Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Frank looked, and he saw the cook replace all the pewter moulds in the wooden frame, with the narrow ends downwards, and the broadest ends uppermost; and into the open mouth of the broadest end, which was uppermost, she poured, carefully and slowly, the melted tallow, from the spout of the saucepan, into each of the candle-moulds. She poured it not over the cotton, at the top, but on each side of it, so as to leave the cotton, and the skewer that was put through it, standing above the grease, when the mould was filled nearly to the top. When this was done, the cook said that they must leave the tallow to cool; and that it would be some time before it would be cool.

  Frank went away with his mother, and he asked her if she could now answer the question about the hot water. But just then his father called her, and she had not time to answer Frank.

  She was busy the rest of the morning, and Frank went to his garden, and worked in it: when he was tired of working, he trundled his hoop upon the walk, and kept it up till he was tired of running after it. It began to rain; and then he went into the house, and learned by heart some of the multiplication table, which his mother had desired him to learn.

  Some company dined, this day, with his father and mother; and his mother could not talk to him again till after the company had gone away, in the evening. Frank was glad when the company was gone, and when his mother had again time to attend to him.

  The next day, Frank asked his mother to take him to look at the candles; he said that he hoped the cook had not taken them out of the moulds, for he wished to see that done. The cook had not taken them out; for his mother had desired, that she should not do this till Frank should be present. The first thing the cook did was to pull out the pegs, which she had stuck between the cotton of the wick into the little holes, at the smallest end of the moulds; then she took hold of the cotton loop, through which the bit of stick had been put, at the larger end of the mould, and she drew it up gently; and with the cotton came the tallow, out of the mould, in the shape of a candle; and as it came out, Frank exclaimed, —

  “It is a real candle, indeed! Shall we light it, mamma?”

  “Not yet, my dear. It is not hard enough. It must be hung up for two or three days, before it will be fit to be used.”

  The cook drew all the candles out of the moulds, and she hung them up to harden.

  “Well, now, mamma, I have observed carefully all that has been done; and I have not been too quick, have I? I have learned something accurately, as you say. Now I know how to make candles!”

  “You have seen how candles are made, that is, you have seen how mould candles are made. These are called mould candles because they are made in a mould; but there are other ways of making candles.”

  “Yes, I remember the man in the Book of Trades says, that there are dipped candles, as well as mould candles.”

  “Yes, master,” said the cook; “the dipped candles are made by dipping the wick into the tallow, then letting it dry, and then dipping it, again into the tallow; and every time, more and more sticks to the candle; and it is left to dry, between every dipping; till, at last, it is the size the candle should be. Then, besides dipped candles, and mould candles, there are rushlights, master; - such as the poor people use here, in their cottages, you know.”

  “I do not know,” said Frank. “Tell me, what are rushlights? Are they made of rushes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “O, tell me how they are made!”

  “If I can, I will take you this evening to the cottage of that good-natured old woman who showed you her spinning-wheel,” said Frank’s mother; “and I will ask her to show you how rushlights are made.”

  “Thank you, mamma. Are there any other sorts of candles?”.

  “There is another sort, which you have seen, and that is not made of tallow.”

  “I recollect — wax candles, mamma.”

  — “They may be made nearly in the same manner that dipped tallow candles are made only that melted wax is poured over the wick, instead of the wick being dipped into the wax. The wax candle is rolled upon a smooth table, to make it smooth and round. There are other ways of making wax-candles; but I will not tell you any more at present, lest you should not be able to remember all that you have seen and heard.”

  “But, mamma, tell me one thing more,” said Frank, as he followed his mother up stairs. “Wax, I know, is made by bees, and wax candles are made of wax; but there is another kind of wax candle, or of candle that looks like wax. It has a long, hard name, which I cannot remember.”

  “Do you mean spermaceti?”

  “Yes — spermaceti. What is that?”

  “Spermaceti is a fatty substance prepared from the brain of a species of whale. You have seen the print of a whale, and have read an account of a whale?”

  “Yes; the great fish — the largest of fishes — I remember: I never should have guessed that candles were made from any part of a fish. Mamma, what a number of things we must know, before we can know well how any one thing is made, or done.”

  “Very true, my dear little boy; and I am glad to see that you wish to acquire, or get knowledge.”

  His mother could not talk to him any more this morning; but, in the evening, she called him, and said, “Now, Frank, you may walk with your father and me to Mrs. Wheeler’s cottage.”

  “To the good-natured old woman’s? O, I am glad of that, mamma!” said Frank.

  He ran for his hat, and he was ready in an instant; for he was happy to go with his father and mother. It was a fine evening, and the walk was pleasant, through pretty paths, in green fields; and there were several stiles, which Frank liked to get over. He showed his father how quickly he could get over them.

  “Look, papa, how well I can jump! how I can vault over this stile! You know, you said that men ought to be active; now, papa, am not I active?”

  Frank ran on, without waiting for an answer; and he ran till he came to a rivulet, or a little river, or brook, which crossed the path. There he stopped, and stood still, for there was only a narrow plank, or board, across the stream; and the hand-rail, by which Frank used to hold when he walked over, had been broken since he had last been at this place. The rail had fallen into the water, and there was nothing by which Frank could hold. His father and mother came up to him.

  “Frank,” said his father, “what is the matter? You look very melancholy.”

  “Yes, papa; because I am afraid we must turn back. We cannot go on.”

  “Why not, my dear?”

  “Look at this broken bridge, papa—”

  “Broken hand-rail of a bridge, you mean, Frank. The bridge is not broken. This plank is as broad and as strong as it was before; and you know you have walked over it safely. You see it will bear my weight, and I am much heavier than you are,” said his father, standing on the plank.

  “Yes, papa; so I see.”

  “And you see,” said his father, walking over the bridge,—” you see that I can walk over it, though there is no hand-rail.”

  “Yes, papa, so I see,” said Frank; but he stood still, without attempting to follow his father.

  “Come on, my boy,” said his father; “unless you mean to stand there all night.”

  “No, papa — yes, papa. — Mamma, will you go first?”

  His mother went over the bridge; still Frank felt afraid to follow; but when his father said, “Men ought to be brave; boys should conquer their fears,” Frank tried to conquer his fear; and he put his foot upon the bridge, and his father held out his hand to him, and he walked on, slowly at first, and quicker afterwards, till he got quite across. Then he said, —

  “Papa, I will go back again, and do it better.”

  He went back again, and walked quite stoutly over the plank; his father holding his hand. And then he said, —

  “Papa, I will do it without holding your hand.”

  So he did. And he went backwards and forwards two or three times, till he had quite conquered his fear. Then he felt glad and pleased with himself, especially whe
n his mother smiled upon him, and said, —

  “That is right, Frank, my dear. This puts me in mind of a little boy who conquered his fear, as you have done.”

  “Who was that, mamma?’ “A little boy, who was younger than you are.”

  “Was it a real boy, mamma? — And is it a true story?”

  “It is a true story, of a real boy. He was about five years old.”

  “Much younger than I am!” cried Frank.

  “Well, mamma.”

  “When this little boy was taken to the sea-shore, to be bathed, for the first time, in the sea, he was afraid, when he saw the wave of the sea coming, and when he felt it going over him.”

  “So should I have been, I dare say, mamma.”

  “But he was ashamed of having been afraid, and he was determined to conquer his fear; and he turned to the sea, and said, ‘Wave, do that again! Wave, come over me again!’ And the next time he showed no fear.”

  “What was the name of the boy, mamma, and who were his father and mother?”

  “I cannot tell you their names, my dear; but I can tell you that the boy is son to the greatest general, the greatest hero, in England.”

  “The greatest hero? O! then I know who he is, mamma.”

  When they came to Mrs. Wheeler’s cottage, Frank’s father went into a field, near the house, with the old woman’s son, to look at a fine crop of oats; and Frank’s mother took him into the house, where they found Mrs. Wheeler getting ready her grandson’s supper. She stopped doing what she was about, when she saw Frank and his mother. She looked glad to see them, and said—”You are welcome, madam; you’re welcome, master; be pleased to sit down.” Then she set a chair for madam, and a little stool for master, and she swept the hearth quite clean; and she called to a little girl, of about six years old, who was in the room, and bade her run to the garden, and gather some strawberries, and bring them in for Frank. Frank thanked this good-natured old woman; but he said, —

  “I did not come to beg strawberries; and, though I love strawberries very much, I do not wish to have any of yours, because I believe you have but very few for yourself. What I want you to do for me is to show me how you make rush candles.”

  “That I will with pleasure, master,” said Mrs. Wheeler.

  “But, Mrs. Wheeler, first finish what you were about when we came in,” said Frank’s mother; “I believe you were getting ready your supper.”

  “If is George’s, my grandson’s supper, madam.”

  “Then it is not fair, that your George should lose his supper because my Frank wants to see rushlights made,” said Frank’s mother, smiling:

  “That is true,” said Frank; “and I dare say, that her George, mamma, will be very hungry when he comes in, for I saw him working hard in the fields; and I am always very hungry when I have been working hard. Pray, Mrs. Wheeler, finish getting ready George’s supper. I can wait as long as you please; and I wish I could do something for you, as you are going to do something for me. Let me carry those sticks to the fire — I can do that — and you may go on with your cooking.”

  “God bless you, master;” said the old woman; “but this is too great a load for your little arms.”

  “Let me try,” said Frank.

  “Yes; let him try,” said his mother; “he loves to be useful.”

  “And I am useful too!” cried Frank, carrying the great bundle of sticks to the fire.

  His mother began to show him how to put them on the fire.

  “But,” said she, “some of these are wet, and they will not burn readily.”

  “Ay,” said the old woman. “I am afraid that is a wet bundle. I took it from the wrong place; yonder, in that corner, are all the dry fagots.”

  Frank had never heard the word fagots before, and he did not hear it quite plainly now; but he saw what the old woman meant, because she pointed to the place where the fagots lay. So he ran directly for another bundle of sticks, and he carried it towards the fire; and, throwing it down beside his mother, said, —

  “There, mamma, there’s another maggot, and a dry maggot, for you!”

  “Fagot, not maggot,” said his mother. “Maggot!” cried the old woman, laughing, with her arms akimbo; “Lord bless him! don’t he know the difference between a maggot and a fagot?”

  “What is the difference?” said Frank.

  “Why, master! — a maggot! — Lord help us!” — the old woman began, as well as she could speak while she was laughing.

  “Mamma,” said Frank, turning to his mother, “Mamma, I would rather you would tell me; because you will tell me without laughing at me.”

  The old woman, who saw that Frank did not like to be laughed at, but who could not stop herself, turned her back, that he might not see her; but he saw her sides shaking all the time his mother was explaining to him the difference between maggot and fagot.

  “A maggot is a small worm; and a fagot is a bundle of sticks.”

  “Yes, mamma,” said Frank.

  “Well, Frank, now I have told you, can you tell me, what is a maggot and what is a fagot?”

  “A maggot, mamma, is — Mamma, I did not hear; I could not attend to what you said, because—”

  The old woman walked out of the room, and stood laughing in the passage.

  “Mamma,” whispered Frank, “I shall not call Mrs. Wheeler my good-natured old woman any more, because she is laughing at me.”

  “Then, Frank, I am afraid I cannot call you my good-humored little boy any more. What harm does her laughing do you, Frank? Let us see — has it broken any of your bones?”

  “No,” said Frank, smiling; “but I don’t like to be laughed at much; especially for not knowing any thing.”

  “Then, to avoid being laughed at again for the same thing, had not you better learn that which you did not know?”

  “I had. Now, mamma,” said Frank, turning his back to the door, so that he could no longer see Mrs. Wheeler—” now, if you will be so good as to tell me again, I will attend, if I possibly can; but I was so much ashamed mamma —— — —”

  My dear,” said his mother, “there is nothing shameful in not knowing the meaning of words which you never heard before. When you have not done any thing wrong or foolish, never mind being laughed at; a man should never mind being laughed at for a trifling mistake.”

  “Mamma, I will never mind. — Tell me now, and I will show you I never mind.”

  His mother repeated to him the explanation of the two words; and as soon as he knew this, he ran to the door, and called out very loud, —

  “A maggot is a small worm; and a fagot is a bundle of sticks! You need not laugh any more, Mrs. Wheeler.”

  “O master! I ask your pardon; I will not laugh any more; I was very rude; I ask your pardon. But I’m foolish, and could not help it; I hope you are not angry, master. I hope,” said Mrs. Wheeler, coming back into the kitchen, and curtseying, “you are not angry, madam.”

  “Mamma is not angry at all,” said Frank, “and I was only a little angry; and it is over now. Come in, come in,” said he, pulling her by the hand, “and look how well the fire is burning, that I and mamma — that mamma and I made.”

  “Bless your little soul, that forgives and forgets in a minute!” said the old woman “I wonder Hannah is not in with the strawberries.”

  “I don’t want the strawberries yet,” said Frank; “you have not put the pot on the fire, to boil the supper for George. Won’t you put it on now?”

  PART IV.

  Mrs. Wheeler put the pot on, and, while the supper was boiling for George, she showed Frank how to make rushlights. First, she took down from a hook, on which they hung, a bundle of rushes. Frank had seen rushes growing, in a field near his father’s house; and he had gathered some of them, and had peeled them; and he knew that, in the inside of the rush, there is a white, soft substance, called pith. But when he had attempted to peel rushes, he had always been a great while about it, and he had seldom been able to peel more than about the length of
his finger of the rush without breaking the white pith. Mrs. Wheeler in an instant stripped the rush of its thick green outside, all except one narrow stripe, or rind, of green, which she left to support the soft pith; and she peeled, without breaking it, the whole length of the pith contained in the rush, which was almost as long as Frank’s arm.”Can yon guess, Frank, what part of a candle this rush is to be?” said his mother.

  Frank thought for a little while, and then answered, that he supposed the rush would be made into the wick of the candle, and that it would serve instead of the cotton which he had seen used by the cook in making mould candles.

  “Yes, master, you have guessed right,” said Mrs. Wheeler.

  Then she brought from a corner near the fire a gresset, or small pan, in which there was melted grease. Frank gave the rush to her, to dip into it; but she said that it would not make a good rush candle, because it had not been left to dry for some days. She took another peeled rush from a bundle which hung up in a press by the fireside. This, which had hung there, as she said, for two or three days, was drier, and less white, than that which had been freshly peeled; she drew the rush through the melted grease, and she said, —

  “It will be cool, and fit to burn, in about five minutes.”

  In about five minutes it was cool, and the old woman lighted it, and it burned; but there was so much daylight in the room, as the setting sun was shining full upon the window, that the light of the small rush candle could scarcely be seen. Therefore Mrs. Wheeler took it into another room, at the opposite side of the house, where the sun did not shine at this time. There, when she had shut the shutters, the flame of the rushlight was plainly seen. Frank observed that this rush candle did not give nearly so much light as a thick tallow candle did. Mrs. Wheeler said, that she could not afford to buy tallow candles often, and that these rushlights were enough, for her. Frank perceived that, after he had been a little while in this room, he could see the things in it better than he did when the shutters were first closed, and when his eyes had been dazzled by the sunshine. He was surprised to find that he could make out the words at the bottom of a print to which the old woman held the light. —