His father carried him back to where his mother and uncle were, who
were coming towards him looking anxiously.
They presently got pretty near them, Rollo still continuing to cry. His
father then said to him,
“Rollo, be still a moment. I want to speak to you.”
When he first took Rollo up, he did not command him to be still, for he
knew that it would do no good. He was then so overwhelmed with pain and
terror, that he could not help crying; and his father never commanded
impossibilities. By this time, however, the pain, and the immediate
terror, had so far subsided, that his father knew he could now control
himself, and Rollo knew that he must obey. He accordingly stopped
crying aloud, and tried to listen to his father.
“Rollo,” said his father, “I pity you very much. I warned you against
this bad company, and now I perceive you have got into some difficulty
with them; but I cannot hear your story about it till we get home. It
is your own fault that has brought you into trouble; and now you must
not extend your trouble over all our party, and spoil our happiness, as
you have your own. I must go and put you by yourself, until you get
entirely composed and pleasant, and then you may join us again.”
“But, father,” said Rollo, beginning to cry afresh at the thoughts of
the boys’ treatment of him, “they came up to me, and—and—”
“Stop, Rollo,” said his father. “Be still. You cannot tell the story
intelligibly now, and if you could, I should not be willing to listen
to it. You must not say any thing about it, unless you are questioned,
until we get home.”
By this time they came up pretty near the place where the rest of the
party were; but his father did not take him there. He turned aside,
and, putting Rollo down, he led him along to a smooth log, which lay
among some old trees, close by, and told him to sit there, until he was
entirely composed and pleasant again, and then to come to him, or to go
to picking berries again, just as he pleased.
Rollo sat on the log, for some time, with his empty basket by his side,
mourning over his sorrows. Lucy came to him, and endeavored to console
him. She begged him not to cry; and she poured out half of her own
berries into his basket, and told him that they could soon fill it full
again, if he would come with her to a good thick place she had found.
Rollo became gradually quiet and composed, and walked along with Lucy.
Lucy had indeed found a place where the berries were very thick and
large, and Rollo determined to be as industrious as possible. They
worked away very busily for half an hour, and Rollo gradually recovered
his spirits.
His mother watched him from time to time, and when she saw that he was
good-humored again, she said to his father,
“Rollo seems to be picking his berries very pleasantly. I rather think
he is sorry for his conduct.”
“Yes, I see he is getting _good-humored_ again, but I am afraid he is
not truly penitent. It is easier _forget_ a sin, than to be sorry for
it. It is very easy, however, for us to ascertain.”
“How can we ascertain?” asked his mother.
“Why, if you should go and ask him about it, if he is really penitent,
he will be troubled most to think of his disobedience in going; into
the bad company; but if he is not penitent, he will not think of that,
but only go to scolding about the bad boys.”
“That is true,” said she. “I have a great mind to go and try him.”
Rollo’s father thought it would be a good plan, and she, accordingly,
walked along towards Rollo slowly, gathering berries as she went.
Rollo saw her coming, and said, “Here is mother, Lucy; let us go and
give her our berries.”
So saying, he carried his basket up to her very pleasantly, and said,
“Here, mother; see, here are all these berries I have been picking for
you.”
“Ah,” said she, “did you pick all these for me?”
“E—h—no,” said he; “not all; Lucy gave me some.”
“Well, Lucy, I am very much obliged to you, and I am glad to see that
you, Rollo, are pleasant again; I am sorry you went and got into
difficulty with those boys.”
“They came and took away my berries,” said he, “and struck me—that
great ugly Jim.”
The feelings of vexation and anger against the bad boys began to rise
again in Rollo’s mind, the moment he began to talk about them, and he
was just going to cry. His mother stopped him, saying,
“You need not tell me about him any more. I see how it is.”
“How what is?” said Rollo.
“How it is about your being sorry. Your father told me that, if you
were truly penitent for what happened about those boys, I should find
you, when I came to talk with you about it, grieved for _your own_
fault, and if you were not penitent, you would only be angry at
_theirs_. I see which it is.”
Rollo was silent a moment. He felt the truth and justice of the
distinction; but, like all boys who are not sorry for the wrong they
have done, he could not resist the temptation to try to justify himself
by throwing the blame on others. So he began to tell her something more
about “that cross old Jim,” but she interrupted him, and told him she
did not wish to hear any thing about that “cross old Jim.” He was not
her boy, she said, and she had nothing to do with him or his faults.
She then went to talking about other things, and helped Rollo begin to
fill his basket again. He showed her where the berries were thickest,
and led her round behind a rock to show her a beautiful wild flower
that he had found; he said he did not bring it to her, for his father
had told him not to touch any flowers or berries that they did not
know, for fear they might be poisonous.
After a little while, Rollo’s mother left him and Lucy together, and
went back lo where his father and uncle were.
“Well,” said they, “how did you find Rollo?”
“Pleasant, but not _penitent_,” said she Lucy and Rollo went on
gathering berries some time after Rollo’s mother left him, in silence.
Rollo felt rather unhappy, but he was not subdued. His heart was still
proud and unhumbled, and after a time, he said to Lucy,
“It seems to me very strange that my mother does not think those boys
were to blame any for doing so.”
“She does think they were to blame, Rollo, I know.”
“No, she does not; she will not hear me say any thing about them.”
Lucy did not answer, because she knew it would do no good to dispute
with Rollo, while he was so unreasonable. Rollo ought to have been
willing to have seen his fault, and to have felt truly sorry for it;
but he was not, and so Lucy thought it was better not to talk with him
about it at all. If he had been truly sorry, and had gone and told his
father so, and asked his forgiveness, he would have been happy again.
But as it was, he was not happy. The recollection of his disobedience
and sin would remain in his mind, and though he tried to talk, and
laugh, and play, as usual, his mind was not much at ease. In fact, he
was secretly glad when the time arrived for going home.
The party all gathered together on a smooth piece of ground, about the
middle of the afternoon, to make their arrangements for going down the
mountain. They put their baskets, filled beautifully with blueberries,
together on the grass, while they sat on the stones and logs around, to
rest a little before walking down.
Then Rollo’s father arranged the order of march. Jonas was to go first,
with two of the heaviest baskets of berries. Next came Lucy, with her
little basket about two thirds full, and with leaves and some beautiful
pieces of moss she had found, put in upon the top. Then came Rollo’s
mother leaning on his uncle’s arm. His uncle had a basket of berries in
his other hand. Finally, Rollo and his father walked together behind,
with each a basket in his hand.
Thus they walked along down the steep path, until they began to enter
the bushes. Rollo’s father had made this arrangement so that he might
have an opportunity to talk with him about the difficulty with the
boys, for he thought, on the whole, it would be better to talk with him
now than to wait till they got home.
After they had walked along a little way, Rollo’s father asked him
whether he had a good time blueberrying?
“Why, yes, sir,” said Rollo, “pretty good.”
“Have you seen any thing more of those boys?”
“No, sir.”
“Your mother went to talk with you, and said you did not seem very
sorry for your fault.”
“Why, father,” said Rollo, “I did not do any thing to the boys at all:
it was all their fault, entirely.”
“I don’t suppose you did do any thing wrong towards _them_, but you
committed a great fault in respect to me.”
“What fault?” said Rollo.
“Disobedience.”
“Why, father, how? You did not tell me to stay close by you.”
“And is a boy guilty of disobedience only when he does what his father
forbids in words?”
“I suppose so,” said Rollo.
“What is disobedience?” asked his father.
“Why, it is doing what you tell me not to do; is it not?”
“That is not a sufficient definition of it; for suppose you were out
there in the bushes, and I was to beckon you to come here, and you
should not come, would not that be disobedience?”
“Why, yes, sir.”
“And yet I should not _tell_ you to come.”
“No, sir.”
“And so, if I were to shake my head at you when you were doing any
thing wrong, and you wore to continue doing it, that would be
disobedience.”
Rollo admitted that it would. “So that it is not necessary that I
should tell you _in words_ what my wishes are: if I express them in any
way so that you plainly understand it, that is enough. The most
important orders that are given by men, are often given without any
words.”
“How, father?”
“Why, at sea, sometimes, where there is a great fleet of ships, and the
admiral, who commands them all, is in one of them. Now, if he wants all
the fleet to sail in any way; or if he wishes to have some one, vessel
come near to his, or go back home, or go away to any other part of the
world; or if he wants any particular person in the fleet to come on
board his vessel,—he does not send an order in _words_; he only hoists
flags of a particular kind upon the masts of his vessel, and they all
obey them.
“Now, suppose,” continued he, “one of the ships did not sail as he
wished, and when he called the captain to account for it, he should say
that he was not guilty of disobedience, because he did not _tell_ him
to sail so.”
Rollo laughed, and said he thought that would not be a very good
excuse.
“Well, it is just such an excuse as yours. I did not positively command
you not to go near the boys, or not to have any conversation with them
at all, though I expressed my wish that you would not, so that you
could not help understanding it.”
Rollo could not deny that this was so.
“But that is not the only case of disobedience. For you did one thing
which was contrary to _my express command in words_.”
Rollo looked concerned, and said he was sure he did not know it.
“I told you not to go out of my sight.”
“Well, but, father,” said Rollo eagerly, in reply, “I am sure I did not
mean to. I was picking berries so busy, I did not observe where I was.”
“I know you were, and that was the disobedience; for when I command you
to keep in sight of me, that means that you must take good care that
you _do_ mind where you are. Suppose I were to tell Jonas that he might
go and take a walk, but that he must be sure to come back in half an
hour, and he should go, and pay no attention to the time, and so not
come back until three quarters of an hour; would that be obedience?”
“No, sir; but it would not be so bad as it would be if he should stay
away when he _knew_ that the time was out.”
“No, it would not be so wilful an act of disobedience, but it would be
disobedience, notwithstanding. You see, Rollo,” he continued, “when I
tell you or any boy to come back in half an hour, there are two things
implied in the command—first, that you should _notice the time_, and,
secondly, that you should come back when the time is out. Now, you may
disobey the command by neglecting either of these.”
“Yes, sir,” said Rollo, “I see we may, but I did not think of it
before.”
“No, I presume you did not,” said his father; “but I want you to
understand it, and remember it after this forever. You have disobeyed,
to-day, in two ways, in which boys are very apt to disobey, when they
do not mean to do it wilfully. I will tell you what the principles are,
again, so that you can remember and tell me when I ask you.
“1. Boys must take care to comply with their parents’ directions, if
they are expressed in any way whatsoever; and,
“2. When directed to do any thing in a particular time or way, they
must see to it themselves, that they _notice_ and _keep in mind the
circumstances_ which they are required to attend to.”
Rollo said he would try to remember it, and as he seemed attentive and
docile, his father did not talk with him any more about his fault at
that time. Besides, they came now to some very rough places in the
path, and Rollo’s father had to lift Lucy over them.
Lucy spilled some of her berries in one place, and Rollo was going to
help her pick them up, but Jonas said they had better leave them for
the birds, and walk on.
“So we will, Lucy,” said Rollo, “and I rather think that Mosette is
hungry by this time.”
“Yes,” said Jonas, “and what are you going to do with Mosette?”
“O, put him in a cage, and bring him up tame,” said Rollo. “I mean to
teach him to eat out of my hand. I shall treat him very kindly, though
he is my little prisoner.”
“I would give: him the liberty of the yard, if I were you,” said some
one behind, laughing.
Rollo looked round. It was his uncle George, walking close behind him.
“What is the liberty of the yard?” said Rollo.
“Why, when _men_ intend to treat a prisoner kindly, they leave the
prison door open, and let him walk about the yard; and this is called
letting him have the liberty of the yard; and sometimes they let them
go over half the town.”
“Do you think I had better do so with Mosette?” said Rollo.
“Yes,” said his uncle George; “leave his cage open, and let him go
where he pleases.”
“O, he would fly entirely away,” said Rollo.
“Perhaps not, if you should feed him well, and treat him very kindly.
He might like his cage better than any nest.”
“I shall treat him as kindly as I can,” said Rollo; “only think, Jonas,
_that Jim_ said, if he had found him, he should have set him up upon
the fence for a mark to fire stones at!”
“Jim said so?” said Jonas; “how did Jim know any thing about it?”
“Why—e—h—why—I told him,” said Rollo.
“What did you tell him for?”
“O, because,” said Rollo, “we were talking, and I told him.”
“I hope you did not tell him where we hid Mosette, behind the rock.”
“Why—yes,” said Rollo, “I believe I did.”
“Then I am afraid you will never see poor Mosette again,” said Jonas.
“Why,” said Rollo, “you don’t think that he would go and get him.”
“I don’t know,” said Jonas, “what he would do; but I should not have
wanted to tell such a boy any thing about him.”
Rollo began to be alarmed. He went back to his father, and asked him to
let him and Jonas go on before the rest, to see if their bird was safe.
His father told him he might go. “But,” said he, “I am afraid you have
lost your bird; when a boy allows himself to get into bad company, he
does not know how many troubles he plunges himself into.”
Rollo and Jonas ran on, and soon disappeared among the trees. Rollo
found it hard to keep up, as the road was not very smooth, though they
had got down the steepest part of the mountain. Jonas kept hold of
Rollo’s hand, and went on running and walking alternately, until they
got down to the end of the trees and bushes, and then they came out in
sight of the place where the horses were tied.
It was fortunate for poor Mosette, and for Rollo too, that they did
thus run on before, for it happened that Jim, and the boys with him,
had come down the mountain by another road, and were just going up to
the place as Jonas and Rollo came out of the woods.
“There they are,” said Jonas. “You stay here; I must run on.” And he
let go of Rollo’s hand, sprang forward, and ran with all his might.
Rollo tried to follow, but soon stopped and looked on.
Jim and his boys did not see Jonas coming, and they went to work
looking around the bushes and stones after Mosette. In a few minutes,
one smaller boy came out from the bushes, close by the place where
Rollo recollected the nest was hid, with something in his hand, and
Rollo could distinctly hear him calling out,
“Here he is, Jim—I have got him, Jim.”
Just that moment, Jonas came running up among the boys, calling out,
“Let that bird alone!—Let that bird alone!” The boys, terrified at this
unexpected onset, started and ran in every direction. The boy who had
the nest, dropped it upon the ground, and dodged back into the bushes.
Jonas took it up carefully, put little Mosette, who had fallen out,
back in the nest, and walked out into the road to meet Rollo, who was
coming down as fast as he could come, on the other side.
They saw Jim and his comrades no more, and Rollo said he believed he
should never again want to have any thing to do with bad boys.