Kitobni o'qish: «Cousin Lucy's Conversations»

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.

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.

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.