As soon as Lucy had eaten the breakfast which her mother had given her, she sat down on her stool, and took her work out of her work-bag and worked some time; then her mother told her, that she had worked an hour, and that she did not choose that she should work any longer; so Lucy got up and brought her work to her mother, and asked her, if it was done as it ought to be done.
And her mother said, Lucy, it is done pretty well for a little girl that is but six years old, and I am pleased to see that you have tried to avoid the fault, which I told you of yesterday: then Lucy’s mother kissed her, and said to her, put your work into your work-bag, and put your work-bag into its place, and then come back to me,
Lucy did as she was desired to do; and then her mother asked her, if she would rather go out of doors and walk, or stay with her. Lucy liked best to stay with her mother, who very soon afterwards went to her dairy.
Lucy followed her, and took a great deal of care not to be troublesome, for she loved to be with her mother; but she observed whatever she saw, and did not meddle with any thing. She saw that the dairy was very clean; the floor was a little damp, which made her think, that it had been washed that morning, and there were not any cobwebs nor dust upon the walls; and she perceived that the room smelt very sweet: she looked about, to find out if there were any flowers that could make that pleasant smell, but she could not see any thing, but a great many clean empty vessels of different shapes, and a great many round, wide, and shallow pans full of milk: she went near to them, and thought the smell came from them.
When she had looked at a good many of them, she thought they were not all alike; the milk in some of the pans was a little yellowish, and looked thick, like the cream that she saw every morning at her mother’s breakfast; and the milk, in the other pans, was a little blue, and looked thin, like the milk that was often given to her and her brother to drink. Whilst Lucy was thinking on this, she saw one of her mother’s maids go to one of the pans, that had the yellowish milk in it, and the maid had a wooden saucer in her hand, and she put the wooden saucer very gently into the pan; she did not put it down to the bottom of the pan, but took up that part of the milk, which was at the top, and put it into another vessel, and then Lucy saw that the milk, that was left in the pan, was not at all like what the maid had taken out, but was very thin, and a little blue.
When Lucy’s mother went out of the dairy, she took her little daughter out into the fields to walk with her. Soon after they set out, Lucy said, Mother, when I was in your dairy just now, I saw the maid take some milk out of a milk pan, and it looked like what I see you put into your tea, and I believe it is called cream; but she left some milk in the pan, that was not at all like cream, but like very thin milk: pray, mother, will you tell me, why all that was in the pan was not cream? Then her mother said, Yes, Lucy, I will answer any questions, you like to ask me, when I have leisure, because, whenever I talk to you, you mind what I say, and remember whatever your father or I teach you.
I believe you know, that the kind of milk, which I give you very often for your breakfast and supper, is taken out of the udders of cows: did you never, see the maids, with milk-pails going a milking? They were then going to take the milk from my cows; they call that milking them, and it is done twice every day, once in the morning and once in the evening. When they have gotten milk in the pails, they carry it into the dairy, and put it into such milk-pans as you saw, and they let the milk-pans stand still, in the same place, for several hours, that the milk may not be shaken; and in that time the heaviest part of the milk falls as low as it can, towards the bottom of the pan, and the lightest part of the milk remains above it at the top of the pan, and that thick light part is called cream, as you thought it was. When the milk has stood long enough, the cream is taken from the other part of the milk, and doing this, is called skimming the milk, but it must be done very carefully, or else the cream and milk will all be mixed together again. Lucy told her mother, that, when she was in the dairy, she had walked all round it, and that she saw a great deal of cream; more, she thought, than came every day into the parlour: and she wished to know, what other use it was for, except to mix with tea, and fruit, or sweetmeats.
Lucy’s mother was going to answer her, but she looked towards the other side of the field, and said, Lucy, I think I see some pretty flowers there, will you run and gather me a nosegay, before I talk any more to you? Lucy said, Yes, mother; and ran away to get what her mother had desired; when she came to the place, where the flowers were, she looked about for the prettiest, and gathered two or three of them, but, when she had them in her hand, she perceived, they had not any smell; so she went to a great many more, and at last she found some, that had a sweet smell; but they were not pretty, and she gathered some of them, and was taking them to her mother; but as she passed near the hedge, she saw some honey-suckles growing in it, and she remembered that she had smelt honeysuckles that were very, sweet, and they were pretty too, so she was glad that she had found some, for she thought her mother would like them; but when she came close to the hedge, she saw that they were so high from the ground that she could not reach them. Lucy did not like to go away, without taking some honey-suckles to her mother, so she walked slowly by the side of the hedge, till she came to a place, where there was a large stone, upon which she climbed, and gathered as many honey-suckles as she liked.
Whilst she was getting down, she held the flowers fast, for fear she should drop them into the ditch, and she felt something prick her finger very sharply; she looked, and she saw a bee drop down off one of the honey-suckles, that she had squeezed in her hand; so she thought, that she had hurt the bee, and that the bee had stung her, to make her let him go, and that it was the bee, that she had felt pricking her. Lucy was afraid that she had hurt the bee very much, for she remembered, that, when she opened her hands, the bee did not fly away, but dropt down; so she looked for it on the ground, and she soon found it struggling in some water, and trying with its little legs and wings to get out, but it was not strong enough. Lucy was very sorry for the bee; but she was afraid to touch it, lest she should hurt it again, or that it should hurt her. She thought for a little while what she could do, and then she got a large stalk of a flower, and put it close to the bee: as soon as ever the bee felt it, he clasped his legs round it, and Lucy raised the stalk with the bee upon it, gently from the wet ground, and laid it upon a large flower that was near her. The bee was sadly covered with dirt, but, as soon as he felt that he was standing upon his legs again, he began to stretch his wings and to clean himself, and to buzz a little upon the flower. Lucy was glad to see that the bee did not seem to be very much hurt, and she took up her nosegay and ran as fast as she could towards her mother; but the finger, that the bee had stung, began to be very sore.
She met her mother coming to her, who wondered what had made her stay so long; and when Lucy had told her what had happened, she said, I thank you, my dear, for getting me so sweet a nosegay, and I am very sorry you have been hurt in doing it; I am sure you did not intend to hurt the poor little bee, — and will walk home now, and I will put some hartshorn to your finger, which will lessen the pain you feel. Lucy said, Indeed, mother, I did not mean to hurt the bee, for I did not know that it was in my hand; but, when I am going to gather flowers another time, I will look to see if there are any bees upon them.
When Lucy’s mother got home, some hartshorn was put to Lucy’s finger, and soon after it grew easier, and Lucy’s mother said to her, Now I am going to be busy, and if you like it you may go into the garden, till dressing time: Lucy thanked her, and said, she did like it, but she hoped, that some time, when she was not busy, her mother would answer what she had asked about cream.
After breakfast, Harry’s father took him out a walking; and they came to a field, where several men were at work; some were digging clay out of a pit, in the ground; some were wetting what was dug out, with water, and others were making the clay into a great number of pieces, of the same size and shape. Harry asked his fa
ther, what the men were about, and he told him, that they were making bricks for building houses. Yes, says Harry, but I can run my finger into these; they are quite soft and brown, and the bricks of your house are red and hard; and they don’t stick together as the bricks of your house do; saying this, he pushed down a whole stack of bricks. The man who was making them called out, to desire he would pay for those he had spoiled: little Harry had no money, and did not know what to do; but said to the man, indeed, sir, I did not intend to do any harm: the man answered, whether you intended it or not, you have spoiled the bricks, and must pay me for them; I am a poor man, and buy all the bread that I have, with the money which I get for these bricks, and I shall have less bread, if I have a smaller number of bricks to sell.
Poor Harry was very sorry for what he had he had done, and at last thought of asking his father to pay for them: but his father said, I have not spoiled them, and therefore it is not necessary that I should pay for them. the man, seeing that Harry had not intended to do mischief, told him if he would promise to make amends at some future time, for the mischief which he had done, he would be satisfied. Harry promised he would. Now you find, Harry, said his father, that you must not meddle with what does not belong to you.
As they walked on farther, they came to a blacksmith’s shop, and, as it began to rain, Harry’s father stood under the shed, before the door; and a farmer came riding to the shop, and asked the blacksmith to put a shoe upon his horse, which he said had lost one a little way off, and which would be lamed, if he went over any stony road without a shoe. Sir, says the blacksmith, I cannot shoe your horse, as I have not iron enough; I have sent for some to the next town, and the person whom I sent, cannot be back before evening.
Perhaps, said the farmer, you have an old shoe, that may be made to fit my horse.
The smith had no iron, except a bit of small nail rod which was fit only for making nails; but he said, that, if the farmer looked on the road, perhaps he might find the shoe, which had fallen from his horse. Little Harry, hearing what had passed, told his father, that he thought he could find a shoe for the farmer’s horse. His father asked him, where he thought he could find a shoe?
He said that he had observed something as they walked along the road, lying in the dirt, which he thought was like a horse-shoe. His father begged that the farmer would wait a little while; and then he walked back with Harry on the road by which they came to the blacksmith’s; and Harry looked very carefully, and after some time he found the horse-shoe, and brought it back to the blacksmith’s shop; but it was not fit to be put again upon the horse’s foot, as it had been bent by a wagon wheel, which had gone over it.
The farmer thanked Harry, and the blacksmith said that he wished every little boy was as attentive and as useful. He now began to blow his large bellows, which made a roaring noise, and the wind came out of the pipe of the bellows among the coals upon the hearth, and the coals became red, and by degrees they became brighter and brighter, as the fire became hotter; and the smith put the old iron horse-shoe into the fire, and after some time it became red and hot like the coals; and when the smith thought the iron was hot enough, he took it out of the fire with a pair of tongs, and put it upon the anvil, and struck it with a heavy hammer. Harry saw that the iron became soft by being made red hot; and he saw that the smith could hammer it into whatever shape he pleased.
When the smith had made the shoe of a proper size and shape, he took a piece of nailrod, and heated it red-hot in the fire, by the help of the large bellows, which he blew with his right hand, whilst he held the tongs in his left.
Harry was going to examine the horse-shoe that the smith had just made, but he would not meddle with it without leave, as he recollected what had happened in the brick-field.
Whilst he was looking at the shoe, another little boy came into the shop, and, after lounging about for some time, he stooped down and took up the horse-shoe in his hand; but he suddenly let it drop, and roared out violently, and said that he was burned. Whilst he was crying, and blowing his fingers, and squeezing and pinching them, to lessen the pain, the smith turned him out of the shop, and told him, that, if he had not meddled with what did not belong to him, he would not have been hurt. The little boy went away whimpering, and muttering, that he did not know that black iron would burn him.
The smith now took the nail rod out of the are, and it was hotter than the other iron and it was of a glowing white color; and when the smith struck it upon the anvil, a number of bright sparks were struck off the iron, on every side, about the shop: they appeared very beautiful.
The smith then made some nails, and began to fasten the shoe on the horse’s foot with nails. Harry, who had never before seen a horse shod, was much surprised that the horse did not seem to be hurt by the nails which were driven into his foot; for the horse did not draw away his foot; nor show any signs of feeling pain. Harry’s father asked him if he had ever had his nails cut?
Harry said he had.
Father. Did cutting your nails hurt you?
Harry. No.
Father. A horse’s hoof is of horn, like your nails, and that part of it, that has no flesh fastened to it, does not feel pain: the outside of the hoof may be cut, and may have nails driven into it, without giving any pain to the horse.
The blacksmith, who was paring the horse’s foot, gave a piece of the horn, that he had cut off, to Harry, who perceived that it was neither so hard as bone, nor so soft as flesh; and the blacksmith told him that the hoof of a horse grows in the same manner as the nails of a man, and requires, like them, to be sometimes pared.
And when the blacksmith had finished shoeing the horse, he showed Harry the hoof of a dead horse, that was separate from the foot, and Harry saw how thick it was in that part, where the nails were to be driven.
Harry’s father now told him, that it was time to go home, as they had two miles to walk, and it wanted but an hour to dinnertime. Harry asked his father, how much time it would take up to walk two miles, if they walked as fast as they commonly did, and his father showed him his watch, and told him he might see, when they got home, how long they had been returning. Harry saw that it was four minutes after two o’clock, and, when they got home, it was forty-eight minutes after two; so Harry counted, and found out how many minutes had passed from the time they left the blacksmith’s until they got home.
When Harry came into the garden, he ran to his sister Lucy, to tell her all that had happened to him, and she left what she was about, and ran to meet him. She thought he had been away a great while, and was very glad to see him: but just then the bell rang, and they knew they must go in directly to make themselves clean before dinner.
When dinner was over, Harry and Lucy were let go into the garden, and Lucy then begged her brother, to tell her all that had happened, whilst he was out in the morning. Harry then told her, how he had spoiled the bricks, and what the brickmaker had said to him; and he told her, that he had promised to make amends for the mischief which he had done.
He told her, that to make bricks men dug clay, and beat it with a spade, and mixed it with water, to make it soft and sticky, and that then they made it into the shape of bricks, and left it to dry; and, when it was hard enough to be carried without breaking, it was put into large heaps and burned, so as to become of a reddish yellow color, and almost as hard as a stone.
Then, brother, says Lucy, if you will make some bricks, we can build a house in the little garden mother has lent me. So they went to the little garden, and Harry dug some earth with a little spade, which his father had given him, and endeavored to make it stick together with some water, but he could not make it stick, like the clay, that he saw the brickmakers use; and he ran in, and asked his father why he could not make it stick with water. And his father asked him, whether it was the same kind of earth that he saw in the brick-field. And Harry said, that he did not know what his father meant by the same kind of earth; he saw a man dig earth, and dig it in the same manner.
Father.
But is the earth in the garden of the same colour as that in the brick-field?
Harry. No: that in the garden is almost black; that in the field is yellow.
Father. Then they are not the same kinds of earth.
Harry. I thought all earth was alike.
Father. You find that it is not; for you see, that all earth cannot be made to stick together with water.
Harry went back to the garden, and, after having looked in a great many places for yellow earth, at last he saw some in the bottom of a hole, that had been dug some time before; and he ran back, and asked his father’s leave to dig some of it; and, after he had gotten leave, he dug some of the yellow clay, and found that, when it was mixed with water, it became very sticky and tough, and that, the more it was mixed, and squeezed, and beaten with the spade, the tougher it became. He now endeavored to make it into the shape of bricks; but he found that he could not do it: and Lucy asked him whether the brickmakers were as long making a brick as he was. ‘No,’ said he; ‘they have a little box made in the shape of a brick, without top or bottom, into which they put the clay upon a table, and with a straight stick, like a ruler, they scrape the clay even with the top of the box, and then lifting up the box, they find the clay in the shape of a brick upon the table.’
‘Harry, says Lucy, there is a carpenter in the house, at work for my mother; I will go and ask her, to get a box made for you: do you know by what name such a box is called, brother?’
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 343
