“I believe, my dear,” said his mother, “that this caterpillar will soon turn into a chrysalis.”
“Chry — what, mamma?”
“Chrysalis.”
“What is a chrysalis?”
“I cannot describe it to you; but if you keep this caterpillar a few days, you will see what I mean by a chrysalis.”
“I will. But how do you know, mamma, that a caterpillar will turn into a chrysalis?”
“I have seen caterpillars that have turned into chrysalises; and I have heard that they do so, from many other people, who have seen it; and I have read, in books, accounts of caterpillars that have turned into chrysalises; and this is the time of year in which, as it has been observed, this change usually happens.”
“But, my dear mother,” said Frank, “may I keep this caterpillar in my red box? And what shall I give it to eat?”
“You need not give it any thing to eat; for it will not eat whilst it is in this state; and you may keep this caterpillar in your box; it will soon become a chrysalis; and, in the spring, a moth, or butterfly, will come out of the chrysalis.”
Frank looked much surprised at hearing this; and he said that he would take great care of the caterpillar, and that he would watch it, that he might see all these curious changes.
“Who was the first person, mamma, that ever observed that a caterpillar turned into a chrysalis, and a chrysalis into a butterfly?”
“I don’t know, my dear.”
“Mamma, perhaps, if I observe, I may find out things, as well as other people.”
“Yes, very likely you may.”
“Mamma, how did the person who wrote about animals, in my book that my father gave me, find, out all that he knew?”
“Partly from reading other books, and partly from observing animals himself.”
“But, mamma,” said Frank, “how did the people, who wrote the other books, know all the things that are told in them?”
“By observing,” said his mother. “Different people, in different places, observed different animals, and wrote the histories of those animals.”
“I am very glad that they did. Did they ever make mistakes, mamma?”
“Yes, I believe that they did make a great many mistakes.”
“Then every thing that is in books is not true; is it?”
“No.”
“I am sorry for that. But how shall I know what is true, and what is not true, in books, mamma?”
“You cannot always find out what is true, and what is not true, in books, till you have more knowledge, my dear.”
“And how shall I get more knowledge, mamma?”
“By observing whatever you see, and hear, and feel; and trying experiments.”
“Experiments, mamma! Papa, and grown up, wise people, try experiments; but I did not know that such a little boy as I am could try experiments.”
Frank and his mother had walked on, whilst they were talking, till they came to a path which led to the river side.
A little girl was by the river side, dipping a yellow earthen jug into the water.
The girl did not perceive Frank and his mother, who were coming behind her, till she heard Frank’s voice, which startled her; and she let the pitcher fall from her hand, and it broke.
The girl looked very sorry that she had broken the jug; but a woman, who was standing beside her, said, “It is no great misfortune, Mary; for we can take it home, and tie it together, and boil it in milk, and it will be as good as ever.”
“My dear mother,” cried Frank; “then we can mend the broken flower-pot. Shall we do it, as soon as we get home?”
“We can try to do it as soon as we go home.”
“Try, mamma! But are you not sure it will do? That woman said the jug would be as good as ever, if it was tied together, and boiled in milk.”
“Yes; but she may be mistaken. We had better try the experiment ourselves.”
“Is that called trying an experiment?”
“Yes; this is an experiment we can try.” When they got home, Frank’s mother rang the bell, and asked to have a clean saucepan brought up stairs; and when the saucepan was brought to her, she tied the pieces of the broken flower-pot together, with pack-thread, in the same shape that it was before it was broken. She put the flower-pot into the saucepan; and she poured over it as much milk as entirely covered it; and after she had put the saucepan on the fire, she waited till the milk boiled; then she took the saucepan off the fire; and she waited till the milk grew so cool that she could dip her fingers into it, without burning herself; and she took out the flower-pot, and carefully untied the wet packthread, and unwound it; but when she had untied it, the parts of the flower-pot did not stick together; they separated; and Frank was disappointed. —
“But, mamma,” said he, “I wish you would be so good as to send to the woman, and ask her how it was that she could mend broken things by boiling them in milk; perhaps she knows something about it that we do not know yet.”
“Stay,” said Henry; “before you send to the woman, try another experiment. Here’s a saucer which I broke just before you came in from walking — I was rubbing some Indian ink upon it, and I let it slip off the table. Let us tie this together, and try whether you can mend it by boiling it in the milk.”
The saucer was tied together; the milk that was in the saucepan was poured out, and some cold milk was put into it; into this milk the saucer was put, and the milk was then boiled; and the moment the saucepan was taken off the fire, Frank was impatient to see the saucer. Before it was nearly cool, he untied the string; the parts of the saucer did not stick together; and Frank was more disappointed now than he had been before.
His mother smiled, and said, “Frank, people who wish to try experiments, you see, must be patient.”
The woman, whom he had heard speaking to the little girl by the river side, lived very near to them; and Frank’s mother sent to beg to speak to her. She came; and when she was told what had been done about the flower-pot and the saucer, she asked whether it was a long time since the flower-pot had been broken. —
“Yes, about two months.”
“‘Then, ma’am,” said she, “that could not be mended this way; I can only mend things this way, that have been fresh broken.”
“Mamma,” said Frank, “how comes it that the saucer, which Henry did but just break before we came in from walking, did not stick together, after all we did to it?”
“Perhaps, master,” said the woman, “you did not let it stand to cool before you untied it.”
“No, I did not,” said Frank; “I will be more patient this time, mamma, if you will let me try once more.”
His mother let him try once more. As he was tying the broken saucer together, the old woman said to him, “Tie it very tight, and fit it close and even, or it will not do.” He waited till the saucer was cold this time, and then he untied the string; and he found that the parts of the saucer stuck fast together; and he could scarcely see the place where they were joined.
He was pleased with this success; and he said, “People must be patient who try experiments; and people must be patient who are to observe things; and then I shall see the chrysalis change to a moth or a butterfly. But, mother, first I shall see” the caterpillar change to a chrysalis.”
Frank put his green caterpillar into his red box; and then he went again to look at the saucer which had been mended, and at the flower-pot which the old woman said could not be mended; and he asked his mother if she could tell the reason why things which had been broken a long time before could not be mended by being boiled, in this manner, in milk.
“I think I can guess the reason,” said his mother; “but I will not tell it to you; I would rather that you should think and find it out for yourself. If I were to tell you the reason of every thing, my dear, you would never take the trouble of thinking for yourself; and you know I shall not always be with you, to think for you.”
“Mamma,” said Frank, “there is a reason tha
t I have thought of; but I am not sure that it is a right reason; but it may be one of the reasons.”
“Well, let us hear it, without any more reasons,” said his mother, laughing.
“I thought, mamma,” said Frank, “that perhaps the old woman could never mend things—”
“Things? what sort of things? chairs and tables, or coats and waistcoats?”
“O mamma, you know very well what I mean.”
“Yes, I guess what you mean; but other people will not be at the trouble of guessing at the meaning of what you say; therefore, if you wish to be understood, you must learn to explain yourself distinctly.”
“I thought, mamma,” said Frank, “that the reason why the old woman could never mend cups and saucers, or jugs, or plates, that had been broken a great while, was because, perhaps, the edges of these might have been rubbed or broken off, so that they could not be fitted close together again. If you recollect, the old woman said to me, when I was tying the broken saucer together, ‘Tie it tight, and fit it close, or it will not do.’ —
Do you think that I have found out the right reason, mamma? Is it the reason which you thought of?”
“It is the reason,” answered his mother, “which I thought of; but my having thought of it, is no proof that it is right. The best way to find out whether this is the cause, is to try it. — Can you find out yourself, Frank, how you may prove whether this is the reason or not?”
1 “I would rub the edges of a plate or saucer, after it was broken; and when I had rubbed off little bits of the edges, I would tie the pieces together and boil them in milk: and I would, at the same time, break another bit of the same plate, or saucer; and would tie the broken pieces “together, without rubbing off any of the edges; and I would put it into the same milk, and let it be upon the fire as long, and let it be as long before I untied it, as before I untied the other broken pieces; and then we should see whether the rubbing of the edges would prevent the pieces from joining, or not.”
Frank’s mother told him that he might try his experiment. He tried it; and he found that the broken bits of the plate, whose edges he had broken off, could not be joined by being boiled in milk; and two other broken bits of the same plate, which he joined without rubbing off their edges, stuck together, after they had been boiled in milk, very well.
Then Frank said, “Mamma, there is another thing which I should like to try; I should like to tie the broken flower-pot very tight together, and to fit the pieces closely; for, the last time I tied it, I did not tie it very tight; I did not know that I should have done that, till the old woman told me that I should. I think, perhaps, the flower-pot may be mended, because, though it has been broken a great while, the edges of it have never been rubbed, I believe: it has been lying in the press, in your room; and nobody has ever meddled with it.”
“Nobody has ever meddled with it, I believe,” said his mother; “for I lock that press every day; and no one goes to it but myself; and I have never rubbed any thing against the edges of the broken flower-pot.”
She went and brought the pieces of the flower-pot; and Frank tied them together, very tight, after he had fitted their edges closely and evenly together. He boiled this flower-pot again in milk, waited afterwards till it became cool, and then he untied it; and he found that the parts stuck together; and he poured water into it, and the water did not run out. Frank was glad that he had mended the flower-pot at last.
“Do you think, mother,” said he, “ that it was made to stick together again by being tied so tight, or by the milk, or by both together?”
“I do not know,” answered his mother; “but you may try whether tying broken pieces of earthenware together will fasten them, without boiling them in milk.”
Frank tried this; and he let the pieces that were tied together remain still, as long as those which he had before boiled in milk; and when he had untied the string, the pieces separated; they did not stick together in the least. He afterwards tied these pieces together again, and boiled them in water; and he found, when he untied them, that they did not stick together.
There was one part of a winter’s evening which Frank liked particularly; it was the half hour after dinner, when the window-shutters were shut, and the curtains let down, and the fire stirred, so as to make a cheerful blaze, which lighted the whole room.
His father and mother did not ring the bell for candles, because they liked to sit a little while after dinner, by the light of the fire. —
Frank’s father used often, at this time, to play with him, or to talk to him.
One evening, after his father had been playing with Frank, and had made him jump, and run, and wrestle, and laugh, till Frank was quite hot, and out of breath, he knelt down upon the carpet, at his father’s feet, rested his arms upon his father’s knees, and, looking up in his father’s face, he said, “Now, papa, whilst I am resting myself so happily here, will you tell me something entertaining?”
But, just as Frank said the word “entertaining,” the door opened, and the servant came into the room with lighted candles.
“O candles! I am sorry you are come!” cried Frank.
“O candles! T am glad you have come,” said his father; “for now I can see to read an entertaining book, which I want to finish.”
“But, papa,” said Frank, “cannot you sit still, a little, little while longer, and tell me some short thing?”
“Well, what shall I tell you?”
“There are so many things that I do not know, papa, I do not know which to ask for first. I want to know whether you have ever seen a camel; and I want to know where silkworms are found, and how they make silk; and I want to know how people weave linen in a loom, and how wool of sheep is made into such coats as we have on. And O father! I wish very much to know how the fat of animals is made into candles.
“You promised to tell me, or to show me how that was done. And O! more than all the rest, I wish to know how plates, and jugs, and cups, and saucers, and flower-pots, are made of clay — and whether they are made of clay such as I have in my garden. And I want very much to know where tea comes from and—”
“Stop, stop! my dear Frank,” said his father; “it would take up a great deal more of my time than I can bestow upon you, to answer all these questions. I cannot answer any of them to-night; for I have a great many other things to do. The first thing you asked me, I think, was, whether I had ever seen, a camel. I have; and the print I am going to show you is very much like the animal that I saw; and you may read his history; and then you will know all that I know of camels; and when you have satisfied your curiosity about camels, I can lend you another book, in which you may read the history of silk-worms.”
“Thank you, papa,” said Frank; “I shall like to read these things very much; only I cannot read quick yet, papa; and there are words sometimes which I cannot make out very well.”
“If you persevere,” said his father, “you will soon be able to read without any difficulty. But nothing can be done well without perseverance. You have showed me that you have a great deal of perseverance, and—”
“Have I, papa?” interrupted Frank; “when did I show that to you?”
“The morning when you tried, for an hour and a half, to put the joining map together.”
“And at last I did put it together.”
“Yes; you succeeded, because you persevered.”
“Then,” said Frank, “I will persevere, and learn to read easily, that I may read all the entertaining things that are in books; and then I shall be as glad when the candles come as you were just now, papa.”
PART III.
Frank was very fond of playing at battle-door and shuttlecock; but he could not always play when he liked, or as long as he liked it, because he had no battledoor or shuttlecock of his own. He determined to try to make a shuttlecock for himself; but he had no cork for the bottom of it, and he had only five feathers, which belonged to an old, worn-out shuttlecock. They were ruffled and bent. His mother was very
busy, so that he did not like to interrupt her, to ask for more feathers; and his father was out riding, so that Frank could not ask him for a cork. His brother Edward advised him to put off trying to make his shuttlecock, till his mother was not busy, and till his father should return from riding; Frank was so impatient, that he did not take this prudent advice. He set to work immediately, to make the bottom of his shuttlecock of one end of the handle of his pricker, which he sawed off, because he thought that it resembled the bottom of a shuttlecock in shape more than any other bit of wood which he possessed. When he tried to make holes in it for the feathers, he found that the wood was extremely hard; he tried, and tried, in vain; and, at last, snap went the end of the pricker. It broke in two; and Frank was so sorry that he began to cry; but recollecting that his tears would not mend his pricker, he dried his eyes, and resolved to bear the loss of it like a man. He examined the stump of the pricker, which he held in his hand, and he found that there was enough of the steel left, to be sharpened again; he began to file it as well as he could; and, after taking some pains, he sharpened it; but he did not attempt to make any more holes in the sharp wood, lest he should break the pricker again. He said to himself, “Edward gave me good advice, and I will now take it. I will wait till my father comes home, and till my mother is not busy; and then I will ask them for what I want.”
The next day his father gave him a cork, and his mother gave him some feathers; and, after several trials, he at last made a shuttlecock, which flew tolerably well. He was eager to try it, and he ran to his brother Edward, and showed it to him, and Edward liked the shuttlecock, but could not then play, because he was learning his Latin lesson.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 591
