Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  But here his father caught hold of his hand; and he could get no farther.

  “My dear,” said his father, “it would be very inconvenient to you, if your memory was to depend upon your button; for you see that I can make you forget, in an instant, all you have to say, by only catching hold of your hand.”

  “But, then, papa, if you would be so good as not to catch hold of my hand,” said Frank, “you would hear how well I could repeat the lines.”

  “It is of little consequence,” said his father, “whether you repeat these lines today, or to-morrow; but it is of great consequence that you should not learn foolish, awkward tricks; therefore I beg you will not say them to me again, till you can hold yourself perfectly still whilst you are repeating them.”

  Frank’s father and mother went out to walk, and Frank went with them. “O, I am glad you are going this way,” said Frank, “because now I shall see the swing.”

  His father had had a swing put up between two trees; Frank had seen it from the window of the room in which he slept; but he had never yet been close to it; and he wished very much to see it, and to swing in it.

  When he came up to it, he found that there was a soft cushion, fastened to the middle of the rope of which the swing was made.

  One end of the rope was tied round the trunk of a large ash tree; and the other end of the rope was tied round the trunk of an oak, that was opposite to the ash.

  The rope was tied towards the top of the trees; and some of the branches of the trees were cut away; so that the rope could swing backwards and forwards, without catching in any thing.

  The cushion, which made the seat of the swing, hung so near the ground, that Frank could reach it; and he asked his father whether he might sit upon it.

  His father told him that he might; and ha said, “Take hold of the cord on each side of you, and hold it fast; and your mother and I will swing you.”

  Frank jumped up on the cushion directly, and seated himself, and took hold of the cord on each side of him, with each of his hands.

  “You must take care not to let go the cord whilst we are swinging you,” said his father; “or perhaps you will tumble out of the swing, and hurt yourself.”

  “I will not let go, papa; I will hold fast,” said Frank; and his father and mother began to swing him backwards and forwards. He liked it very much; but it was a sharp evening in autumn, and his father and mother did not like to stand still long to swing him.

  “When you have had twenty more swings backwards and forwards, we will stop, Frank,” said his father. So Frank began to count the swings; and, whilst he was counting, a leaf fell from the tree, and put him out; and he tried to recollect whether the last number of swings he had counted to himself was six or seven; and the moment he began to try to recollect this, he let go the cord with his right hand; for he was going to button and unbutton his sleeve, as he had the habit of doing, when he was trying to recollect any thing.

  The moment he let go the cord, he twisted a little in the seat, and could not catch the cord again; and he fell out of the swing.

  He fell on the grass, and he hurt his ankle, but not much.

  “It is well you were not more hurt,” said his father. “If we had been swinging you higher, and if you had fallen upon the gravel-walk, instead of on the grass, you might have been very much hurt. My dear, why did you let go the cord?”

  “Papa,” said Frank, “because I was trying to recollect whether it was six swings or seven that I had had.”

  “Well, and could not you recollect that, without letting go the cord?”

  “No, papa; the thing was — that I was, I believe, going to button my sleeve. I wish I had not that trick.”

  “You may cure yourself of it, if you take pains to do so,” said his father.

  “I wish I could,” said Frank; “my ankle is not very much hurt, however. Papa will put me into the swing again; and I think I shall take more care not to let go the cord now. You know”- I have not had all my twenty swings, papa.”

  “No; you have had but eight,” said his father; “but I am afraid, that if I were to put you into the swing again, arid if you were to begin counting again, if you should not be able to recollect the number, you would let go the cord to button your sleeve, and you would slip out of the swing again.”

  “No, papa,” said Frank; “I think this is the very thing that would cure me of that trick, because I do not like to tumble down, and hurt myself; and I think I should take care, and count, and recollect, without buttoning or unbuttoning this sleeve. May I try, papa?”

  His father shook hands with him, and said, “I am glad to see that you can bear a little pain, and that you wish to cure yourself of this foolish trick. Jump, my boy,” said his father; and Frank sprung up, and his father seated him in the swing again.

  He counted and held fast by the rope this time; and, just when he was come to the eighteenth swing, his father said to him, “Can you recollect the last number you counted, without letting go the rope to button your sleeve?”

  “Yes, papa,” said Frank, “I can; it was seventeen.”

  “And you have had two swings since I spoke last; how many does that make?”

  Frank was just going to let go the cord to button his sleeve; but he recollected his former tumble. He held fast; and, after thinking for an instant, answered, “Seventeen swings and two swings make nineteen swings.”

  His father then gave him one good swing more, and then lifted him out; and his mother kissed him.

  The next day his father was going from home; and, when he took leave of him, Frank asked him if there was any thing he could do for him whilst he was away.

  1 “May I dust the books in your study, papa? can do that,” said Frank.

  “I would rather, my dear,” said his father, “ — that you should, whilst I am away, learn to repeat the lines which you got by heart without—”

  “I know what you mean, papa; I will try if I can.”

  His father went away; and Frank, after he was gone, asked his mother if she would take him to the swing, and swing him, and let him try whether he could recollect some of the verses whilst he was swinging; for then, you know, mamma, I cannot move my hands without tumbling out; and I shall take care.”

  But his mother said, she did not choose to swing him, whilst his father was away; and Frank soon afterwards said, “Will you be so good, then, mamma’ as to cut off this button, and to sew up this button-hole for me? and then I cannot button and unbutton it.”

  His mother cut off the button, and sewed up the button-hole; and several times, when he was trying to repeat the lines, he felt for the button and button-hole; but when he found that the button was gone, and that he could not put his finger into the button-hole, he, by degrees, left off feeling for them.

  His father staid away a week; and, in this time, Frank quite cured himself of the foolish trick which he had had, and he repeated the lines to himself; whilst he held his hands quite still.

  He asked his mother to sew on the button again, and to open the button-hole, the day his father came home; and she did so.

  And when his father came home, and after he had said, “How do you do, father?” Frank cried, “May I say the lines now father?”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  He stood opposite to his father, held his hands perfectly still, and repeated the lines without making a single mistake.

  His father was pleased; and he desired the servant, who was bringing some things of his out of the chaise in which he came, to give him a book that was in the front pocket of the chaise.

  The book was Bewick’s History of Quadrupeds; it had very pretty prints in it.

  Frank’s father wrote, in a blank page at the beginning of it, —

  “This book was given to Frank, October the 27th, 1798, by his father, as a mark of his father’s approbation for his having, at six years old, cured himself of a foolish habit.”

  “Read that, if you can, Frank,” said his father.


  Frank could not read all the words; for he was not used to read writing; but his mother read it to him.

  And Frank liked the prints in this book very much; and he said, “Shall I read all that is in the book, papa?”

  “Read only what you can understand, and what entertains you in it, my dear,” said his father.

  Frank was kneeling upon a chair, beside the table upon which his mother was writing. He was looking at the prints in his Bewick; and every minute he exclaimed, “O mamma, look at this! Mamma, here is a very pretty print! Only look at this one, mamma — the old, old man, going over a narrow bridge, and his dog leading him. He is a blind man, I suppose; and the wind has blown his hat off; and it is raining very hard. Pray look, mamma!”

  His mother put down her pen, and she looked at the print, which she said was very pretty.

  “But now, Frank,” added she, “do not interrupt me any more.”

  Frank was silent after this; but, whenever he turned over a new leaf, he put down both his elbows upon the table, to look at the new print; and he shook the table, so that his mother could not write; wherefore she at last desired him to take his book to another table. He did so; but he said that he could not see nearly so well as when he was nearer to the light.

  “If you had not disturbed me,” said his mother, “I should not have sent you away from this table. You should consider what is agreeable to others, or they will not consider what is agreeable to you.”

  “Mamma,” said Frank, “if you will let me come back to the table where you are sitting, I will take care not to shake the table.”

  His mother told Frank that he might come; and he took care not to shake the table.

  A little while after this, he was trying to draw the old man, going over the bridge. Pompey, a little dog that was in the room, jumped up, suddenly, behind Frank’s chair, and shook the table.

  “Fie, Pompey! fie! — down! down!” cried Frank. “I don’t like you, Pompey, at all.”

  “Why don’t you like Pompey?” said Frank’s mother; “you generally are very fond of him.”

  “Yes, mamma, so I am fond of him, generally; but I don’t like him now, because he shook me, and hindered me from drawing.

  O Pompey! Pompey! again you gave my elbow a great shake. Look, mamma; just as I was drawing the old man’s nose, he shook me.”

  “Who? the old man?”

  “No, mamma, but Pompey. Just as I was drawing the old mail’s nose, Pompey shook me, and made me make the old man’s nose as large as his whole head. O Pompey, you have spoiled my old man, entirely. But I’ll rub out his nose, and draw it over again.” Just as Frank had finished drawing the old man’s nose over again, the dog shook him again, and Frank was angry. “Don’t shake, Pompey; I have bid you several times not to shake, and still you go on shaking. Naughty Pompey! why don’t you do as you are bid?”

  “Perhaps the dog does not understand you,” said Frank’s mother.

  “Well, but it is very disagreeable, that he should shake the table. I don’t like him at all, to-night.”

  Here Frank began struggling with Pompey. Pompey had his fore paws upon the table; and Frank was trying to drag him back, by the hind legs; but all this struggling shook the table very much.

  “Frank, I don’t like either you or Pompey, now,” said Frank’s mother; “because you, both of you, shake the table, so that I cannot write. Look, here is an O, that is as crooked as your old man’s nose.”

  “I am very sorry, mamma,” said Frank; “but will you be so kind as to put Pompey out of the room; and then we shall all be both quiet and happy. —— You know you sent me to another table when I was troublesome; and now, if you put Pompey out of the room, he cannot be troublesome to us any more.”

  “Very true,” said his mother; and she put Pompey out of the room.

  “I am glad he is gone,” cried Frank; “now I can draw nicely.”

  “And now I can write nicely,” said his mother.

  “Mamma, are you as glad when I go out of the room, after I have been troublesome, as we are now, that we have got rid of Pompey?”

  “Yes.”

  “But when I am not troublesome, you are not glad when I go out of the room.”

  “No; I am glad to have you with me when you are not troublesome.”

  “And you are more glad to have me with you when I am useful to you, as I was yesterday, when I helped you to cut open the leaves of those new books which you wanted to read. You liked me very much then, when you said I was useful to you.”

  “Yes; people like those who are useful to them.”

  “And I like to be liked, mamma, by you, more than by any body; so I will try always to be as useful to you as I can. I can be useful to you now, mamma, if you will give me leave.”

  “I will give you leave in welcome, Frank,” said his mother, smiling. So Frank went for a little bit of wood, which his father had given to him; and he cut it, with his knife, into the shape of a wedge; and he put his wedge under one of the legs of the table, which was shorter than the other legs; and the table was now much steadier than it was before.

  “Now, mamma,” said Frank, “try to shake the table, and you will feel how steady it is; I can put my elbows upon it now, without shaking it; and I dare say even Pompey would not shake it, if he was to leap up as he did just now. Is not my wedge useful, mamma?”

  “Yes; thank you for it, my dear.”

  “And now, mamma, may I open the door, and let poor Pompey in again? for he cannot easily shake us now.”

  Frank’s mother told him that he might let Pompey in again; and when Frank opened the door, he saw Pompey sitting upon his hind legs, holding something up in his forepaws, “O, mamma, it is my glove,” cried Frank, “the glove that I lost yesterday. Useful Pompey! I like you for finding my glove. Useful Pompey! Come in, useful Pompey!”

  One evening at tea-time, there was a small plum-cake upon a plate on the tea-table, and there was a knife beside the plate. Frank’s father and mother, and two of his brothers, were sitting round the table; his mother was beginning to pour out the tea; and she called to Frank, and said to him, “My dear, cut this plum-cake into five pieces for us, and take care that you make all the pieces of the same size, for your father, and your two brothers, and yourself, and me; and give us each a just share.”

  Frank began to cut the cake; but by mistake, he divided it into six parts, instead of into five.

  “Mamma,” said he, “what shall I do with this bit? I have five without it; one for you, and one for my father, and one for my brother Edward, and one for my brother Harry, and one for myself. What shall I do with this bit that is left?”

  “What is most just to do with it?”

  “I think I had better keep it myself, mamma, because it belongs to nobody, and I should have it for the trouble of cutting the cake for every body.”

  “No,” said his brother Henry, “I do not think that would be just, because, then, you would be rewarded for making a mistake; if you had cut the cake rightly, there would not be this bit to spare.”

  “Well,” said Frank, “I do not think it would be just that I should have it: but who, then, shall I give it to? I will give it to you, mamma, because’ I like to give it to you best.

  — No, I will give it to papa, because he likes plum-cake better than you do. — Stay, I will give it to you, Henry, because you mended my kite for me. — No, indeed, I must give it to poor Edward, because he had no cherry-pie to-day, at dinner.”

  “But,” said his mother, “what right have you, Frank, to give this bit of cake to poor Edward, because he had no cherry-pie today, at dinner; or to good Henry, because he mended your kite; or to your father, because he loves plum-cake better than I do; or to me, because you like to give it to me? What right have you to give it away to any of us?”

  “Mamma, you said that I was to give each of you your just share; and I thought I was to be judge—”

  “Remember that I desired you to divide the cake into five pieces, all
of the same size; you were to judge about the size of the pieces; and you were to take care that we have each our just share; but you are going to give one of us twice as much as any of the others.”

  “I cannot make the pieces the right size, now, mamma.”

  “But you can give us each equal quantities of cake: cannot you?”

  “How, mamma?”

  “Think: when you are trusted to divide any thing, you must take the trouble, Mr. Judge, to consider how it is to be done fairly.”

  1 Frank took the trouble to think; and he then cut the spare bit of cake into five equal parts; and he put these parts by the side of the five large pieces of cake, and gave one of the large pieces, and one of the little pieces, to each person; and he then said, “I believe have divided the cake fairly now.” Every body present said, “Yes;” and every body looked carefully at each of the shares, and there appeared exactly the same quantity in each share. So each person took their portion; and all were satisfied. Justice satisfies every body.

  “My dear Frank,” said his mother, “as you have divided the cake so fairly, let us see how you will divide the sugar that Was upon the top of the cake, and which is now broken and crumbled to pieces in the plate. We all like that sugar; divide it equally among us.”

  “But this will be very difficult to do, mamma,” said Frank, “because the pieces of sugar are all of such different sizes and shapes; and here are so many crumbs of cake mixed with the crumbs of sugar; I do not know how I shall ever divide it exactly. Will it do, if I do not divide it quite exactly, ma’am?”

  “No,” said his mother; “I beg you will divide it quite exactly: you can do it, if you take the right way to do it.”

  Frank first took out all the largest bits of sugar, and laid them upon one another, and broke off the corners and edges till he thought he had five of them of the same size exactly, and then he divided the crumbs, and little broken bits, into five heaps, which he thought seemed to be of the same size.

  But when he had done, his brother Henry said, “This heap next me is a great deal larger than any of the others.”