Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

“That is one meaning of the word trunk. Do you know any other meaning?”

  “Yes; a trunk of a tree.”

  “And did you never see the picture of the trunk of an elephant?”

  “Yes, yes, mamma, I remember seeing that; and I remember you read to me an account of the elephant; and you told me he could curl up that trunk of his. But, mamma, such moths as I have seen are little flying animals, about as large as a butterfly; they could not have such trunks as elephants have.”

  “No, they have not; they have not such large trunks.”

  “Will you tell me what sort of trunks they have?”

  “I will show you, the first time we see a moth.”

  “Thank you, mamma; and I wish you could show me a glowworm. I have seen a beetle; but, mamma, will you say that part about the beetle again?”

  “‘Alight, ye beetles, from your airy rings.’”

  “What does that mean, mamma?”

  “Beetles sometimes fly round and round in the air, so as to make the shape of circles or rings in the air; and alight, here, means, come down from — alight or settle upon the ground.”

  “And silver butterflies, mamma, does not mean, made of silver, but that they look shining, like silver; does not it?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  “But I wish very much, mamma, to see the glowworms that lie on the mossy beds.”

  “I will try if I can find a glowworm, and show it to you this evening,” said his mother.

  In the evening, when it was dusk, Frank’s mother called him, and bid him follow her; and she went down a lane that was near her house; and Frank followed her. She looked from side to side, on the banks, and under the hedges, as she walked along.

  I “Are you looking for a glowworm, mamma?” said Frank. “It is so dark, now, that am afraid we shall not see it, unless it is a great deal larger than a common worm, or unless we had a lantern. May I go back for the little lantern that is in the hall? There is a candle ready lighted in it, mamma. May I go back for it, mamma?”

  “No, my dear; we shall not want a lantern, nor a candle. We shall be more likely to find a glowworm in the dark than if we had a candle.”

  Frank was surprised at hearing his mother say this. “I can always find things better in the light than in the dark,” said he. But, just as he finished speaking, he saw a light upon the bank, near the place where his mother was standing; and she called to him, and said, “Here is a glowworm, Frank; come nearer to me, and you will see it better.”

  Frank kneeled down upon the bank, beside his mother; and saw that the light seemed to come from the tail of a little brown caterpillar.

  The caterpillar crawled on, upon the bank; and the light moved on whenever the caterpillar moved, and stood still whenever it stood still.

  Frank’s mother, whilst the glowworm was standing still, put her hand down upon the bank, close beside it; and, by and by, the glowworm began to move again, and it crawled upon her hand.

  “O mamma! take care,” cried Frank. “It will burn you.”

  “No, my dear, it will not burn me; it will not hurt me,” said his mother; and she held her hand towards Frank; and he saw the glowworm upon it.

  “Shall I put it in your hand?” said his mother. Frank drew back, as if he was still a little afraid that it should burn him.

  “My dear,” said his mother, “it will not hurt you. You know that I would not tell you that it would not hurt you if it would. You know that I told you the hot, melting sealing-wax would scald you, if you let it drop upon your fingers; and it did. But I tell you that the light, which you see about this animal, will not burn you, as the flame of a candle or as the fire would.”

  Then, here is my hand, mamma. Put the glowworm upon it; and I will not shrink back again,” said Frank.

  He found that the light from the glowworm did not hurt him, in the least; and he asked his mother how it came that this, which looked so much like the flame of a candle, should not burn him. But she answered, “I cannot explain that to you, my dear.” And when Frank had looked at the glowworm as long as he liked to do so, his mother desired him to put it again on the bank; and he did so; and, before they got home, Frank saw several other glowworms upon the banks; and his mother said to him, “Now you know the meaning of

  ‘Glitter, ye glowworms, on your mossy beds.’”

  “Yes,” said Frank; “glitter means, look bright, shine. Thank you, mamma, for showing me these glowworms; and, some time or other, I hope we shall see the trunk of a moth.”

  The candles were lighted; and all the window-shutters in the room were shut, except the shutters of one window, which was left open to let in the air; for it was a warm evening.

  Frank’s mother was sitting upon a sofa, reading; and Frank was kneeling upon a chair, at the table upon which the candle stood. He was looking at some prints in a book which his mother had lent to him.

  Through the window, which was open, there flew into the room a large moth. It flew towards the candle.

  “O mamma! here is a moth,” cried Frank.

  As he spoke, the moth, which had flown very quickly round and round the candle two or three times, went so close to the flame, that Frank thought it would burn itself to death; and he cried, “O, it will burn itself.” And he put his hand before his eyes, that he might not see the moth burn itself. But his mother did not put her hands before her eyes; she got up as quickly as possible, and put her hand gently over the moth, and caught it; and so prevented it from burning itself in the candle.

  “I am glad you have caught it, mamma,” said Frank; “and the next time I will try to catch it, as you did; and I will not put my hands before my eyes, because that did the moth no good.”

  His mother then covered the moth with a glass tumbler; and she put it upon the table; and Frank looked through the glass; and he saw it plainly. —

  When the moth was quiet, Frank’s mother took a honey-suckle out of her nosegay; and she lifted up one side of the tumbler, a little way from the table; and she squeezed the honey-suckle under the tumbler; and as soon as the moth perceived the flower was near him, he walked upon it; and Frank saw him uncurl what is called his trunk, or proboscis; and he saw the moth dip it into part of the flower of the honey-suckle. And he saw also what were called the horns of the moth; and he saw the animal bow them forwards; and he said, “Now, mamma, will you repeat those two lines about the moth again for me?”

  “‘Ye painted moths, your gold-eyed plumage furl; Bow your wide horns, your spiral trunks uncurl.’”

  “Painted!” said Frank; “it does not mean that the moth is painted, I suppose, but that it looks as if it was painted. Gold-eyed plumage, mamma! What does that mean?”

  “Plumage means feathers, such as you see on birds. Look through this glass,” said his mother, putting a magnifying-glass into his hand.

  “I have looked through this glass before, at a caterpillar, mamma; it makes things look larger.”

  His mother lifted up the tumbler, gently; and, as the moth was settled upon the honeysuckle, Frank looked through the magnifying-glass at it.

  “Mamma, it looks very large; and upon its wings,” said Frank, “I see what look like very, very small feathers.”

  “That is what is meant by plumage.”

  “But gold-eyed, mamma! I see no gold eyes.”

  “Do you see some spots upon the wings?”

  “Dark-brown spots, mamma?”

  “Yes.”

  “They are of the shape of eyes; and, though they are not eyes, they are called so, from their shape. In some moths, those spots are yellow, gold-colored; and then they may be called gold-eyed.”

  “One thing more, mamma,” said Frank.

  “What does it mean by —— Would you be so good as to say the last line again? for I do not recollect the word that I did not understand.”

  His mother repeated the line again —

  ‘“Ye painted moths, your gold-eyed plumage furl.’”

  “Furl, mamma; furl is the wo
rd that I do not understand.” His mother showed him a fan, and showed him what is meant by to furl, and to unfurl, a fan; and when the moth closed, and afterwards spread, its wings, she said, “Now he is furling, and now he is unfurling, his pretty wings. And now I think we have kept him long enough under this glass; we will now let him fly about where he pleases.” So she took the moth, and let him fly out of the window.

  “Do you know, mamma,” said Frank, “that I can repeat those two lines about the moths? I wish you would say the other lines again for me, that I might learn them all, and then say them to my father. I think he would like to hear me say them, after dinner, to-morrow, mamma.”

  “I think your father will like to hear you repeat them, if you understand them all; but not otherwise.”

  “I think I do understand them all — every one — now, mamma, except something in the last line about bees in their waxen cells.”

  “You never saw a honey-comb, did you, Frank?”

  “No, mamma, never.”

  “When you see a honey-comb, you will know what is meant by the waxen cells in which bees live.”

  The next morning at breakfast, there was part of a honey-comb upon a plate, on the breakfast-table; and Frank’s mother showed it to him; and she gave him some honey. He liked the sweet taste of the honey; and he thought the honey-comb was very pretty.

  His mother gave him a little bit of the honey-comb, which she told him was made of wax.

  “It is quite a different sort of wax from sealing-wax, mamma,” said Frank. “Where does this wax come from; and this pretty honey-comb, and this sweet honey?”

  His mother told him that she would show him where they all came from, when she had finished eating her breakfast. And, after breakfast was over, she took Frank with her to a cottage, belonging to an old woman in the neighborhood.

  The old woman was sitting at her door, turning a small wheel very quickly round, which Frank’s mother told him was called a spinning-wheel.

  The old woman pushed her spinning-wheel on one side, and got up, as soon as they came to her door.

  “Thank you for the good honey you sent us, Mrs. Wheeler,” said Frank’s mother.

  “You are heartily welcome, ma’am, I am sure,” said the old woman; “but it was not I that sent it; it was my grandson sent it to you — George! George! are you there?”

  A little boy came running to the door; and he smiled when he saw Frank; and Frank smiled when he saw him; for he recollected that this was the same boy to whom he had returned the nuts which he had found dropped near the stile — the same boy who had brought him back his ripe bunch of cherries.

  1 “Thank you for the honey you sent us,” said Frank’s mother to this boy; “will you be so good as to let us look at your bee-hive? hear that you have a glass bee-hive.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I have,” said the boy; “and if you will be pleased to come with me into the garden, I will show it to you. I have a glass bee-hive and a straw bee-hive.”

  Frank and his mother followed the boy.

  who ran across a narrow passage, which went straight through the house; and he opened a low gate, and took them into a small garden.

  The paths were narrow; and he said to Frank, “Take care that you do not prick yourself against the gooseberry-bushes, as I do, when I am in a hurry to get by.”

  Frank took care not to prick himself; and the boy’ pointed to his bee-hives, and said, “There are my bee-hives; and there are my bees.” —

  “Did bees make that straw basket?” said Frank.

  The boy laughed so much at this question that he could make no answer; but Frank’s mother answered, “No, my dear; the bee? did not make that straw basket; that was made by men; but go and look in, through the little pane of glass in that wooden box, and you will see what bees make.”

  “Do not you know,” said the little boy, “what bees make? I thought that every body knew that bees make honey and wax.”

  “How can they make honey? What do they make it of?” said Frank.

  “They collect it; they get it from flowers,” answered his mother: and she said to the boy, “May I gather this honey-suckle?” touching a honey-suckle which grew in an arbor, close beside the place where she stood.

  “Yes, and welcome, ma’am,” said the boy; “that honey-suckle is mine; grandmother gave it to me.”

  When Frank’s mother had gathered the honey-suckle, she pulled off a part of the flower; and she held that end of the flower which grew next the stalk to Frank’s mouth; and she bid him suck it.

  He sucked it.

  “It has a sweet taste, like honey,” said Frank. “Is that the reason the flower is called honey-suckle, mamma?”

  “Yes, my dear, I believe it is.”

  “And have all flowers honey in them mamma?”

  “I do not know, my dear; but I know that some flowers have more honey in them than others.”

  ‘‘And how do bees get honey from flowers?”

  “Look, and you may see a bee now settling upon that honey-suckle in the arbor; you will see all that I have seen, if you use your own little eyes.”

  Frank used his own little eyes; and he saw that the bee stretched out its proboscis, or trunk, and put it down into the flower; then drew it back again, and flew to another part of the flower; settled again, and again put down its proboscis; drew it back, and put it to its mouth.

  “I fancy, mamma, the bee sucks the honey which it gets in the flower, from its proboscis, every time it puts it to its mouth; but I am not sure, because I do not see the honey.”

  “You are very right not to say that you are sure of it, as you do not see it; but I believe that the bee does, as you say, draw the honey from flowers with that proboscis; and then he puts the honey into his mouth, and then swallows the honey. With a good magnifying-glass, you might see that the proboscis of the bee is rough, and you might see the little drops of honey sticking to it. The bee gets but one or two very small drops of honey from one flower.”

  “What a great deal of work it must be, then, for the bees to collect as much honey as I ate this morning at breakfast! But, mamma, does this bee swallow all the honey it gets from this flower?”

  “Yes, the bee swallows it; it keeps the honey in a little bag; and the bee has the power of forcing it up again from this bag, whenever it pleases. Usually, the bee carries the honey home to the hive, and puts it in the little waxen cells; such as those you saw in the honey-comb, to-day, at breakfast.”

  “And where do the bees get the wax, mamma, of which they make the cells in the honey-comb?”

  “I am not sure, my dear, what that wax is; I believe that it is made partly of farina which the bees collect from the flowers, and partly of some sticky substance in the stomachs of the bees. Some time or other, you will read the accounts which have been written of bees; and then you will judge for yourself.”

  Frank looked through the glass pane into the bee-hive; but he said that the bees crowded so close to one another, that he could not see what they were doing.

  His mother told him that, some other day, she would bring him again to see the bees at work, and that, by degrees, perhaps, he would distinguish them, and see what they were doing.

  When Frank went home, he said, “Now, mamma, that I know what is meant by bees in their waxen cells, may I learn those lines? and will you repeat them to me?”

  “It is troublesome to me, my dear,” said his mother, “to repeat them so often over; but here is a book in which you can read them yourself; and you may now learn them by rote, if you like it.”

  Frank read the lines over and over, and tried to learn them by rote; and at last he could repeat them, as he thought, perfectly; and one day, after dinner, he went to his father, and told him that he could repeat some pretty lines to him, if he would give him leave. —

  “I shall be glad to hear them, Frank,” said his father. “Begin and repeat them.” So Frank repeated them, without making any mistakes; and when he had repeated them, his father-aske
d him several questions about them, to try whether he understood them; and his father was pleased to find that he really did understand; and Frank told him that his mother had been so good as to show him a glowworm, and a moth, and a beehive, and that she had explained to him all the words in the lines which he did not at first understand.

  “I am glad, my dear,” said his father, “that you have had so much amusement and that you have had the perseverance to learn any thing well, that you began to learn — But, pray tell me why you have been continually buttoning and unbuttoning the left sleeve of your coat, whilst you have been talking to me, and whilst you were repeating these verses.”

  “I do not know, papa,” said Frank, laughing; “only I remember that when I was getting the verses by rote, and saying them by myself, I first began buttoning and unbuttoning this sleeve, and then I could not say the verses so well without doing that.”

  “And do not you remember, Frank,” said his mother, “that I spoke to you, several times, and told you that I was afraid you would get a trick, a habit, of buttoning and unbuttoning that sleeve of yours, if you did not take care?”

  “Yes, mamma,” said Frank; “and I stopped whenever you spoke to me, and whenever I remembered it; but then I found myself doing it again, without thinking of it; and now, whenever I am trying to recollect any thing, I cannot recollect it half so well without buttoning and unbuttoning my sleeve.”

  “Give me hold of your right hand,” said his father.

  Frank gave his hand to his father.

  “Now,” said his father, “repeat those lines to me once more.”

  Frank began —

  “‘Stay thy soft-murmuring waters, gentle rill Hush, whispering winds—’”

  But here he twitched his hand, which his father held fast: —

  “Hush, whispering winds—’

  “Father, I cannot say it whilst you hold my hand.” —

  His father let go his hand.

  Frank immediately buttoned and unbuttoned his sleeve, and then repeated, very fluently, “‘Hush, whispering winds; ye rustling leaves, be still; Rest, silver butterflies —