a few minutes, looking at it, with a smile of
curiosity and interest upon her face; but she did not speak a word.
CONVERSATION IV.
A PRISONER.
After a little while, they all left the turtle, and went rambling
around, among the rocks and trees. At last Royal called out to them to
come to a large tree, where he was standing. He was looking up into it.
Lucy ran fast; she thought it was a bird’s nest. Miss Anne came along
afterwards, singing. Royal showed them a long, straight branch, which
extended out horizontally from the tree, and said that it would be an
excellent place to make a swing.
“So it would,” said Miss Anne, “if we only had a rope.”
“I’ve got a rope at home,” said Royal, “if Lucy would only go and get
it,--while I cut off some of the small branches, which are in the way.
“Come, Lucy,” he continued, “go and get my rope. It is hanging up in
the shed.”
“O no,” said Lucy; “I can’t reach it.”
“O, you can get a chair,” said Royal; “or Joanna will hand it to you;
she will be close by, in the kitchen. Come, Lucy, go, that is a good
girl; and I’ll pay you.”
“What will you give me?” said Lucy.
“O, I don’t know; but I’ll give you something.”
But Lucy did not seem quite inclined to go. She said she did not want
to go so far alone; though, in fact, it was only a very short distance.
Besides, she had not much confidence in Royal’s promise.
“Will you go, Lucy, if _I_ will promise to give you something?” said
Miss Anne.
“Yes,” said Lucy.
“Well, I will,” said Miss Anne; “I can’t tell you _what_, now, for I
don’t know; but it shall be something you will like.
“But, Royal,” she added, “what shall we do for a seat in our swing?”
“Why, we must have a board--a short board, with two notches. I know how
to cut them.”
“Yes, if you only had a board; but there are no boards down here. I
think you had better go with Lucy, and then you can bring down a board.”
Royal said that it would take some time to saw off the board, and cut
the notches; and, finally, they concluded to postpone making the swing
until the next time they came down to the glen; and then they would
bring down whatever should be necessary, with them.
As they were walking slowly along, after this, towards home, Royal said
something about Lucy’s not being willing to go for _his_ promise, as
well as for Miss Anne’s,--which led to the following conversation:--
_Lucy._ I don’t believe you were going to give me anything at all.
_Royal._ O Lucy!--I was,--I certainly was.
_Lucy._ Then I don’t believe that it would be anything that I should
like.
_Royal._ But I don’t see how you could tell anything about it, unless
you knew what it was going to be.
_Lucy._ I don’t believe it would be anything; do you, Miss Anne?
_Miss Anne._ I don’t know anything about it. I should not think that
Royal would break his promise.
_Lucy._ He does break his promises. He won’t mend old Margaret’s nose.
_Royal._ Well, Lucy, that is because my putty has all dried up. I am
going to do it, just as soon as I can get any more putty.
_Lucy._ And that makes me think about the thing in your cap. I mean
to ask Miss Anne if you did not tell a falsehood. He said there was
something in his cap, and there was nothing in it at all. It was only
on the great, flat stone.
_Royal._ O, _under_, Lucy, _under_. I certainly said _under_.
_Lucy._ Well, you meant _in_; I know you did. Wasn’t it a falsehood?
_Miss Anne._ Did he say _in_, or _under_?
_Royal._ _Under_, _under_; it was certainly _under_.
_Miss Anne._ Then I don’t think it was exactly a falsehood.
_Lucy._ Well, it was as bad as a falsehood, at any rate.
_Royal._ Was it as bad as a falsehood, Miss Anne?
_Miss Anne._ Let us consider a little. Lucy, what do you think? Suppose
he had said that there was really something _in_ his cap,--do you think
it would have been no worse?
_Lucy._ I don’t know.
_Miss Anne._ I think it _would_ have been worse.
_Royal._ Yes, a great deal worse.
_Miss Anne._ He _deceived you_, perhaps, but he did not tell a
falsehood.
_Lucy._ Well, Miss Anne, and isn’t it wrong for him to deceive me?
_Miss Anne._ I think it was unwise, at any rate.
_Royal._ Why was it unwise, Miss Anne? I wanted her to come out, and
I knew she would like to be out there, if she would only once come.
Besides, I thought it would make her laugh when I came to lift up my
cap and show her that great, flat stone.
_Miss Anne._ And did she laugh?
_Royal._ Why, not much. She said she meant to go right into the house
again.
_Miss Anne._ Instead of being pleased with the wit, she was displeased
at being imposed upon.
Royal laughed.
_Miss Anne._ The truth is, Royal, that, though it is rather easier,
sometimes, to get along by wit than by honesty, yet you generally have
to pay for it afterwards.
_Royal._ How do we have to pay for it?
_Miss Anne._ Why, Lucy has lost her confidence in you. You cannot get
her to go and get a rope for you by merely promising her something,
while I can. She confides in me, and not in you. She is afraid you
will find some ingenious escape or other from fulfilling it. Wit
gives anybody a present advantage, but honesty gives a lasting power;
so that the influence I have over Lucy, by always being honest with
her, is worth a great deal more than all you can accomplish with
your contrivances. So I think you had better keep your wits and your
contrivances for turtles, and always be honest with men.
_Royal._ Men! Lucy isn’t a man.
_Miss Anne._ I mean mankind--men, women, and children.
_Royal._ Well, about my turtle, Miss Anne. Do you think that I can keep
him in his pen?
_Miss Anne._ Yes, unless he digs out.
_Royal._ Dig?--Can turtles dig much?
_Miss Anne._ I presume they can work into mud, and sand, and soft
ground.
_Royal._ Then I must get a great, flat stone, and put into the bottom
of his pen. He can’t dig through that.
_Miss Anne._ I should rather make his pen larger, and then perhaps he
won’t want to get out. You might find some cove in the brook, where the
water is deep, for him, and then drive your stakes in the shallow water
all around it. And then, if you choose, you could extend it up upon the
shore, and so let him have a walk upon the land, within his bounds.
Then, perhaps, sometimes, when you come down to see him, you may find
him up upon the grass, sunning himself.
_Royal._ Yes, that I shall like very much. It will take a great many
stakes; but I can cut them with my hatchet. I’ll call it my _turtle
pasture_. Perhaps I shall find some more to put in.
_Lucy._ I don’t think it is yours, altogether, Royal.
_Royal._ Why, I found him.
_Lucy._ Yes, but I watched him for you, or else he would have got away.
I think you ought to let me own a share.
_Royal._ But I made the pen altogether myself.
_Lucy._ And I helped you drive the turtle in.
_Royal._ O Lucy! I don’t think you did much good.
_Miss Anne._ I’ll tell you what, Lucy; if Royal found the turtle and
made the pen, and if you watched him and helped drive him in, then I
think you ought to own about one third, and Royal two thirds.
_Royal._ Well.
_Miss Anne._ But, then, Royal, why would it not be a good plan for you
to let her have as much of your share as will make hers half, and
yours half, to pay her for the trouble you gave her by the cap story?
_Royal._ To pay her?
_Miss Anne._ Yes,--a sort of damages. Then, if you are careful not to
deceive her any more, Lucy will pass over the old cases, and place
confidence in you for the future.
_Royal._ Well, Lucy, you shall have half.
Lucy clapped her hands with delight at this concession, and soon after
the children reached home. The next day, Royal and Lucy went down to
see the turtle; and Royal made him a large pasture, partly in the brook
and partly on the shore, and while he was doing it, Lucy remained, and
kept him company.
CONVERSATION V.
TARGET PAINTING.
On rainy days, Lucy sometimes found it pretty difficult to know what to
do for amusement,--especially when Royal was in his little room at his
studies. When Royal had finished his studies, he used to let her go out
with him into the shed, or into the barn, and see what he was doing.
She could generally tell whether he had gone out or not, by looking
into the back entry upon his nail, to see if his cap was there. If his
cap was there, she supposed that he had not gone out.
One afternoon, when it was raining pretty fast, she went twice to look
at Royal’s nail, and both times found the cap still upon it. Lucy
thought it must be after the time, and she wondered why he did not come
down. She concluded to take his cap, and put it on, and make believe
that she was a traveller.
She put the cap upon her head, and then got a pair of her father’s
gloves, and put on. She also found an umbrella in the corner, and took
that in her hand. When she found herself rigged, she thought she would
go and call at Miss Anne’s door. She accordingly walked along, using
her umbrella for a cane, holding it with both hands.
When she got to Miss Anne’s door, she knocked, as well as she could,
with the crook upon the handle of the umbrella. Miss Anne had heard the
thumping noise of the umbrella, as Lucy came along, and knew who it
was; so she said, “Come in.”
Lucy opened the door and went in; the cap settled down over her eyes,
so that she had to hold her head back very far to see, and the long
fingers of her father’s gloves were sticking out in all directions.
“How do you, sir?” said she to Miss Anne, nodding a little, as well as
she could,--“how do you, sir?”
“Pretty well, I thank you, sir; walk in, sir; I am happy to see you,”
said Miss Anne.
“It is a pretty late evening, sir, I thank you, sir,” said Lucy.
“Yes, sir, I think it is,” said Miss Anne. “Is there any news to-night,
sir?”
“No, sir,--not but a few, sir,” said Lucy.
Lucy looked pretty sober while this dialogue lasted; but Miss Anne
could not refrain from laughing aloud at Lucy’s appearance and
expressions, and Lucy turned round, and appeared to be going away.
“Can’t you stop longer, sir?” said Miss Anne.
“No, sir,” said Lucy. “I only wanted to ask you which is the way to
London.”
Just at this moment, Lucy heard Royal’s voice in the back entry, asking
Joanna if she knew what had become of his cap; and immediately she
started to run back and give it to him. Finding, however, that she
could not get along fast enough with the umbrella, she dropped it upon
the floor, and ran along without it, calling out,
“Royal! Royal! here; come here, and look at me.”
“Now I should like to know, Miss Lucy,” said Royal, as soon as she came
in sight, “who authorized you to take off my cap?”
“I’m a traveller,” said Lucy.
“A traveller!” repeated Royal; “you look like a traveller.”
He pulled his cap off from Lucy’s head, and put it upon his own; and
then held up a paper which he had in his hands, to her view.
There was a frightful-looking figure of a man upon it, pretty large,
with eyes, nose, and mouth, painted brown, and a bundle of sticks upon
his back.
“What is that?” said Lucy.
“It is an Indian,” said Royal. “I painted him myself.”
“O, what an Indian!” said Lucy. “I wish you would give him to me.”
“O no,” said Royal; “it is for my _target_.”
“Target?” said Lucy. “What is a target?”
“A target? Why, a target is a mark to shoot at, with my bow and arrow.
They almost always have Indians for targets.”
Lucy told him that she did not believe his target would stand up long
enough to be shot at; but Royal said, in reply, that he was going to
paste him upon a shingle, and then he could prop the shingle up so that
he could shoot at it. And he asked Lucy if she would go and borrow Miss
Anne’s gum arabic bottle, while he went and got the shingle.
The shingle which Royal meant was a thin, flat piece of wood, such as
is used to put upon the roofs of houses.
The gum arabic bottle was a small, square bottle, containing some
dissolved gum arabic, and a brush,--which was always ready for pasting.
Before Lucy got the paste, Royal came back with his shingle, and he
came into Miss Anne’s room, to see what had become of Lucy; and Miss
Anne then said he might paste it there if he pleased. So she spread
a great newspaper upon the table, and put the little bottle and the
Indian upon it; and Royal and Lucy brought two chairs, and sat down
to the work. They found that the table was rather too high for them;
and so they took the things off again, and spread the paper upon the
carpet, and sat down around it. Lucy could see now a great deal better
than before.
“Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “I very much wish that you would give me your
gum arabic bottle, and then I could make little books, and paste
pictures in them, whenever I pleased.”
“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “and that would make me ever so much trouble.”
“No, Miss Anne, I don’t think it would make you much trouble.”
“Why, when I wanted a little gum arabic, to paste something, how would
I get any?”
“O, then I would lend you mine,” said Lucy.
“Yes, if you could find it.”
“O, Miss Anne, I could find it very easily; I am going to keep it in my
treasury.”
“Perhaps you might put it in once or twice, but after that you would
leave it about anywhere. One day I should find it upon a chair, and the
next day upon a table, and the next on the floor;--that is the way you
leave your things about the house.”
“I used to, when I was a little girl,” said Lucy, “but I don’t now.”
“How long is it since you were a little girl?” asked Miss Anne.
“O, it was before you came here. I am older now than I was when you
came here; I have had a birthday since then.”
“Don’t you grow old any, except when you have a birthday?” asked Miss
Anne.
Lucy did not answer this question at first, as she did not know exactly
how it was; and while she was thinking of it, Miss Anne said,
“It can’t be very long, Lucy, since you learned to put things in their
places, for it is not more than ten minutes since I heard you throw
down an umbrella upon the entry floor, and leave it there.”
“The umbrella?--O, that was because I heard Royal calling for his cap;
and so I could not wait, you know; I had to leave it there.”
“But you have passed by it once since, and I presume you did not think
of such a thing as taking it up.”
Lucy had no reply to make to this statement, and she remained silent.
“I have got a great many little things,” continued Miss Anne, “which I
don’t want myself, and which I should be very glad to give away to some
little girl, for playthings, if I only knew of some one who would take
care of them. I don’t want to have them scattered about the house, and
lost, and destroyed.”