Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Perhaps Owen did not hear this; for he was now at some distance from the gate. Presently he heard some one running after him — It was Marianne.

  “Oh, I am so much out of breath with running after you! — I can hardly speak! — But I am come back,” said this good-natured girl, “to tell you that you will be sorry if you do not come with us; for there is something that you like very much, just at the turn of the road, a little beyond the turnpike-gate.”

  “Something that I like very much! — What can that be?”

  “Come with me, and you shall see,” said Marianne; “that is both rhyme and reason — Come with me, and you shall see.”

  She looked so good-humoured, as she smiled and nodded at him, that he could not be sullen any longer.

  “I don’t know how it is, cousin Marianne,” said he; “but when I am cross, you are never cross; and you can always bring me back to good-humour again, you are so good-humoured yourself — I wish I was like you — But we need not talk any more of that now — What is it that I shall see on the other side of the turnpike-gate? — What is it that I like very much?”

  “Don’t you like ripe cherries very much?”

  “Yes; but they do not grow in these hedges.”

  “No; but there is an old woman sitting by the road-side, with a board before her, which is covered with red ripe cherries.”

  “Red ripe cherries! Let us make haste then,” cried Owen. He ran on, as fast as he could; but as soon as the children saw him running, they also began to run back to the turn-stile; and they reached it before he did; and they held it fast as before, saying, “Promise you will not kick up the dust, or we will not let you through.”

  “The cherries are very ripe,” said Marianne.

  “Well, well, I will not kick up the dust — Let me through,” said Owen.

  They did so, and he kept his word; for though he was ill-humoured, he was a boy of truth; and he always kept his promises — He found the cherries looked red and ripe, as Marianne had described them.

  The old woman took up a long stick, which lay on the board before her. Bunches of cherries were tied with white thread to this stick; and as she shook it in the air, over the heads of the children, they all looked up with longing eyes.

  “A halfpenny a bunch! — Who will buy? Who will buy? Who will buy? — Nice ripe cherries!” cried the old woman.

  The children held out their halfpence; and “Give me a bunch,” and “give me a bunch!” was heard on all sides.

  “Here are eleven of you,” said the old woman, “and there are just eleven bunches on this stick.” She put the stick into Marianne’s hand, as she spoke.

  Marianne began to untie the bunches; and her companions pressed closer and closer to her, each eager to have the particular bunches which they thought the largest and the ripest.

  Several fixed upon the uppermost, which looked indeed extremely ripe.

  “You cannot all have this bunch,” said Marianne; “to which of you must I give it? You all wish for it.”

  “Give it to me, give it to me,” was the first cry of each; but the second was, “Keep it yourself, Marianne; keep it yourself.”

  “Now, Owen, see what it is to be good-natured, and good-humoured, like Marianne,” said Cymon, the eldest of the boys, who stood near him—”We all are ready to give up the ripest cherries to Marianne; but we should never think of doing so for you, because you are so cross and disagreeable.”

  “I am not cross now; I am not disagreeable now,” replied Owen; “and I do not intend to be cross and disagreeable any more.”

  This was a good resolution; but Owen did not keep it many minutes. — In the bunch of cherries which Marianne gave to him for his share, there was one which, though red on one side, was entirely white and hard on the other.

  “This cherry is not ripe; and here’s another that has been half eaten away by the birds. — Oh, Marianne, you gave me this bad bunch on purpose — I will not have this bunch.”

  “Somebody must have it,” said Cymon; “and I do not see that it is worse than the others; we shall all have some cherries that are not so good as the rest; but we shall not grumble and look so cross about it as you do.”

  “Give me your bad cherries, and I will give you two out of my fine bunch, instead of them,” said the good-natured Marianne.

  “No, no, no!” cried the children; “Marianne, keep your own cherries.”

  “Are not you ashamed, Owen?” said Cymon—”How can you be so greedy?”

  “Greedy! — I am not greedy,” cried Owen, angrily; “but I will not have the worst cherries; I will have another bunch.”

  He tried to snatch another bunch from the stick. — Cymon held it above his head. — Owen leaped up, reached it, and when his companions closed round him, exclaiming against his violence, he grew still more angry; he threw the stick down upon the ground, and trampled upon every bunch of the cherries in his fury, scarcely knowing what he did, or what he said.

  When his companions saw the ground stained with the red juice of their cherries, which he had trampled under his feet, they were both sorry and angry.

  The children had not any more halfpence; they could not buy any more cherries; and the old woman said that she could not give them any.

  As they went away sorrowfully, they said, “Owen is so ill-tempered, that we will not play with him, or speak to him, or have any thing to do with him.”

  Owen thought that he could make himself happy without his companions; and he told them so. — But he soon found that he was mistaken.

  When they arrived at the school-house, their dame was sitting in the thatched porch before her own door, reading a paper that was printed in large letters—”My dears,” said she to her little scholars, “here is something that you will be glad to see; but say your lessons first — One thing at a time — Duty first, and pleasure afterwards —— Which ever of you says your lesson best, shall know first what is in this paper, and shall have the pleasure of telling the good news.”

  Owen always learned his lessons very well, and quickly: he now said his lesson better than any of his companions said theirs; and he looked round him with joy and triumph; but no eye met his with pleasure; nobody smiled upon him, no one was glad that he had succeeded: on the contrary, he heard those near him whisper, “I should have been very glad if it had been Marianne who had said her lesson, because she is so good-natured.”

  The printed paper, which Owen read aloud, was as follows:

  “On Thursday evening next, the gate of the cherry-orchard will be opened; and all who have tickets will be let in, from six o’clock till eight. — Price of tickets, six-pence.”

  The children wished extremely to go to this cherry orchard, where they knew that they might gather as many cherries as they liked, and where they thought that they should be very happy, sitting down under the trees, and eating fruit — But none of these children had any money; for they had spent their last halfpence in paying for those cherries which they never tasted — those cherries which Owen, in the fury of his passion, trampled in the dust.

  The children asked their dame what they could do to earn six-pence a piece; and she told them, that they might perhaps be able to earn this money by plaiting straw for hats, which they had all been taught to make by their good dame.

  Immediately the children desired to set to work.

  Owen, who was very eager to go to the cherry orchard, was the most anxious to get forward with the business: he found, however, that nobody liked to work along with him; his companions said, “We are afraid that you should quarrel with us — We are afraid that you should fly into a passion about the straws, as you did about the cherries; therefore we will not work with you.”

  “Will not you? then I will work by myself,” said Owen; “and I dare say that I shall have done my work long before you have any of you finished yours; for I can plait quicker and better than any of you.”

  It was true that Owen could plait quicker and better than any of his comp
anions; but he was soon surprised to find that his work did not go on so fast as theirs.

  After they had been employed all the remainder of this evening, and all the next day, Owen went to his companions, and compared his work with theirs.

  “How is this?” said he; “how comes it, that you have all done so much, and I have not done nearly so much, though I work quicker than any one of you, and I have worked as hard as I possibly could? — What is the reason that you have done so much more than I have?”

  “Because we have all been helping one another, and you have had no one to help you: you have been obliged to do every thing for yourself.”

  “But still, I do not understand how your helping one another can make such a difference,” said Owen: “I plait faster than any of you.”

  His companions were so busy at their work, that they did not listen to what he was saying — He stood behind Marianne, in a melancholy posture, looking at them, and trying to find out why they went on so much faster than he could — He observed that one picked the outside off the straws; another cut them to the proper length; another sorted them, and laid them in bundles; another flattened them; another (the youngest of the little girls, who was not able to do any thing else) held the straws ready for those who were plaiting; another cut off the rough ends of the straws when the plaits were finished; another ironed the plaits with a hot smoothing-iron; others sewed the plaits together. Each did what he could do best, and quickest; and none of them lost any time in going from one work to another, or in looking for what they wanted.

  On the contrary, Owen had lost a great deal of time in looking for all the things that he wanted; he had nobody to hold the straws ready for him as he plaited; therefore he was forced to go for them himself, every time he wanted them; and his straws were not sorted in nice bundles for him; the wind blew them about; and he wasted half an hour, at least, in running after them. Besides this, he had no friend to cut off the rough ends for him; nor had he any one to sew the plaits together; and though he could plait quickly, he could not sew quickly; for he was not used to this kind of work. He wished extremely for Marianne to do it for him. He was once a full quarter of an hour in threading his needle, of which the eye was too small — Then he spent another quarter of an hour in looking for one with a larger eye; and he could not find it at last, and nobody would lend him another — When he had done sewing, he found that his hand was out for plaiting; that is, he could not plait so quickly after his fingers had just been used to another kind of work; and when he had been smoothing the straws with a heavy iron, his hand trembled afterwards for some minutes, during which time he was forced to be idle; thus it was that he lost time by doing every thing for himself; and though he lost but few minutes or seconds in each particular, yet, when all these minutes and seconds were added together, they made a great difference.

  “How fast, how very fast, they go on! and how merrily!” said Owen; as he looked at his former companions—”I am sure I shall never earn sixpence for myself before Thursday; and I shall not be able to go to the cherry-orchard — I am very sorry that I trampled on your cherries; I am very sorry that I was so ill-humoured — I will never be cross any more.”

  “He is very sorry, that he was so ill-humoured; he is very sorry that he trampled on our cherries,” cried Marianne; “do you hear what he says; he will never be cross any more.”

  “Yes, we hear what he says,” answered Cymon; “but how can we be sure that he will do as he says.”

  “Oh,” cried another of his companions, “he has found out at last that he must do as he would be done by.”

  “Aye,” said another; “and he finds that we who are good-humoured and good-natured to one another, do better even than he who is so quick and so clever.”

  “But if, besides being so quick and so clever, he was good-humoured and good-natured,” said Marianne, “he would be of great use to us; he plaits a vast deal faster than Mary does, and Mary plaits faster than any of us — Come, let us try him, let him come in amongst us.”

  “No, No, No,” cried many voices; “he will quarrel with us; and we have no time for quarrelling — We are all so quiet and happy without him! — Let him work by himself, as he said he would.”

  Owen went on, working by himself; he made all the haste that he possibly could; but Thursday came, and his work was not nearly finished — His companions passed by him with their finished work in their hands — Each, as they passed, said, “What, have not you done yet, Owen?” and then they walked on to the table where their Dame was sitting ready to pay them their sixpences.

  She measured their work, and examined it; and when she saw that it was well done, she gave to each of her little workmen and workwomen the sixpence which they had earned, and she said, “I hope, my dears, that you will be happy this evening.”

  They all looked joyful; and as they held their sixpences in their hands they said, “If we had not helped one another, we should not have earned this money; and we should not be able to go to the cherry-orchard.”

  “Poor Owen!” whispered Marianne to her companions, “look how melancholy he is, sitting there alone at his work! — See! his hands tremble, so that he can scarcely hold the straws; he will not have nearly finished his work in time, he cannot go with us.”

  “He should not have trampled upon our cherries; and then perhaps we might have helped him,” said Cymon.

  “Let us help him, though he did trample on our cherries,” said the good-natured Marianne,—”He is sorry for what he did, and he will never be so ill-humoured or ill-natured again — Come, let us go and help him — If we all help, we shall have his work finished in time, and then we shall all be happy together.”

  As Marianne spoke, she drew Cymon near to the corner where Owen was sitting; and all her companions followed.

  “Before we offer to help him, let us try whether he is now inclined to be good-humoured, and good-natured.”

  “Yes, yes, let us try that first,” said his companions.

  “Owen, you will not have done time enough to go with us,” — said Cymon.

  “No, indeed,” said Owen, “I shall not; therefore I may as well give up all thoughts of it — It is my own fault, I know.”

  “Well, but as you cannot go yourself, you will not want your pretty little basket; will you lend it to us to hold our cherries?”

  “Yes, I will with pleasure,” cried Owen, jumping up to fetch it:

  “Now he is good-natured, I am sure,” said Marianne.

  “This plaiting of yours is not nearly so well done as ours,” said Cymon, “look how uneven it is.”

  “Yes, it is rather uneven, indeed,” replied Owen.

  Cymon began to untwist some of Owen’s work; and Owen bore this trial of his patience with good temper.

  “Oh, you are pulling it all to pieces, Cymon,” said Marianne; “this is not fair.”

  “Yes, it is fair,” said Cymon; “for I have undone only an inch; and I will do as many inches for Owen as he pleases, now that I see he is good-humoured.”

  Marianne immediately sat down to work for Owen; and Cymon and all his companions followed her example — It was now two hours before the time when the cherry-orchard was to be opened; and during these two hours, they went on so expeditiously, that they completed the work.

  Owen went with them to the cherry-orchard, where they spent the evening all together very happily — As he was sitting under a tree with his companions eating the ripe cherries, he said to them,—”Thank you all, for helping me; I should not have been here now eating these ripe cherries, if you had not been so good-natured to me — I hope I shall never be cross to any of you again, whenever I feel inclined to be cross, I will think of your good-nature to me, and of THE CHERRY-ORCHARD.”

  THE MOST UNFORTUNATE DAY OF MY LIFE AND OTHER STORIES

  This posthumous story collection contains one of Edgeworth’s most famous tales, ‘The Purple Jar’, which was alluded to by two of the most prominent female writers of the 19th centur
y: Elizabeth Gaskell (who also used Helen as inspiration for Wives and Daughters) and Louisa May Alcott, who had one of her characters, Rose Campbell, reference the tale in her 1875 novel, Eight Cousins. ‘The Purple Jar’ details the story of a young girl that spots a purple jar in a shop window and is given the choice of a new pair of shoes or the jar by her mother. She is only allowed to choose one and cannot return the item or exchange it. Her decision leads to disappointment, which results in a moral lesson for the child.

  CONTENTS

  THE MOST UNFORTUNATE DAY OF MY LIFE.

  THE PURPLE JAR.

  THE TWO PLUMS.

  THE INJURED ASS.

  THOUGHTS ON BORES.

  THE BLUE JAR.

  THE MOST UNFORTUNATE DAY OF MY LIFE.

  ROBERT and Arthur were two little boys of about nine and seven years old, they were brothers and they were both very fond of each other and of their mother.

  One day Robert said to his brother, “Arthur, do you recollect that next Monday will be Mamma’s birthday? You and I, my dear Arthur, must think of some pretty thing that we can do or make for her before that day.... Do you hear me, Arthur?”

  “Yes, I hear you, Robert,” said Arthur, “but I am sure that I cannot do anything well enough.”

  “Oh, that’s what you always say, Arthur, and you know Mamma says this hinders you from doing many things that you could do well enough. You know Mamma said that she should like to have one of your old men’s heads or one of the wild asses, that you began. You know you began seven asses and could not you finish one for her birthday?”

  “No, no, the asses are not good enough,” said Arthur, “and their legs are too difficult. I wish I could think of something better and easier.”

  “I have thought already of a great many things that I can do very well,” said Robert. “I can turn a beautiful little box for her — but no, I think it would be better to make her a new brush of peacock’s feathers — she wants one very much, the old one with which she dusts the pictures is quite worn out, and I know where I can get plenty of new beautiful purple and green feathers with fine eyes. I will run and ask the gardener’s wife to give them to me. But stay! There is another, a much better thing I could do. Mamma asked me to weed the great rosemount in her garden, so I will weed it quite clean and I will have it all freshly dug and nicely raked for her birthday, and I will make such a beautiful border round it. Oh, Arthur!... But I will not tell you or anybody what that border shall be till it is finished.”