Little Rosamond burst into tears. ‘ Why should you cry, my dear?’ said her mother; ‘it will be of as much use to you now, as ever, for a flower-pot.’
‘But it won’t look so pretty on the chimney piece; I am sure, if I had known that it was not really purple, I should not have wished to have it so much.’
‘But didn’t I tell you that you had not examined it; and that perhaps you would be disappointed?’
‘And so I am disappointed, indeed; I wish I had believed you beforehand. Now I had much rather have the shoes; for I shall not be able to walk all this month; even walking home that little way hurt me exceedingly. Mother, I’ll give you the flower-pot back again, and that purple stuff and all, if you’ll only give me the shoes.’
‘No, Rosamond, you must abide by your own choice; and now the best thing you can possibly do, is to bear your disappointment with good humor.’
‘I will bear it as well as I can,’ said Rosamond, wiping her eyes; and she began slowly and sorrowfully to fill the vase with flowers.
But Rosamond’s disappointment did not end here; many were the difficulties and distresses into which her imprudent choice brought her, before the end of the month. Every day her shoes grew worse and worse, till at last she could neither run, dance, jump, nor walk in them. “Whenever Rosamond was called to see any thing, she was pulling her shoes up at the heels, and was sure to be too late. Whenever her mother was going out to walk, she could not take Rosamond with her, for Rosamond had no soles to her shoes; and, at length, on the very last day of the month, it happened that her father proposed to take her with her brother to a glasshouse, which she had long wished to see. She was very happy; but, when she was quite ready, had her bonnet and gloves on, and was making haste down stairs to her brother and her father, who were waiting at the hall-door for her, the shoe dropped off; she put it on again in a great hurry, but, as she was going across the hall, her father turned round. ‘Why are you walking slip-shod? no one must walk slip-shod with me; why, Rosamond,’ said he, looking at her shoes with disgust, ‘I thought you were always neat! go, I cannot take you with me.’
Rosamond colored and retired. ‘O, mother,’ said she, as she took off her bonnet, ‘ how I wish that I had chosen the shoes — they would have been of so much more use to me than that jar; however, I am sure — no, not quite sure — but, I hope I shall be wiser another time.’
THE TWO PLUMS.
‘WHAT are you looking for, Rosamond?’ said her mother.
Rosamond was kneeling upon the carpet, and leaning upon both her hands, looking for something very earnestly.
‘Mother,’ said she, pushing aside her hair which hung over her face, and looking up with a sorrowful countenance, ‘I am looking for my needle; I have been all this morning, ever since breakfast, trying to find my needle, and I cannot find it.’
‘This is not the first needle that you have lost this week, Rosamond?’
‘No, mother.” Nor the second?’
‘No, mother.’
‘Nor the third?’
Rosamond was silent, for she was ashamed of having been so careless as to lose four needles in one week.
‘Indeed, mother,’ said she, after being silent for some time, ‘I stuck it very carefully into my work when I put by my work yesterday, I think, but I am not quite sure of that.’
‘Nor I neither,’ said her mother, ‘I cannot be sure of that, because I know you have the habit of leaving your needle loose, hanging by the thread, when you leave off work.’
‘But I thought that I had cured myself of hat, mother; look here, mother, I can show you in my work the very holes where I stuck my needle; I assure you it falls out after I have stuck it in, because I shake my work generally before I fold it up.’
‘Then I advise you to cure yourself of shaking your work before you fold it up; then the needle will not drop out; then you will not spend a whole morning crawling upon the ground to look for it.’
‘I am sure I wish I could, cure myself of losing my needles, for I lost, besides my needle, a very pleasant walk yesterday, because I had no needle, and I could not sew on the string of my bonnet; and the day before yesterday I was not ready for dinner, and father was not pleased with me; and do you know, mother, the reason I was not ready for dinner was that you had desired me to mend the tuck of my gown?’
‘Nay, Rosamond, I do not think that was the reason.’
‘Yes, I assure you it was, mother, for I could not come down before I had mended that tuck, and I could not find my needle, and I lost my time looking for it, and I found it but just before the dinner bell rang.’
‘Then, by your own account, Rosamond, it was your having lost your needle that was the cause of your being late for dinner, not my desiring you to mend your gown.’
‘Yes, mother; but I think the reason that my sister Laura keeps her needles so safely, is, that she has a needle-book to keep them in, and I have no needle-book, mother, you know. Would you be so very good, mother, as to give me a needle-book, that I may cure myself of losing my needles?’
‘I am glad,’ said her mother, ‘ that you wish, my dear, to cure yourself of any of your little faults; as to the needle-book, I’ll think about it.’
A few days after Rosamond had asked her mother for a needle-book, as she was watering her flowers in the garden, she heard the parlor window opening, and she looked and saw her mother beckoning to her — she ran in — it was in the evening, a little while after dinner.
‘Look upon the table, Rosamond,’ said her mother, ‘and tell me what you see.’
‘I see two plums, mother,’ said Rosamond, smiling, ‘two nice ripe purple plums.’
‘Are you sure that you see two nice ripe purple plums?’
‘Not quite sure, mother,’ said Rosamond, who at this instant recollected the purple jar; ‘but I will, if you please, look at them a little nearer.’ She went up to the table and looked at them. ‘May I touch them, mother?’
‘Yes, my dear.’
Rosamond touched them and tried to smell them, and then exclaimed—’ One is quite hard and the other is soft — one is a great deal colder than the other — one smells like a plum, and the other has no smell at all — I am glad I was not quite sure, mother; for I do believe that one of them is not a plum but a stone — a stone painted to look like a plum.’
‘You are very right,’ said her mother, ‘ and I am glad you remembered the purple jar; now eat the real plum if you like to eat it.’ Rosamond ate the plum; and she said that it was very sweet and good. Whilst she was eating it, she looked very often at the stone that was painted to look like the plum; and she said—’ How very pretty it is! It is quite like a real plum — I dare say, nobody would find out that it was not a plum at first sight. I wonder whether Laura, or my brother George, would find it out as soon as I did — I should like to have that stone plum, mother. If you had given me my choice, I would rather have had it than the real plum which I have eaten, because the pleasure of eating a plum, you know, mother, is soon over; but that, said Rosamond, pointing to the plum that was made of stone, ‘would last forever, you know, mother.’
‘Which do you mean, my dear, that the stone would last forever, or that the pleasure of having that stone plum would last forever?’
Rosamond considered for a little while, and then answered, ‘I don’t know, mother, exactly which I meant; but I mean now that I think I should have a great deal of pleasure in showing that stone plum to Laura and my brother, and that I should like to have it for my own, because it is very pretty, and curious, and ingenious — and I mean that I would much rather have had it than the plum which I have eaten, if you had been so good as to have given me my choice.’
‘Well, my dear,’ said her mother, ‘as you have eaten the plum, you cannot perhaps tell exactly what you would have chosen.’
‘O yes, indeed, mother, I am sure, almost sure, I should have chosen the stone plum. I know, this instant, if you were to offer me another real plum, or this,’ sa
id Rosamond, taking the stone in her hand, ‘I know which I — should choose.’
Rosamond was looking so earnestly at the stone plum that she did not, for some instants, perceive a needle-book which her mother had placed on the table before her.
‘A needle-book! a red leather needle-book, mother!’ she exclaimed, as soon as she saw it, and she put down the stone plum.
Her mother now placed the plum and the needle-book beside one another, and said to her, ‘Take your choice of these two, my dear, I will give you either the needle-book, or the stone plum, whichever you like best.’
‘I hope, mother,’ said Rosamond, with a very prudent look, ‘I hope I shall not make such a silly choice as I did about the purple jar — let us consider — the plum is the prettiest certainly; but then to be sure the needle-book would be the most useful; I should not lose my needles if I had that needle-book to keep them in. I remember I wished for a needle-book, and asked you for one the other day, mother. I am very much obliged to you for getting this for me. Did you get it on purpose for me, mother?’
‘It does not signify, my dear, whether I did or not — you need not think about that at present, but consider which of the two things that are before you, you prefer.’
‘Prefer means, like best — I prefer —— — —’ said Rosamond, ‘but stay, I have not done considering yet — the needle-book! — I should not be so apt to lose my needles, and I like to cure myself of my little faults. I was very happy when you smiled and praised me, mother, and said, the other day, that you were glad to see that I wished to cure myself of my little faults; and I dare say, mother, that you would smile a great deal more, and be a great deal more pleased with me when I really have quite entirely cured myself.’
I don’t promise you, my dear,’ said hex mother, ‘that I should smile a great deal more’ but I certainly should be much more pleased to see that you had really cured yourself of any bad habit, than I was to hear you say that you wished to improve yourself.’
‘But then, mother,’ said Rosamond, ‘ losing my needle — the habit I mean of losing my needles — is but a very little fault, and I think I could cure myself of that without having a needle-book. You know I might, as you said, cure myself of shaking my work before I fold it up, and that would prevent the needle from dropping out, so that I think I might do without the needle-book — what do you think, mother? but I need not ask you, because I know you will say as you did about the purple jar — Think for yourself my dear.’
Rosamond, as she pronounced the words purple jar, turned her eyes from the stone plum, and fixed them on the needle-book.
‘The needle-book will be the most useful to me certainly — I choose, the needle-book, mother, and I’ll cure myself of my little faults; and you shall see, I hope, that I shall not lose my needles so often. This needle-book will last and be of use to me a great while; and the pleasure of seeing Laura and my brother mistake that stone for a plum would soon be over; and as to its being pretty, I should soon be’ tired of looking at it, and forget it, as I forgot — I remember — I mean as I remember that I forgot the pretty gilt coach and six, after I had it three or four days. I hope, dear mother, that I have considered well this time, and I think I have chosen better than I did about the purple jar.’
‘I think you have, my dear little girl,’ said her mother.
Some weeks after Rosamond had chosen the red leather needle-book, her brother came to her and said, ‘Can you lend me a needle, Rosamond? my father says that he will show us something that will entertain us, if you can.’
‘Yes,’ said Rosamond, ‘I can lend you a needle; I have never lost one since I have had this needle-book.’ She took out of her needle-book a needle and lent it to her brother, and he said—’ Thank you; come with me; father said that, if you had your needle safe, you should see what he is going to show to us.’
Her father showed her and her brother several experiments with the needle and a magnet; and Rosamond was much entertained with seeing these experiments, and she was very glad that she had cured herself of the habit of losing her needles; and she said, ‘ Mother, I am glad I chose the red leather needle-book that has been so useful to me, instead of the stone plum which would have been of no use to me.’
THE INJURED ASS.
‘ARE you very busy, mother?’ said Rosamond; ‘could you be so good as to look at your watch once more, and tell me what o’clock it is — only once more, mother?’
‘My dear Rosamond, I have looked at my watch for you four times within this hour — it is now exactly twelve o’clock.’
‘Only twelve, mother! Why, I thought the hour-glass must have been wrong; it seems a great deal more than an hour since I turned it, and since you told me it was exactly eleven o’clock — it has been a very long hour — don’t you think so, Laura?’
‘No, indeed,’ said Laura, looking up from what she was doing; ‘I thought it was a very short hour; I was quite surprised when you said, mother, that it was twelve o’clock.’
‘Ah, that is only because you were so busy drawing; I assure you, Laura, that I, who have been watching the sand running all the time, must know best; it has been the longest hour I ever remember.’
‘The hour in itself has been the same to you and to Laura,’ said her mother; ‘how comes it that one has thought it long, and the other short?’
‘I have been waiting and wishing all the time, mother, that it was one o’clock, that I might go to my brothers and see the soap-bubbles they promised to show me. Father said that I must not knock at his door till the clock strikes one; O, I’ve another long hour to wait,’ said Rosamond, stretching herself and gaping—’ another whole long hour, mother.’
‘Why should it be a long hour, Rosamond? Whether it shall seem long or short to you, may be just as you please.’
‘Nay, mother, what can I do? I can shake the hour-glass, to be sure that makes the sand run a little faster,’ said Rosamond; and she shook the glass as she spoke.
‘And can you do nothing else, Rosamond,’ said her mother, ‘to make the hour go faster?’
‘Nothing that I know of, mother — tell me, what can I do?’
‘You told us, just now, the reason that Laura thought the last hour shorter than you did.’
‘O, because she was busy’ —
‘Well, Rosamond, and if you were busy?” But, mother, how can I be busy, as Laura is, about drawing? You know I am not old enough yet; I have never learned to draw; I have no pencil; I have no paper, mother; I have no rubber-out, mother; how can I be busy, as Laura is, about drawing, mother?’
‘And is there nothing in this world, Rosamond, that people can be busy about, except drawing? I am at work and I am busy — is there nothing you can do without a pencil, paper, and rubber-out, and without being as old as Laura?’
‘Suppose, mother, I was to wind that skein of red silk now, which you desired me to wind before night; perhaps that would make the hour shorter — hey, mother! will it, do you think?’
‘You had better try the experiment, and then you will know, my dear,’ said her mother.
“Is that an experiment too? Well, I’ll try it,’ said Rosamond, ‘if you will be so good as to lend me your silk winders, mother.’
Her mother lent Rosamond the winders; and she began to wind the silk; it happened to be a skein difficult to wind; it was entangled often, and Rosamond’s attention was fully employed in trying to disentangle it. ‘ There, mother,’ said she, laying the ball of silk upon the table, after she had wound the whole skein, ‘ I have only broken it five times, and I have not been long in winding it, have I, mother?’
‘Not very long, my dear,’ said her mother; ‘ only half an hour.’
‘Half an hour, dear mother! surely it is impossible that it can be half an hour since I spoke last; since I was talking to you about the hour-glass!’ Rosamond turned to look at the hour-glass and she was surprised to see the hill of sand so large in the undermost glass. ‘ This has been a very short half hour indee
d, mother. You were right; having something to do makes the time seem to go fast. Now, mother, do you know that I don’t particularly like winding silk; I mean entangled skeins; and I dare say that if I had been doing something that I like better, the half hour would have seemed shorter still. I have another half hour, mother, b fore I go to Godfrey and the soap-bubbles. Mother, it you could think of something for me that I should like very much to do, I might try another experiment; I might try whether the next half hour would not seem to go faster even than the last.’
‘Well, my dear Rosamond,’ said her mother, smiling, ‘ as you thought of something to do for yourself when I wished it, I will try it I can find something for you to do now, that you will like.’ Her mother opened the drawer of her table, and took out of it a very small manuscript, covered with marble paper.
‘What is that, mother?’ cried Rosamond.
‘A little story,’ said her mother, ‘which was written by a boy of eleven years old.’
‘Entirely by himself, mother?’
‘Entirely by himself.’
‘What’s the name of it, dear mother?’
‘The Injured Ass.’
‘The Injured Ass! I’m glad of it — I like the name.’
‘But you cannot read writing well, Rosamond.’
‘But, mother,’ said Rosamond, ‘I dare say I shall be able to make this out; it seems to be very plainly written, and in a large round hand; I am glad of that; may I read it, mother?’
‘Yes, my dear; and when you have read it to yourself, you may, if you like it, read it aloud to Laura and to me.’
Rosamond took the little manuscript and began to read it to herself; and, with Laura’s assistance, she made out all the words.
‘Now, mother, may I read it to you and Laura? I have read it all — I have not been long, have I, mother? May I begin?’
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 615