Chapter III: Part 3

He persevered, however, and it was a valuable lesson to him; for when he had got it all done, he was so satisfied with thinking that it was fairly completed, and in thinking that now it was all ready together, and that he could form a plan for the whole at once, that he determined that forever after, when he had any unpleasant piece of work to do, he would go on patiently through it, even if it was tiresome.

With Jonas’s help, Rollo planned his garden beautifully. He put double rows of peas and beans all around, so that when they should grow up, they would enclose his garden like a fence or hedge, and make it look snug and pleasant within. Then, he had a row of corn, for he thought he should like some green corn himself to roast. Then, he had one bed of beets and some hills of muskmelons, and in one corner he planted some flower seeds, so that he could have some flowers to put into his mother’s glasses, for the mantel-piece.

Rollo took great interest in laying out and planting his ground, and in watching the garden when the seeds first came up; for all this was easy and pleasant work. In the intervals, he used to play on his pleasure-ground, planting and digging, and setting out, just as he pleased.

Sometimes he, and James, and Lucy, would go out in the woods with his little wheelbarrow, and dig up roots of flowers and little trees there, and bring them in, and set them out here and there. But he did not proceed regularly with this ground. He did not dig it all up first, and then form a regular plan for the whole; and the consequence was, that it soon became very irregular. He would want to make a path one day where he had set out a little tree, perhaps, a few days before; and it often happened that, when he was making a little trench to sow one kind of seeds, out came a whole parcel of others that he had put in before, and forgotten.

Then, when the seeds came up in his playing-garden, they came up here and there, irregularly; but, in his working-garden, all looked orderly and beautiful.

One evening, just before sundown, Rollo brought out his father and mother to look at his two gardens. The difference between them was very great; and Rollo, as he ran along before his father, said that he thought the working plan of making a garden was a great deal better than the playing plan.

“That depends upon what your object is.”

“How so?” said Rollo.

“Why, which do you think you have had the most amusement from, thus far?”

“Why, I have had most amusement, I suppose, in the little garden in the corner.”

“Yes,” said his father, “undoubtedly. But the other appears altogether the best now, and will produce altogether more in the end. So, if your object is useful results, you must manage systematically, regularly, and patiently; but if you only want amusement as you go along, you had better do every day just as you happen to feel inclined.”

“Well, father, which do you think is best for a boy?”

“For quite small boys, a garden for play is best. They have not patience or industry enough for any other.”

“Do you think I have patience or industry enough?”

“You have done very well, so far; but the trying time is to come.”

“Why, father?”

“Because the novelty of the beginning is over, and now you will have a good deal of hoeing and weeding to do for a month to come. I am not sure but that you will forfeit your land yet.”

“But you are to give me three days’ notice, you know.”

“That is true; but we shall see.”

The Trying Time.

The trying time did come, true enough; for, in June and July, Rollo found it hard to take proper care of his garden. If he had worked resolutely an hour, once or twice a week, it would have been enough; but he became interested in other plays, and, when Jonas reminded him that the weeds were growing, he would go in and hoe a few minutes, and then go away to play.

At last, one day his father gave him notice that his garden was getting out of order, and, unless it was entirely restored in three days, it must be forfeited.

Rollo was not much alarmed, for he thought he should have ample time to do it before the three days should have expired.

It was just at night that Rollo received his notice. He worked a little the next morning; but his heart was not in it much, and he left it before he had made much progress. The weeds were well rooted and strong, and he found it much harder to get them up than he expected. The next day, he did a little more, and, near the latter part of the afternoon, Jonas saw him running about after butterflies in the yard, and asked him if he had got his work all done.

“No,” said he; “but I think I have got more than half done, and I can finish it very early to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!” said Jonas. “To-morrow is Sunday, and you cannot work then.”

“Is it?” said Rollo, with much surprise and alarm; “I didn’t know that. What shall I do? Do you suppose my father will count Sunday?”

“Yes,” said Jonas, “I presume he will. He said, three _days_, without mentioning any thing about Sunday.”

Rollo ran for his hoe. He had become much attached to his ground, and was very unwilling to lose it; but he knew that his father would rigorously insist on his forfeiting it, if he failed to keep the conditions. So he went to work as hard as he could.

It was then almost sundown. He hoed away, and pulled up the weeds, as industriously as possible, until the sun went down. He then kept on until it was so dark that he could not see any longer, and then, finding that there was considerable more to be done, and that he could not work any longer, he sat down on the side of his little wheelbarrow, and burst into tears.

He knew, however, that it would do no good to cry, and so, after a time, he dried his eyes, and went in. He could not help hoping that his father would not count the Sunday; and “If I can only have Monday,” said he to himself, “it will all be well.”

He went in to ask his father, but found that he had gone away, and would not come home until quite late. He begged his mother to let him sit up until he came home, so that he could ask him, and, as she saw that he was so anxious and unhappy about it, she consented. Rollo sat at the window watching, and, as soon as he heard his father drive up to the door, he went out, and, while he was getting out of the chaise, he said to him, in a trembling, faltering voice,

“Father, do you count Sunday as one of my three days?”

“No, my son.”

Rollo clapped his hands, and said, “O, how glad!” and ran back. He told his mother that he was very much obliged to her for letting him sit up, and now he was ready to go to bed.

He went to his room, undressed himself, and, in a few minutes, his father came in to get his light.

“Father,” said Rollo, “I am very much obliged to you for not counting Sunday.”

“It is not out of any indulgence to you, Rollo; I have no right to count Sunday.”

“No right, father? Why, you said three days.”

“Yes; but in such agreements as that, three working days are always meant; so that, strictly, according to the agreement, I do not think I have any right to count Sunday. If I had, I should have felt obliged to count it.”

“Why, father?”

“Because I want you, when you grow up to be a man, to be _bound_ by your agreements. Men will hold you to your agreements when you are a man, and I want you to be accustomed to it while you are a boy. I should rather give up twice as much land as your garden, than take yours away from you now; but I must do it if you do not get it in good order before the time is out.”

“But, father, I shall, for I shall have time enough on Monday.”

“True; but some accident may prevent it. Suppose you should be sick.”

“If I was sick, should you count it?”

“Certainly. You ought not to let your garden get out of order; and, if you do it, you run the risk of all accidents that may prevent your working during the three days.”

Rollo bade his father good night, and he went to sleep, thinking what a narrow escape he had had. He felt sure that he should save it now, for he did not think there was the least danger of his being sick on Monday.

A Narrow Escape.

Monday morning came, and, when he awoke, his first movement was, to jump out of bed, exclaiming,

“Well, I am not sick this morning, am I?”

He had scarcely spoken the words, however, before his ear caught the sound of rain, and, looking out of the window, he saw, to his utter consternation, that it was pouring steadily down, and, from the wind and the gray uniformity of the clouds, there was every appearance of a settled storm.

“What shall I do?” said Rollo. “What shall I do? Why did I not finish it on Saturday?”

He dressed himself, went down stairs, and looked out at the clouds. There was no prospect of any thing but rain. He ate his breakfast, and then went out, and looked again. Rain, still. He studied and recited his morning lessons, and then again looked out. Rain, rain. He could not help hoping it would clear up before night; but, as it continued so steadily, he began to be seriously afraid that, after all, he should lose his garden.

He spent the day very anxiously and unhappily. He knew, from what his father had said, that he could not hope to have another day allowed, and that all would depend on his being able to do the work before night.

At last, about the middle of the afternoon, Rollo came into the room where his father and mother were sitting, and told his father that it did not rain a great deal then, and asked him if he might not go out and finish his weeding; he did not care, he said, if he did get wet.

“But your getting wet will not injure you alone--it will spoil your clothes.”

“Besides, you will take cold,” said his mother.

“Perhaps he would not take cold, if he were to put on dry clothes as soon as he leaves working,” said his father; “but wetting his clothes would put you to a good deal of trouble. No; I’d rather you would not go, on the whole, Rollo.”

Rollo turned away with tears in his eyes, and went out into the kitchen. He sat down on a bench in the shed where Jonas was working, and looked out towards the garden. Jonas pitied him, and would gladly have gone and done the work for him; but he knew that his father would not allow that. At last, a sudden thought struck him.

“Rollo,” said he, “you might perhaps find some old clothes in the garret, which it would not hurt to get wet.”

Rollo jumped up, and said, “Let us go and see.”

They went up garret, and found, hanging up, quite a quantity of old clothes. Some belonged to Jonas, some to himself, and they selected the worst ones they could find, and carried them down into the shed.

Then Rollo went and called his mother to come out, and he asked her if she thought it would hurt those old clothes to get wet. She laughed, and said no; and said she would go and ask his father to let him go out with them.

In a few minutes, she came back, and said that his father consented, but that he must go himself, and put on the old clothes, without troubling his mother, and then, when he came back, he must rub himself dry with a towel, and put on his common dress, and put the wet ones somewhere in the shed to dry; and when they were dry, put them all back carefully in their places.

Rollo ran up to his room, and rigged himself out, as well as he could, putting one of Jonas’s great coats over him, and wearing an old broad-brimmed straw hat on his head. Thus equipped, he took his hoe, and sallied forth in the rain.

At first he thought it was good fun; but, in about half an hour, he began to be tired, and to feel very uncomfortable. The rain spattered in his face, and leaked down the back of his neck; and then the ground was wet and slippery; and once or twice he almost gave up in despair.

He persevered, however, and before dark he got it done. He raked off all the weeds, and smoothed the ground over carefully, for he knew his father would come out to examine it as soon as the storm was over. Then he went in, rubbed himself dry, changed his clothes, and went and took his seat by the kitchen fire.

His father came out a few minutes after, and said, “Well, Rollo, have you got through?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rollo.

“Well, I am _very_ glad of it. I was afraid you would have lost your garden. As it is, perhaps it will do you good.”

“How?” said Rollo. “What good?”

“It will teach you, I hope, that it is dangerous to neglect or postpone doing one’s duty. We cannot always depend on repairing the mischief. When the proper opportunity is once lost, it may never return.”

Rollo said nothing, but he thought he should remember the lesson as long as he lived.

He remembered it for the rest of that summer, at any rate, and did not run any more risks. He kept his ground very neat, and his father did not have to give him notice again. His corn grew finely, and he had many a good roasting ear from it; and his flowers helped ornament the parlor mantel-piece all the summer; and the green peas, and the beans, and the muskmelons, and the other vegetables, which his father took and paid for, amounted to more than two dollars.

Advice.

“Well, Rollo,” said his father, one evening, as he was sitting on his cricket before a bright, glowing fire, late in the autumn, after all his fruits were gathered in, “you have really done some work this summer, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rollo; and he began to reckon up the amount of peas, and beans, and corn, and other things, that he had raised.

“Yes,” said his father, “you have had a pretty good garden; but the best of it is your own improvement. You are really beginning to get over some of the faults of _boy work_.”

“What are the faults of boy work?” said Rollo.

“One of the first is, confounding work with play,--or rather expecting the pleasure of play, while they are doing work. There is great pleasure in doing work, as I have told you before, when it is well and properly done, but it is very different from the pleasure of play. It comes later; generally after the work is done. While you are doing your work, it requires _exertion_ and _self-denial_, and sometimes the sameness is tiresome.

“It is so with _men_ when they work, but they expect it will be so, and persevere notwithstanding; but _boys_, who have not learned this, expect their work will be play; and, when they find it is not so, they get tired, and want to leave it or to find some new way.

“You showed your wish to make play of your work, that day when you were getting in your chips, by insisting on having just such a basket as you happened to fancy; and then, when you got a little tired of that, going for the wheelbarrow; and then leaving the chips altogether, and going to piling the wood.”

“Well, father,” said Rollo, “do not men try to make their work as pleasant as they can?”

“Yes, but they do not continually change from one thing to another in hopes to make it _amusing_. They always expect that it will be laborious and tiresome, and they understand this beforehand, and go steadily forward notwithstanding. You are beginning to learn to do this.

“Another fault, which you boys are very apt to fall into, is impatience. This comes from the first fault; for you expect, when you go to work, the kind of pleasure you have in play, and when you find you do not obtain it, or meet with any difficulties, you grow impatient, and get tired of what you are doing.

“From this follows the third fault--_changeableness_, or want of perseverance. Instead of steadily going forward in the way they commence, boys are very apt to abandon one thing after another, and to try this new way, and that new way, so as to accomplish very little in any thing.”

“Do you think I have overcome all these?” said Rollo.

“In part,” said his father; “you begin to understand something about them, and to be on your guard against them. But you have only made a beginning.”

“Only a beginning?” said Rollo; “why, I thought I had learned to work pretty well.”

“So you have, for a little boy; but it is only a beginning, after all. I don’t think you would succeed in persevering steadily, so as to accomplish any serious undertaking now.”

“Why, father, _I_ think I should.”

“Suppose I should give you the Latin grammar to learn in three months, and tell you that, at the end of that time, I would hear you recite it all at once. Do you suppose you should be ready?”

“Why, father, that is not _work_.”

“Yes,” said his father, “that is one kind of work,--and just such a kind of work, so far as patience, steadiness, and perseverance, are needed, as you will have most to do, in future years. But if I were to give it to you to do, and then say nothing to you about it till you had time to have learned the whole, I have some doubts whether you would recite a tenth part of it.”

Rollo was silent; he knew it would be just so.

“No, my little son,” said his father, putting him down and patting his head, “you have got a great deal to learn before you become a man; but then you have got some years to learn it in; that is a comfort. But now it is time for you to go to bed; so good night.”

THE APPLE-GATHERING.

The Garden-House.

There was a certain building on one side of Farmer Cropwell’s yard which they called the _garden-house_. There was one large double door which opened from it into the garden, and another smaller one which led to the yard towards the house. On one side of this room were a great many different kinds of garden-tools, such as hoes, rakes, shovels, and spades; there were one or two wheelbarrows, and little wagons. Over these were two or three broad shelves, with baskets, and bundles of matting, and ropes, and chains, and various iron tools. Around the wall, in different places, various things were hung up--here a row of augers, there a trap, and in other places parts of harness.

Opposite to these, there was a large bench, which extended along the whole side. At one end of this bench there were a great many carpenter’s tools; and the other was covered with papers of seeds, and little bundles of dried plants, which Farmer Cropwell had just been getting in from the garden.

The farmer and one of his boys was at work here, arranging his seeds, and doing up his bundles, one pleasant morning in the fall, when a boy about twelve years old came running to the door of the garden-house, from the yard, playing with a large dog. The dog ran behind him, jumping up upon him; and when they got to the door, the boy ran in quick, laughing, and shut the door suddenly, so that the dog could not come in after him. This boy’s name was George: the dog’s name was Nappy--that is, they always called him Nappy. His true name was Napoleon; though James always thought that he got his name from the long naps he used to take in a certain sunny corner of the yard.

But, as I said before, George got into the garden-house, and shut Nappy out. He stood there holding the door, and said,

“Father, all the horses have been watered but Jolly: may I ride him to the brook?”

“Yes,” said his father.

So George turned round, and opened the door a little way, and peeped out.

“Ah, old Nappy! you are there still, are you, wagging your tail? Don’t you wish you could catch him?”

George then shut the door, and walked softly across to the great door leading out into the garden. From here he stole softly around into the barn, by a back way, and then came forward, and peeped out in front, and saw that Nappy was still there, sitting up, and looking at the door very closely. He was waiting for George to come out.

Jolly.

George then went back to the stall where Jolly was feeding. He went in and untied his halter, and led him out. Jolly was a sleek, black, beautiful little horse, not old enough to do much work, but a very good horse to ride. George took down a bridle, and, after leading Jolly to a horse-block, where he could stand up high enough to reach his head, he put the bridle on, and then jumped up upon his back, and walked him out of the barn by a door where Nappy could not see them.

He then rode round by the other side of the house, until he came to the road, and he went along the road until he could see up the yard to the place where Nappy was watching. He called out, _Nappy!_ in a loud voice, and then immediately set his horse off upon a run. Nappy looked down to the road, and was astonished to see George upon the horse, when he supposed he was still behind the door where he was watching, and he sprang forward, and set off after him in full pursuit.

He caught George just as he was riding down into the brook. George was looking round and laughing at him as he came up; but Nappy looked quite grave, and did nothing but go down into the brook, and lap up water with his tongue, while the horse drank.

While the horse was drinking, Rollo came along the road, and George asked him how his garden came on.

“O, very well,” said Rollo. “Father is going to give me a larger one next year.”

“Have you got a strawberry-bed?” said George.

“No,” said Rollo.

“I should think you would have a strawberry-bed. My father will give you some plants, and you can set them out this fall.”

“I don’t know how to set them out,” said Rollo. “Could you come and show me?”

George said he would ask his father; and then, as his horse had done drinking, he turned round, and rode home again.

Mr. Cropwell said that he would give Rollo a plenty of strawberry-plants, and, as to George’s helping him set them out, he said that they might exchange works. If Rollo would come and help George gather his meadow-russets, George might go and help him make his strawberry-bed. That evening, George went and told Rollo of this plan, and Rollo’s father approved of it. So it was agreed that, the next day, he should go to help them gather the russets. They invited James to go too.

The Pet Lamb.

The next morning, James and Rollo went together to the farmer’s. They found George at the gate waiting for them, with his dog Nappy. As the boys were walking along into the yard, George said that his dog Nappy was the best friend he had in the world, except his lamb.

“Your lamb!” said James; “have you got a lamb?”

“Yes, a most beautiful little lamb. When he was very little indeed, he was weak and sick, and father thought he would not live; and he told me I might have him if I wanted him. I made a bed for him in the corner of the kitchen.”

“O, I wish I had one,” said James. “Where is he now?”

“O, he is grown up large, and he plays around in the field behind the house. If I go out there with a little pan of milk, and call him so,--_Co-nan_, _Co-nan_, _Co-nan_,--he comes running up to me to get the milk.”

“I wish I could see him,” said James.

“Well, you can,” said George. “My sister Ann will go and show him to you.”

So George called his sister Ann, and asked her if she should be willing to go and show James and Rollo his lamb, while he went and got the little wagon ready to go for the apples.

Ann said she would, and she went into the house, and got a pan with a little milk in the bottom of it, and walked along carefully, James and Rollo following her. When they had got round to the other side of the house, they found there a little gate, leading out into a field where there were green grass and little clumps of trees.

Ann went carefully through. James and Rollo stopped to look. She walked on a little way, and looked around every where, but she saw no lamb. Presently she began to call out, as George had said, “_Co-nan_, _Co-nan_, _Co-nan_.”

In a minute or two, the lamb began to run towards her out of a little thicket of bushes; and it drank the milk out of the pan. James and Rollo were very much pleased, but they did not go towards the lamb. Ann let it drink all it wanted, and then it walked away.

Then James ran back to the yard. He found that George and Rollo had gone into the garden-house. He went in there after them, and found that they were getting a little wagon ready to draw out into the field. There were three barrels standing by the door of the garden-house, and George told them that they were to put their apples into them.

The Meadow-Russet.

There was a beautiful meadow down a little way from Farmer Cropwell’s house, and at the farther side of it, across a brook, there stood a very large old apple-tree, which bore a kind of apples called _russets_, and they called the tree the _meadow-russet_. These were the apples that the boys were going to gather. They soon got ready, and began to walk along the path towards the meadow. Two of them drew the wagon, and the others carried long poles to knock off the apples with.

As the party were descending the hill towards the meadow, they saw before them, coming around a turn in the path, a cart and oxen, with a large boy driving. They immediately began to call out to one another to turn out, some pulling one way and some the other, with much noise and vociferation. At last they got fairly out upon the grass, and the cart went by. The boy who was driving it said, as he went by, smiling,

“Who is the head of _that_ gang?”

James and Rollo looked at him, wondering what he meant. George laughed.

“What does he mean?” said Rollo.

“He means,” said George, laughing, “that we make so much noise and confusion, that we cannot have any head.”

“Any head?” said James.

“Yes,--any master workman.”

“Why,” said Rollo, “do we need a master workman?”

“No,” said George, “I don’t believe we do.”

So the boys went along until they came to the brook. They crossed the brook on a bridge of planks, and were very soon under the spreading branches of the great apple-tree.

Insubordination.

The boys immediately began the work of getting down the apples. But, unluckily, there were but two poles, and they all wanted them. George had one, and James the other, and Rollo came up to James, and took hold of his pole, saying,

“Here, James, I will knock them down; you may pick them up and put them in the wagon.”

“No,” said James, holding fast to his pole; “no, I’d rather knock them down.”

“No,” said Rollo, “I can knock them down better.”

“But I got the pole first, and I ought to have it.”

Rollo, finding that James was not willing to give up his pole, left him, and went to George, and asked George to let him have the pole; but George said he was taller, and could use it better than Rollo.

Rollo was a little out of humor at this, and stood aside and looked on. James soon got tired of his pole, and laid it down; and then Rollo seized it, and began knocking the apples off of the tree. But it fatigued him very much to reach up so high; and, in fact, they all three got tired of the poles very soon, and began picking up the apples.

But they did not go on any more harmoniously with this than with the other. After Rollo and James had thrown in several apples, George came and turned them all out.

“You must not put them in so,” said he; “all the good and bad ones together.”

“How must we put them in?” asked Rollo.

“Why, first we must get a load of good, large, whole, round apples, and then a load of small and wormy ones. We only put the _good_ ones into the barrels.”

“And what do you do with the little ones?” said James.

“O, we give them to the pigs.”

“Well,” said Rollo, “we can pick them all up together now, and separate them when we get home.”

As he said this, he threw in a handful of small apples among the good ones which George had been putting in.

“Be still,” said George; “you must not do so. I tell you we must not mix them at all.” And he poured the apples out upon the ground again.

“O, I’ll tell you what we will do,” said James; “we will get a load of little ones first, and then the big ones. I want to see the pigs eat them up.”

But George thought it was best to take the big ones first, and so they had quite a discussion about it, and a great deal of time was lost before they could agree.

Thus they went on for some time, discussing every thing, and each wanting to do the work in his own way. They did not dispute much, it is true, for neither of them wished to make difficulty. But each thought he might direct as well as the others, and so they had much talk and clamor, and but very little work. When one wanted the wagon to be on one side of the tree, the others wanted it the other; and when George thought it was time to draw the load along towards home, Rollo and James thought it was not nearly full enough. So they were all pulling in different directions, and made very slow progress in their work. It took them a long time to get their wagon full.

When they got the load ready, and were fairly set off on the road, they went on smoothly and pleasantly for a time, until they got up near the door of the garden-house, when Rollo was going to turn the wagon round so as to back it up to the door, and George began to pull in the other direction.

“Not so, Rollo,” said George; “go right up straight.”

“No,” said Rollo, “it is better to _back_ it up.”

James had something to say, too; and they all pulled, and talked loud and all together, so that there was nothing but noise and clamor. In the mean time, the wagon, being pulled every way, of course did not move at all.

Subordination.

Presently Farmer Cropwell made his appearance at the door of the garden-house.

“Well, boys,” said he, “you seem to be pretty good-natured, and I am glad of that; but you are certainly the _noisiest_ workmen, of your size, that I ever heard.”

“Why, father,” said George, “I want to go right up to the door, straight, and Rollo won’t let me.”

“Must not we back it up?” said Rollo.

“Is that the way you have been working all the morning?” said the farmer.

“How?” said George.

“Why, all generals and no soldiers.”

“Sir?” said George.

“All of you commanding, and none obeying. There is nothing but confusion and noise. I don’t see how you can gather apples so. How many have you got in?”

So saying, he went and looked into the barrels.

“None,” said he; “I thought so.”

He stood still a minute, as if thinking what to do; and then he told them to leave the wagon there, and go with him, and he would show them the way to work.

The boys accordingly walked along after him, through the garden-house, into the yard. They then went across the road, and down behind a barn, to a place where some men were building a stone bridge. They stopped upon a bank at some distance, and looked down upon them.

“There,” said he, “see how men work!”

It happened, at that time, that all the men were engaged in moving a great stone with iron bars. There was scarcely any thing said by any of them. Every thing went on silently, but the stone moved regularly into its place.

“Now, boys, do you understand,” said the farmer, “how they get along so quietly?”

“Why, it is because they are men, and not boys,” said Rollo.

“No,” said the farmer, “that is not the reason. It is because they have a head.”

“A head?” said Rollo.

“Yes,” said he, “a head; that is, one man to direct, and the rest obey.”

“Which is it?” said George.

“It is that man who is pointing now,” said the farmer, “to another stone. He is telling them which to take next. Watch them now, and you will see that he directs every thing, and the rest do just as he says. But you are all directing and commanding together, and there is nobody to obey. If you were moving those stones, you would be all advising and disputing together, and pulling in every direction at once, and the stone would not move at all.”

“And do men always appoint a head,” said Rollo, “when they work together?”

“No,” said the farmer, “they do not always _appoint_ one regularly, but they always _have_ one, in some way or other. Even when no one is particularly authorized to direct, they generally let the one who is oldest, or who knows most about the business, take the lead, and the rest do as he says.”

They all then walked slowly back to the garden-house, and the farmer advised them to have a head, if they wanted their business to go on smoothly and well.

“Who do you think ought to be our head?”

“The one who is the oldest, and knows most about the business,” said the farmer, “and that, I suppose, would be George. But perhaps you had better take turns, and let each one be head for one load, and then you will all learn both to command and to obey.”

So the boys agreed that George should command while they got the next load, and James and Rollo agreed to obey. The farmer told them they must obey exactly, and good-naturedly.

“You must not even _advise_ him what to do, or say any thing about it at all, except in some extraordinary case; but, when you talk, talk about other things altogether, and work on exactly as he shall say.”

“What if we _know_ there is a better way? must not we tell him?” said Rollo.

“No,” said the farmer, “unless it is something very uncommon. It is better to go wrong sometimes, under a head, than to be endlessly talking and disputing how you shall go. Therefore you must do exactly what he says, even if you know a better way, and see if you do not get along much faster.”

The New Plan Tried.

The boys determined to try the plan, and, after putting their first load of apples into the barrel, they set off again under George’s command. He told Rollo and James to draw the wagon, while he ran along behind. When they got to the tree, Rollo took up a pole, and began to beat down some more apples; but George told him that they must first pick up what were knocked down before; and he drew the wagon round to the place where he thought it was best for it to stand. The other boys made no objection, but worked industriously, picking up all the small and worm-eaten apples they could find; and, in a very short time, they had the wagon loaded, and were on their way to the house again.

Still, Rollo and James had to make so great an effort to avoid interfering with George’s directions, that they did not really enjoy this trip quite so well as they did the first. It was pleasant to them to be more at liberty, and they thought, on the whole, that they did not like having a head quite so well as being without one.

Instead of going up to the garden-house, George ordered them to take this load to the barn, to put it in a bin where all such apples were to go. When they came back, the farmer came again to the door of the garden-house.

“Well, boys,” said he, “you have come rather quicker this time. How do you like that way of working?”

“Why, not quite so well,” said Rollo. “I do not think it is so pleasant as the other way.”

“It is not such good _play_, perhaps; but don’t you think it makes better _work_?” said he.

The boys admitted that they got their apples in faster, and, as they were at work then, and not at play, they resolved to continue the plan.

Farmer Cropwell then asked who was to take command the next time.

“Rollo,” said the boys.

“Well, Rollo,” said he, “I want you to have a large number of apples knocked down this time, and then select from them the largest and nicest you can. I want one load for a particular purpose.”

A Present.

The boys worked on industriously, and, before dinner-time, they had gathered all the apples. The load of best apples, which the farmer had requested them to bring for a particular purpose, were put into a small square box, until it was full, and then a cover was nailed on; the rest were laid upon the great bench. When, at length, the work was all done, and they were ready to go home, the farmer put this box into the wagon, so that it stood up in the middle, leaving a considerable space before and behind it. He put the loose apples into this space, some before and some behind, until the wagon was full.

“Now, James and Rollo, I want you to draw these apples for me, when you go home,” said the farmer.

“Who are they for?” said Rollo.

“I will mark them,” said he.

So he took down a little curious-looking tin dipper, with a top sloping in all around, and with a hole in the middle of it. A long, slender brush-handle was standing up in this hole.

When he took out the brush, the boys saw that it was blacking. With this blacking-brush he wrote on the top of the box,--LUCY.

“Is that box for my cousin Lucy?” said Rollo.

“Yes,” said he; “you can draw it to her, can you not?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rollo, “we will. And who are the other apples for? You cannot mark _them_.”

“No,” said the farmer; “but you will remember. Those before the box are for you, and those behind it for James. So drive along. George will come to your house, this afternoon, with the strawberry plants, and then he can bring the wagon home.”

The Strawberry-Bed.

George Cropwell came, soon after, to Rollo’s house, and helped him make a fine strawberry-bed, which, he said, he thought would bear considerably the next year. They dug up the ground, raked it over carefully, and then put in the plants in rows.

After it was all done, Rollo got permission of his father to go back with George to take the wagon home; and George proposed to take Rollo’s wheelbarrow too. He had never seen such a pretty little wheelbarrow, and was very much pleased with it. So George ran on before, trundling the wheelbarrow, and Rollo came after, drawing the wagon.

Just as they came near the farmer’s house, George saw, on before him, a ragged little boy, much smaller than Rollo, who was walking along barefooted.

“There’s Tom,” said George.

“Who?” said Rollo.

“Tom. See how I will frighten him.”

As he said this, George darted forward with his wheelbarrow, and trundled it on directly towards Tom, as if he was going to run over him. Tom looked round, and then ran away, the wheelbarrow at his heels. He was frightened very much, and began to scream; and, just then, Farmer Cropwell, who at that moment happened to be coming up a lane, on the opposite side of the road, called out,

“George!”

George stopped his wheelbarrow.

“Is that right?” said the farmer.

“Why, I was not going to hurt him,” said George.

“You _did_ hurt him--you frightened him.”

“Is frightening him hurting him, father?”

“Why, yes, it is giving him _pain_, and a very unpleasant kind of pain too.”

“I did not think of that,” said George.

“Besides,” said his father, “when you treat boys in that harsh, rough way, you make them your enemies; and it is a very bad plan to make enemies.”

“Enemies, father!” said George, laughing; “Tom could not do me any harm, if he was my enemy.”

“That makes me think of the story of the bear and the tomtit,” said the farmer; “and, if you and Rollo will jump up in the cart, I will tell it to you.”

Thus far, while they had been talking, the boys had walked along by the side of the road, keeping up with the farmer as he drove along in the cart. But now they jumped in, and sat down with the farmer on his seat, which was a board laid across from one side of the cart to the other. As soon as they were seated, the farmer began.

The Farmer’s Story.

“The story I was going to tell you, boys, is an old fable about making enemies. It is called ‘The Bear and the Tomtit.’ ”

“What is a tomtit?” said Rollo.

“It is a kind of a bird, a very little bird; but he sings pleasantly. Well, one pleasant summer’s day, a wolf and a bear were taking a walk together in a lonely wood. They heard something singing.

“ ‘Brother,’ said the bear, ‘that is good singing: what sort of a bird do you think that may be?’

“ ‘That’s a tomtit,’ said the wolf.

“ ‘I should like to see his nest,’ said the bear; ‘where do you think it is?’

“ ‘If we wait a little time, till his mate comes home, we shall see,’ said the wolf.

“The bear and the wolf walked backward and forward some time, till his mate came home with some food in her mouth for her children. The wolf and the bear watched her. She went to the tree where the bird was singing, and they together flew to a little grove just by, and went to their nest.

“ ‘Now,’ said the bear, ‘let us go and see.’

“ ‘No,’ said the wolf, ‘we must wait till the old birds have gone away again.’

“So they noticed the place, and walked away.

“They did not stay long, for the bear was very impatient to see the nest. They returned, and the bear scrambled up the tree, expecting to amuse himself finely by frightening the young tomtits.

“ ‘Take care,’ said the wolf; ‘you had better be careful. The tomtits are little; but little enemies are sometimes very troublesome.’

“ ‘Who is afraid of a tomtit?’ said the bear.

“So saying, he poked his great black nose into the nest.

“ ‘Who is here?’ said he; ‘what are you?’

“The poor birds screamed out with terror. ‘Go away! Go away!’ said they.

“ ‘What do you mean by making such a noise,’ said he, ‘and talking so to me? I will teach you better.’ So he put his great paw on the nest, and crowded it down until the poor little birds were almost stifled. Presently he left them, and went away.

“The young tomtits were terribly frightened, and some of them were hurt. As soon as the bear was gone, their fright gave way to anger; and, soon after, the old birds came home, and were very indignant too. They used to see the bear, occasionally, prowling about the woods, but did not know what they could do to bring him to punishment.

“Now, there was a famous glen, surrounded by high rocks, where the bear used to go and sleep, because it was a wild, solitary place. The tomtits often saw him there. One day, the bear was prowling around, and he saw, at a great distance, two huntsmen, with guns, coming towards the wood. He fled to his glen in dismay, though he thought he should be safe there.

“The tomtits were flying about there, and presently they saw the huntsmen. ‘Now,’ said one of them to the other, ‘is the time to get rid of the tyrant; you go and see if he is in his glen, and then come back to where you hear me singing.’

“So he flew about from tree to tree, keeping in sight of the huntsmen, and singing all the time; while the other went and found that the bear was in his glen, crouched down in terror behind a rock.

“The tomtits then began to flutter around the huntsmen, and fly a little way towards the glen, and then back again. This attracted the notice of the men, and they followed them to see what could be the matter.

“By and by, the bear saw the terrible huntsmen coming, led on by his little enemies, the tomtits. He sprang forward, and ran from one side of the glen to the other; but he could not escape. They shot him with two bullets through his head.

“The wolf happened to be near by, at that time, upon the rocks that were around the glen; and, hearing all this noise, he came and peeped over. As soon as he saw how the case stood, he thought it would be most prudent for him to walk away; which he did, saying, as he went.

“ ‘Well, the bear has found out that it is better to have a person a friend than an enemy, whether he is great or small.’ ”

-------------------------------------

Here the farmer paused--he had ended the story.

“And what did they do with the bear?” said Rollo.

“O, they took off his skin to make caps of, and nailed his claws up on the barn.”

GEORGIE.

The Little Landing.

A short distance from where Rollo lives, there is a small, but very pleasant house, just under the hill, where you go down to the stone bridge leading over the brook. There is a noble large apple tree on one side of the house, which bears a beautiful, sweet, and mellow kind of apple, called golden pippins. A great many other trees and flowers are around the house, and in the little garden on the side of it towards the brook. There is a small white gate that leads to the house, from the road; and there is a pleasant path leading right out from the front door, through the garden, down to the water. This is the house that Georgie lives in.

One evening, just before sunset, Rollo was coming along over the stone bridge, towards home. He stopped a moment to look over the railing, down into the water. Presently he heard a very sweet-toned voice calling out to him,

“Rol-lo.”

Rollo looked along in the direction in which the sound came. It was from the bank of the stream, a little way from the road, at the place where the path from Georgie’s house came down to the water. The brook was broad, and the water pretty smooth and still here; and it was a place where Rollo had often been to sail boats with Georgie. There was a little smooth, sandy place on the shore, at the foot of the path, and they used to call it Georgie’s landing; and there was a seat close by, under the bushes.

Rollo thought it was Georgie’s voice that called him, and in a minute, he saw him sitting on his little seat, with his crutches by his side. Georgie was a sick boy. He could not walk, but had to sit almost all day, at home, in a large easy chair, which his father had bought for him. In the winter, his chair was established in a particular corner, by the side of the fire, and he had a little case of shelves and drawers, painted green, by the side of him. In these shelves and drawers he had his books and playthings,--his pen and ink,--his paint-box, brushes and pencils,--his knife, and a little saw,--and a great many things which he used to make for his amusement. Then, in the summer, his chair, and his shelves and drawers, were moved to the end window, which looked out upon the garden and brook. Sometimes, when he was better than usual, he could move about a little upon crutches; and, at such times, when it was pleasant, he used to go out into the garden, and down, through it, to his landing, at the brook.

Georgie had been sick a great many years, and when Rollo and Jonas first knew him, he used to be very sad and unhappy. It was because the poor little fellow had nothing to do. His father had to work pretty hard to get food and clothing for his family; he loved little Georgie very much, but he could not buy him many things. Sometimes people who visited him, used to give him playthings, and they would amuse him a little while, but he soon grew tired of them, and had them put away. It is very hard for any body to be happy who has not any thing to do.

It was Jonas that taught Georgie what to do. He lent him his knife, and brought him some smooth, soft, pine wood, and taught him to make wind-mills and little boxes. Georgie liked this very much, and used to sit by his window in the summer mornings, and make playthings, hours at a time. After he had made several things, Jonas told the boys that lived about there, that they had better buy them of him, when they had a few cents to spend for toys; and they did. In fact, they liked the little windmills, and wagons, and small framed houses that Georgie made, better than sugar-plums and candy. Besides, they liked to go and see Georgie; for, whenever they went to buy any thing of him, he looked so contented and happy, sitting in his easy chair, with his small and slender feet drawn up under him, and his work on the table by his side.

Then he was a very beautiful boy too. His face was delicate and pale, but there was such a kind and gentle expression in his mild blue eye, and so much sweetness in the tone of his voice, that they loved very much to go and see him. In fact, all the boys were very fond of Georgie.

Georgie’s Money.

Georgie, at length, earned, in this way, quite a little sum of money. It was nearly all in cents; but then there was one fourpence which a lady gave him for a four-wheeled wagon that he made. He kept this money in a corner of his drawer, and, at last, there was quite a handful of it.