Chapter II: Part 2

"Well," said Anna, "I mean spoil them;" and just as she said so Willy showed her a beautiful large gooseberry, which he held between the tips of his fingers, saying, "I am sure I need not pinch this to know whether it is ripe, it is so large and yellow, and looks as if you could see through it."

"But take care," said Anna, "you do not let it fall by holding it so slightly, for it is so ripe that if it fell on the ground I dare say it would burst, the skin is so thin."

So Willy grasped it tighter between his fingers to prevent it from falling, but he did not consider that if he squeezed it tight the skin might break; and so it happened; his finger and thumb met together in the middle of the gooseberry all wet and sticky!

"Well, now you may as well eat it," said Anna, "for no use can be made of it." But Willy was so much vexed, that he had no wish to eat the gooseberry; he felt angry with himself for being so awkward, and fearful that he should get Anna into trouble. However, he just sucked his fingers to get rid of the wet, and he could not help thinking what a pity so fine a gooseberry should be lost, the juice tasted so very nice.

Anna, who saw how really sorry he was, now tried to console him, and laughed at the loss of one gooseberry; she then covered the basket over nicely with leaves, and took out another, and, wishing to put Willy into good spirits again, said, "This is to be filled with cherries, and now you may help me better still, for you can easily climb up this low tree and gather the cherries which I cannot reach from the ground." Willy knew how to climb, and Anna held her apron spread out, and stood right under Willy that he might throw the bunches of cherries into it. The cherries being all ripe, Willy had not the trouble of examining them; and, delighted with scrambling from one branch of the tree to another, he was soon as merry as ever. Willy had not even wished to eat a gooseberry; he was so anxious to prove to Anna that he could be trusted, that he thought of nothing else; but now these cherries looked so plump and so red, that he longed to taste them, and he was beginning to forget the affront he had received from Anna; but he did not give way to the temptation, for he had learnt to command himself; but he hung two of the cherries over each of his ears, calling them ear-rings, and threw down some very fine ones for Anna to put on her ears, saying, "That is not eating the cherries, you know," and they laughed heartily at each other's fine ear-rings. Who should come into the garden just then but their two Mammas, and the landlady gave them leave to eat some of the cherries they had gathered. Oh, how glad they were, the cherries were so sweet and nice, and they had longed for them so much!

They then all went to the strawberry bed, and Willy was obliged to take care that what he gathered was ripe, for the strawberries which looked quite red on one side were often white on the other. "I wonder both sides don't ripen at the same time," said he.

"Why, it is the sun ripens them," answered Anna, "and there is only one sun to shine on one side of the strawberries."

"Yes," said Willy; "but though there is only one sun, it moves about, and shines on one side of the strawberries in the morning, and on the other side in the afternoon, so they might be both ripe together."

"So they will, in time," said Anna; "but the sun cannot get at them under these leaves, either morning or afternoon."

"I think," said Willy, jokingly, "that these strawberries are cunning little things, and hide themselves as much as they can under the leaves for fear of being gathered; for if I lift up a leaf, I always find a strawberry underneath."

"Let them stay there till both sides are ripe," said Anna, "and that they will be in a few days if you leave them alone, for they don't want much sun. Strawberries want more water than heat."

"What a deal you know about fruit and gardens," said Willy.

"That is because I live in the country, and am used to gardening."

"Well," observed Willy, "it is like resting to pick strawberries after gathering cherries. I declare my neck quite ached with looking up to the cherries, and now I have nothing but looking down for the strawberries."

THE ARBORETUM.

Willy was now called away to accompany his parents to Mr. Joseph Strutt's. He received them with kindness, and Willy thought him very good-natured, for he took him over all the rooms and showed all his curiosities. There were birds stuffed, and shells and paintings; in a word, so many things, and they filled so many rooms, that Mr. J. Strutt had scarcely any room left for himself. They then begged that he would show his celebrated garden.

"It is not my garden," said he, "I have given it away to the good people of this town, but I will go and show it you with pleasure; but let us go in the evening, the weather will be cooler, and you will see a greater number of people walking."

This was agreed upon, and in the evening Mr. J. Strutt called upon them at the inn, and accompanied them to the Arboretum. When they came to the gate, Willy thought it looked more like a park than a garden gate. There were a number of people walking about, and when they met Mr. J. Strutt, you could tell by their countenances that they knew him, they looked so much pleased, and so respectful, but they did not bow or courtesy to him, because they knew that he did not like to be publicly noticed. He had told them, once for all, 'If you make a fuss about me I shall think myself troublesome, and shall not walk in your garden so often as if you let me alone, and take no more notice of me than of any other person.' As they were walking about, Willy observed a family passing by, one of whom was a blind woman; this put him in mind of the market girl's mother; then there was a little boy and girl with her, who might be about the age of her youngest children, and an old woman, who might be their grandmother. But there was no market girl with them, and Willy thought it could not be them, they lived so far off. Some time afterwards they passed by again, and then a young woman had joined them, but she was so much better dressed that Willy thought it could not be her. However, he peeped under her close straw bonnet, and found that it really was his old friend, and he cried out, "Oh! Mamma, there they are, all of them;" then, taking hold of the market girl by the hand, he said, "Don't you know me?"

"Oh! how do you do? I am very glad to see you," said she; "I thought I should meet you here." Then, seeing Mr. Strutt, she added, "How lucky you are! there is Mr. Joseph Strutt himself giving his arm to your Mamma. So, then, you have made his acquaintance.

"But," added she, "I must make you acquainted with my little brother and sister too.

"Did not I tell you," said she, addressing them, "that I met with a nice little boy on the railroad yesterday; well, this is he."

The children were at first very shy, and only answered yes. Then Willy and his parents made acquaintance with the poor blind woman and her old mother, whom the children called Granny.

Willy's Mamma talked a good deal to these two women, and told Mr. J. Strutt all about them.

"Is Mr. Joseph Strutt here?" asked the blind woman. "Oh, if I could but see him! Betsey," whispered she to her little daughter, "lead me towards him, that I may hear him speak." Mr. J. Strutt, who was nearer to her than she thought, took her by the hand, saying, "With God's blessing you shall see me one of these days, when your eyes are cured; and I shall go and see you when you come to our hospital, and I shall take care that you are comfortable."

Willy then went to play on the grass with the two children, and when they were tired they sat down on a soft smooth bank under the shade of some spreading trees, which was very pleasant, for they had made themselves hot with running to catch each other. Then Willy asked them how they came to be here, when they lived so far off?

"Oh! it's by the railroad," said Johnny: "you must know that every Sunday that Father can make a holiday, he takes us all to see Granny, who lives at Derby. Did not Martha tell you yesterday that we were to come to-day? for though it is not Sunday, we are come, because Father had some business to do at Derby."

"She did not tell me," said Willy, "for I thought I never should see you in all my life, and I wanted sadly to see you, because your sister Martha told me so much about you."

"That's very good of you," said Johnny. "Well, what was I telling you? Oh, it was about coming to see Granny. You must know that every time we come she makes a large cake for us to take home. And one day it happened that I went to market to help Martha, because she had so many baskets to carry; and then, instead of going home with her, I staid to sleep with Granny, and I saw her make the cake. You cannot think how funny it was; she slapped it over and over again; she said, the more it was beaten, the better it would be; and very nice it was after it had been baked in the oven."

"Oh! it was so nice," cried little Betsey; "I remember it, Johnny, as well as you."

CHILDREN'S GAMBOLS.

The children soon left off talking, to go and play. Betsey showed them a spot where daisies were growing very thick in the grass, and they all went to gather some to make daisy chains. Betsey was the cleverest in making these garlands, for little girls who go to a sewing school, and learn to sew, and hem, and stitch, and thread needles, can split the stalk of a daisy and fasten the end into it much better than a boy can, who is used only to cut sticks, and play at ball and marbles; but the boys could gather daisies quite as well and as quickly as Betsey. So, in order to get on with their chains as fast as they could, it was settled that the boys should gather the flowers, whilst Betsey sat still and made them into chains. Then, when the chains were all finished, the two boys climbed up the trees and hung them in festoons from bough to bough, and Betsey, who had been so long sitting still, jumped about for joy seeing them look so beautiful. They then fetched their parents to show them how prettily they had ornamented the trees, and Martha explained it all to her blind mother, who could not see the beautiful wreaths of daisies; and having been praised for their work, the children began to consider what they should do next.

"I wish I had my hoop," said Betsey; "and I wish I had my top," said Johnny; "and I wish I had my ball," cried Willy, "my poor pretty ball!"

"Why, what has happened to it?" inquired the children.

Willy then told the whole story of his ball, and ended by saying, "how nicely we should have played with it together!"

Whilst they were standing under their garlands of daisies, consulting together what game they should next play at, a large new ball fell down amongst them. It seemed to come from the skies. They all stared with astonishment; then Willy picked it up, and, as he stooped down, he saw a man's legs behind a bush, and he knew by the chequered trowsers on them that the man was his Papa. Papa wanted to hide himself to make the children wonder where the ball came from, but Willy ran after him and caught him, and then jumped up and kissed him to thank him for the present.

"Why, how did you find me out?" asked his father.

"Oh! because the bush was not so thick of leaves at the bottom as at top; so in stooping down I had a peep of you through the branches."

"Well," cried Betsey, "I really thought the ball fell from the skies."

"How could you be such a goose?" cried Willy. "Balls never fall from the sky, unless they are thrown up first, and then to be sure they must come down again. But now, let us play with it."

So they tossed the ball from Johnny to Betsey, and from Betsey to Willy, and from Willy to Johnny again. After the ball had gone round for some time, Betsey said, "I wish there were a few more of us to catch the ball, for then we should have much better fun."

"You must divide yourself into five," said Willy, "and then we should have four more to catch the ball."

"What nonsense you are talking," cried Betsey.

"Don't you know the funny verses about your name?" asked Willy.

"No, indeed; do tell me them."

Willy then, with as grave a face as he could put on, repeated the following lines:--

"'Elizabeth, Elsebeth, Bet, Betsey, and Bess,
All went together to seek a bird's nest:
When they found it, there were five eggs in;
They each took one, and left four in.'"

"Do you call those pretty verses?" said Betsey: "why, they are quite nonsensical."

"But they are true," said Willy, "only you don't see the fun of them. It's like a riddle; you told me you were sometimes called Elizabeth, and at other times Betsey, and are you never called Bet and Bess?"

"Yes, sometimes," said she; "but not Elsebeth. I never even heard that name."

"But it is your name though," replied Willy, "for all that."

"Well then, suppose that you went one day to rob a bird's nest?"

"But, indeed, I would do no such thing," retorted Betsey, quite offended.

"Don't be angry," cried he; "I only said _suppose_."

"But I wonder you should _suppose_ I could steal any thing," cried the indignant Betsey.

"I only said so to make you understand the fun."

"Pho, pho, nonsense," cried Johnny, "it's only make-believe. Well, let me be Betsey, and then you may suppose what you please."

But Betsey did not seem to like to give up her name to Johnny; the truth is, that when she found that her eldest brother did not think there was any harm in _supposing_, she allowed Willy to suppose in her own name.

"Well then," continued Willy, "remember that you went alone to the nest and took out an egg."

"Oh yes," said Betsey, "_I by myself, I_."

"Then," said Willy, "who was it took out the egg?"

"Why, I, Betsey, to be sure."

"And did not Elizabeth take out one also?"

"Yes, because that's me too."

"And did not Elsebeth, Betsey, and Bess also take out eggs?"

"Yes, but that's all me."

"Well then," continued Willy, "were not five eggs taken out of the nest, and four left in?"

Betsey laughed; she understood the joke pretty well, though she could not explain it. But Johnny said, there was only one person who went to the nest, but she had five names, so when she had taken out one egg there were four left in.

The three children then went to take a stroll on the gravel walks, and see if they could not meet any friends, but they saw nobody they knew, because, as they did not live at Derby, they did not know many people there.

"If it had been Sunday we should have seen many," said Betsey, "but the people on working days are tired after working at the factory, or have other things to do at home. Oh! if you had been here last Easter Monday, what would you have said? Why, there were hundreds and thousands! Were there not, Johnny?"

"Yes," replied Johnny, "for as it was holiday time, there came trains from Nottingham and Leicester and other factory towns, ever so far off. You may think what a treat it is to the children, who often come with their parents; and the trains make them pay very little when there is so many of them, and so both old and young are so glad and so happy. First, you know, they have a long ride in the train, and then such fine gardens to amuse themselves in, and large rooms where they may eat the dinner they bring with them, or drink tea, just as they choose; they have hot water and tea-things for nothing; and if they don't bring tea with them, they may get it there, and bread and butter too, for three-pence. But they cannot buy any beer or spirits; that is not allowed, for fear they should get tipsy, for that would be doing wrong.

"Then in the Easter holidays there comes a fiddler, and the people all dance, that is, all those who like it, and know how. There is a large flat piece of grass like a bowling green, on purpose for them to dance on."

THE FACTORY.

"Pray," said Willy, going on with the conversation, "tell me something about the factories, where you say so many of these people work."

Johnny replied, "that as he worked in a farm, and not in a factory, he did not understand much about it; but," said he, "I once went to see the mills at Milford, a few miles from Derby, for I have an uncle who works there, and one day he took me all over them, and showed me every thing."

"Are mills and a factory the same thing?" asked Willy.

"I know no difference," replied Johnny.

"And what did you see there?"

"All sorts of things. There were great wheels and little wheels, and spindles which turned round like wheels, and large rollers that turned round too, and many other things; and uncle told me it was all called machinery."

"But what do they do with all this machinery?"

"They spin cotton wool; but do you know what cotton wool is?"

"Yes," replied Willy, "it is what mamma puts to my ear to keep it warm when I have the ear-ache; but that is not at all like thread. I am sure you could never thread a needle with it."

"No, not before it is spun; but then it makes all the nice cotton-thread that is wound on little bobbins to sew with."

"Then, I dare say," said Willy, "that the wheels and spindles at the factory are like grandmamma's spinning-wheel; she turns the wheel with her foot, and the wheel turns the spindle, and she twists the flax with her fingers; for she does not spin cotton, but flax."

"That is much the same," observed Betsey, "only flax makes stronger thread; we all know the difference at school well enough. When we sew with cotton it often breaks, but thread made of flax very seldom does."

"Then, if I was a girl, I would always sew with flax," said Willy.

"When you are at school you must sew with what the school-mistress gives you, and that is almost always cotton, because it is cheaper."

"Now," continued Johnny, "you know that your grandmother's spinning-wheel twists only one thread; but at the factory there are hundreds and thousands of threads all twisting at once."

"What a number of people there must be to twist so many threads!"

"Oh no," said Johnny, "it is the spindles that twist the threads."

"But, then, who turns the spindles? I suppose men must do that?"

"No such thing; all the spindles are all turned by one single thing." Willy stared with surprise; but Johnny went on: "Yes, not only all the spindles, but everything that turns in the factory, is made to turn by one great wheel, which is as big as a house."

"But what is it turns this great wheel? it cannot be a man nor a horse, for they would not be strong enough. Oh! I dare say it is a steam-engine, for that is the strongest thing I ever heard of."

"Well, it is true," returned Johnny, "that the great wheel is turned by a steam-engine in most factories, but in that I saw it was something else, which cost less, and did as well."

"What can that be?" said Willy.

"Why, it is a stream of water, which is higher than the great wheel, and so it falls down upon it, and pushes it round."

"That is just like the wheel at the miller's, which grinds corn," said Willy; "it is called a water-wheel, because the water turns it; but," added he, laughing, "when the great wheel of a factory is turned by a steam-engine, it is turned by water too."

"How do you make that out?"

"Why, steam is made of hot water, and the stream of cold water; so it's only the difference between hot and cold."

"I never thought of that," said Johnny, "but it's true enough; the power that moves the wheel is in the water, whether it be hot or cold."

"Well, I think between grandmamma's spinning-wheel and the corn-mill you will understand something of a factory at last."

"Indeed," said Willy, "I think a spinning-wheel must be very like a factory in little, for it does just the same thing, only grandmamma's foot, which turns the wheel, is not a bit like a steam-engine or a stream of water."

Betsey could not help laughing at such a ridiculous comparison. Then Johnny said, "Well, if it is not like, it does the same thing; her foot is the power that turns the wheel; it don't signify what the power is, so that it be strong enough to do the work."

"But then," observed Willy, "if the great wheel and the spindles do all the work, what is there left for the men and women and children to do?"

"Oh, there's plenty of work for everybody," returned Johnny, "a deal more than I can explain to you. When the threads that are spinning break, they stop the twisting and fasten them together, and even the children can do that."

"To be sure, if it's only tying the broken thread together in a knot, that is easy enough."

"But it's not tying a knot," said Betsey. "When your grandmother breaks the thread she is spinning, does she tie it together in a knot?"

"No," replied Willy, "she twists the two ends together so cleverly that the thread looks as if it had never been broken. I have often tried to mend the thread so, but I never could."

"The children of the factory can, though," said Betsey, "they do it all day long; and when once they have learnt it, it is easier to them than tying a knot. But you can't teach the spindles to do it, so you see they could not get on without the children."

The boys, who were always ready for a joke, fell a-laughing at Betsey's idea of teaching the spindles any thing.

"I will tell you what you should do," said Johnny; "ask your Papa, who seems to be so good-natured, to take you to see one of the factories to-morrow. There are plenty of them here as well as at Milford, and they say that all the great folks who come to Derby go to see one or other of them."

"Then I hope he will," replied Willy, "but I should like best to see the mills at Milford you have been telling me about, where your uncle works."

THE FARM.

"Now you have told me all about the factories," said Willy, "I wish you would tell me something about your farm."

"Oh! that is quite another sort of thing," replied Johnny; "it's all out-of-doors work at a farm."

"And what sort of work do you do?"

"I cannot do much, because I am only ten years old, and am not strong enough, for the work is much harder there than here."

"Not always," observed Betsey. "I am sure hay-making is more like play than work, it's such good fun to rake up the hay, and then to have a roll on the haycock, and sometimes we get a drive in the cart when the hay is carrying."

"Yes," said Johnny; "but reaping, and ploughing, and digging are not so easy. However, hard or easy, I have not much time for work, for I go to school."

"And so do I," interrupted Betsey.

"Then," continued Johnny, "when we are at home we must help to take care of poor blind mother; but I help a little in the stables too, for I like to be looking after the horses and cows, and when I am older, father says I shall go to plough."

"And I help too," cried Betsey. "I don't run after the cows as Johnny does, but when he has brought them in I help Martha to milk them; that is, I carry her milking stool, and bring in a jug of milk for breakfast. Then I help her as much as I can to set all to rights in the dairy; but what I like best of all is, to take the new-laid eggs so nice and warm from under the hen that is sitting."

"Ah, ah!" cried Willy, laughing, "you see after all that you are fond of robbing a bird's nest."

"Nay," said Betsey, "that is not a bird's nest; it is not made by the hens, at least, for it is Martha who makes it, and then the hens were hatched from our eggs; so you see that hens, and eggs, and nests, and all, belong to us; and pray how can you rob what belongs to you?"

"But then," replied Willy, "is it not very hard upon the poor hen, to take away her eggs just when she is sitting upon them to hatch them?"

"No," replied Betsey, "for we never take away all her eggs, we leave her one, and that quite satisfies her; and when Martha wants to raise a brood of chickens she leaves her all the eggs she lays, and puts others under her besides; so you see we feed the hens and make them nice warm nests; and they lay eggs for us; so it's tit for tat."

Betsey had the best of the argument, and Willy gave up the point.

"I should like," said he, "to work in a farm much better than in a factory, where you are staying all day in a room fastening broken threads."

"So do I," replied Johnny, "it is much pleasanter to be running about out of doors after cattle, than to be shut up in the factory,--except perhaps in winter, when you often get wet through. That is why my uncle went to the factory; he got an ague by working out of doors in the rain, and was so bad he lost all his strength, and could hardly lift a spade. So, when he was better, he said he would go to the factory, where they do not work so hard, and are always under cover. When folks are not strong, a factory suits them best. Then every body could not find work at a farm, so some must go to the factory, whether they like it or not."

"But what sort of work is done in a farm?" inquired Willy.

"We grow corn to make bread, and breed cattle for meat."

"Then you make bread and meat for poor people's dinners," said Willy. "I am sure that is very good of you."

"Oh! but father don't give it away," said Johnny, "he could not afford that; he helps the poor people as much as he can, and pays them wages for their work; but his corn he sells to the baker, who makes it into bread; and his cattle to the butcher, who makes it into meat; and they sell it both to rich and poor, they care not which, so that they do but get paid for it."

"But the poor have no money to pay with," observed Willy.

"Then they must work to earn money; and that they may do either in a farm or a factory. Why, in a factory, as I told you, even little children get paid for their work."

"But what does your father do with all the money he gets for the corn and cattle he sells to the baker and the butcher? for he don't want to buy meat, nor bread, nor fowls, nor eggs, nor milk; for he gets all those things from his farm."

"Yes, we get plenty to eat and to drink too from the farm," answered Johnny, "for we make cider from our apples, and we brew beer from our barley. But we want a great many other things besides food. We must have clothes to keep us warm; and the factory people provide us with clothes as we provide them with food."

"But," said Willy, "they do not make clothes at the factory, they only make thread."

"Ay," replied Johnny, "but there are a great many other factories where they make things for clothes, such as silk, and linen, and cotton, and woollen cloth."

"Then," added Willy, "the thread they make at Milford serves the tailors and mantua makers, who make up the clothes, to sew them with. Well, how nicely that is contrived! people all help one another; it is tit for tat, like Betsey and her hens."

The children now returned to their parents, whom they found sitting on a bench.

Willy then made his request, and was much pleased to hear his mother say that they intended seeing the factory the next day; "but," added she, "we did not mean to take you with us; we thought you were too young to understand it, and that you would like better to stay with your friend Anna, and help her to gather fruit."

Willy thought that gathering fruit with Anna was a very nice thing too, but Johnny had raised his curiosity to see the factory so much, that he answered, "Oh no, pray let me go with you, for though I don't understand a factory much now, I dare say I shall when I see it; Johnny and Betsey have told me all about it; I shall know the great wheel, and the spindles, and what the children are doing when they fasten the broken threads together."

His parents, finding he had learnt so much already, promised he should go with them.

"And pray, Papa, let us go to the factory at Milford, where Johnny's uncle works;" and he was much pleased when he heard that was the factory they intended seeing, as it belonged to Mr. Joseph Strutt.

It was now time for them to return to the inn; so they took leave of the blind woman and her family.

"I am afraid you will soon forget me," said Willy sorrowfully; "I wish I had something to give you for a keepsake to make you remember me;" and he felt in his pockets, and found a teetotum and a few marbles, besides the ball, which he did not like to part with, his Papa having just given it to him; so he gave the teetotum to Betsey and the marbles to Johnny, and they promised to keep them for his sake. Willy was very sorry to part with his young friends, and the old ones too, for he liked them all: Granny, because she took such good care of her blind daughter, and looked so cheerful and good tempered; and the blind woman, because he pitied her; and Martha, because she was his first friend; and Johnny and Betsey, because they had all been so happy together;--so, for one reason or other, he liked them all.

TREES.

When Willy and his parents returned to the inn, they could talk of nothing but Mr. Joseph Strutt, and the beautiful gardens.

"I declare," said Willy's mother, "I never felt so proud in my life as when he gave me his arm to walk about the gardens; I fancied every body who passed us and smiled, seemed to think how happy I must be; and then he showed me all the curious trees which came from foreign countries; for, said he, I wish these gardens not only to amuse the people, but to teach them something; therefore I have planted trees and shrubs of various sorts, that those who wish to study the properties of plants may learn them, and turn their knowledge to some purpose; thus I have tried to make these gardens useful as well as pleasant."

"But, Mamma," said Willy, "are trees of any other use but to look pretty and shade us from the sun?" This was the last use Willy had made of them, and he did not just then think of any other.

"Willy!" exclaimed his mamma, "was the cherry-tree you climbed this morning of no other use?"

"Oh, to be sure! ripe cherries grow upon it, and they are so good to eat; and then there are apples on apple-trees, and pears on pear-trees, and fruit of some kind or other on all the trees; but no," continued he, "after a little thinking, there is no fruit on the oak tree, nor on the elm, nor on a great many other trees."

"Yes, there is," replied his mamma, "but the fruit is not good for us to eat; the oak bears acorns, which the pigs are fond of."

"And I like them to play with, but not to eat; and I like horse-chestnuts to play with, but I like the good chestnuts to eat."

"Well," observed his mother, "the oak and the elm, and the pine and the beech, and all those trees which do not bear fruit fit for us to eat, are of use to us for other purposes."

"Oh yes, their fruit is fit to play with."

"Something better than that, Willy; cannot you find out?"

Willy thought and thought again, but he would not guess, as some children do, hap-hazard, without any reason; so his mamma helped him a little by bidding him go and stamp upon the floor, in a part of the room where the boards were uncovered.

Willy, who was never fond of standing still, and preferred running or stamping to walking, set off with a hop, skip, and a jump, to the further end of the room, where the floor was uncovered, and began stamping on the boards with all his might; at length he suddenly stopped and exclaimed, "Ah, the boards! the boards are made of wood, and wood is made of the trunk of a tree; so that is the use of trees which do not bear good fruit."

"And of those which do, sometimes," replied his mother: "the wood of the cherry-tree is one of the lightest; so if you want to have some light chairs that children can move about, you must have them made of the planks of the cherry-tree. The oak and the elm, and all those large trees whose fruit is not good to eat, are called forest trees, because they commonly grow in woods or forests; but fruit trees we plant nearer home, in our orchards and gardens, that we may easily gather the fruit."

"Oh yes," cried Willy, "as Anna and I did."

"Well," continued his mother, "trees and plants of all kinds have many more uses than you can understand at your age, or than I can tell you, old as I am. But there is one thing you must remember, which is, that all plants were first created by God Almighty, and that all that He makes is useful and good."

"But, Mamma," said Willy, thoughtfully, "I remember your telling me once never to touch the berries which grew on the laurel bush on the lawn, because they were poisonous; and nurse says there are a great many other plants that are poisonous. Why did God make them, Mamma, for, you know, poisons kill people?"

"God made poisons to cure people," replied she: "do you remember last week when you suffered so much from the ear-ache?"

"Oh, that I do, the pain was so bad. I think I shall never forget it. I could not sleep all night; and as soon as it was light, nurse went to fetch you, and you laid my aching ear on your shoulder, and then you poured three drops of something which looked like water into my drink, and it took the pain away, and I fell asleep. Was it those three drops that cured the pain?"

"Yes, and it was those drops too which sent you to sleep."

"Oh, if I had known that, I do think I should have drunk up the whole of the bottle; it was but a little one, you know."

"Well, my dear, the drops I poured into your drink were poison; if I had given you six drops instead of three, they would have made you ill, and if you had swallowed all that was in the bottle, it would have killed you. So you see that poisons may kill as well as cure. God created plants which are poisonous to cure us when we are ill; they are then wholesome and good for us."

"Then God is very good to have made these plants, though they are poisonous?"

"Yes, my dear. Whatever God creates is for some good purpose, though we cannot always understand it.

"There are a great many poisons of different sorts; most of them take away pain and send you to sleep, others cure particular diseases. Your grandmamma scarcely ever sleeps without taking morphine."

"Yes, I know that," said Willy, "but I did not think, that morphine was a poison. I suppose that is why she keeps it locked up."

"Yes, for fear that the children should hurt themselves with it. But, now, Willy, it is time for you to go to bed; and after all you have seen and done to-day, you must be tired, and will go to sleep without taking any poison."

Willy kissed his papa and mamma, and was just going out of the room, when the waiter brought in a parcel directed to Master Willy.

"That's me," exclaimed Willy: "what can it be?"

"Let us open the parcel," said his mother, "and then we shall find out what it is."

They untied the string, and unfolded the paper which covered the parcel, and what should there be within but a large piece of plumcake!

"Oh! I know what it is," said Willy, "though I never saw it before; it is a piece of the cake Granny slapped so hard, and they have sent it me, because I gave them the teetotum and the marbles."

This proved true; but until Willy explained it, his papa and mamma could not understand what he meant.

Willy begged they would taste the cake, and having eaten a little bit himself, he went to bed and soon fell asleep.

THE FACTORY VISITED.

The next day they went to see the factory, or cotton mills, at Milford. As there was no railroad from Derby to Milford, they were driven with horses, and Willy was very glad to see his old friends, the horses, once more. It is true, that they did not go so fast as the train, and that he was impatient to arrive, and was continually popping his head out of the window in hopes of seeing the factory. His father told him that he must look out for the smoke from the chimney of the great steam engine which put all the machinery in motion; but Willy answered, "It is a water-wheel, Papa, not a steam-engine, that makes every thing turn at these mills. Johnny told me so." Willy felt a sort of pride that he knew something his papa did not; but when he thought about it, he said to himself, it would be very foolish to be proud of that, 'for it was only by chance I heard it.' At last they reached Milford, and the carriage drove into a large court-yard surrounded by buildings in which the work was carried on. Willy was at first a good deal bewildered at the sight of the machinery, and the noise it made in working. In one room he saw large bales of cotton wool which had been brought from foreign countries, and which men were unpacking. Willy observed that it looked untidy and dirty, not like the nice cotton wool mamma had at home.

"You will see the difference after it is carded," said one of the men. "We begin by carding or pulling it to pieces, and then we squeeze it between two great rollers, and you shall see how clean it comes out." And he took them into another room, where the wool came out from between two rollers, and it looked so white and soft that Willy said, it put him in mind of wreaths of snow. He asked this man if he knew a little boy called Johnny, whose mother was blind.

"Yes," replied he, "I am his uncle. Have you seen him lately? I have not heard of him for a long time."

Willy was much pleased to have found out Johnny's uncle, and to be able to tell him that Johnny was well, and to give him news of all the family.

They then went into another work-room, where they saw the cotton twisting into threads, and the children busy joining these threads when they broke. This pleased him much, for after all he had heard from Johnny, they seemed like old acquaintances; but he asked what those children were doing who went about wiping every thing.

"All this twisting and twirling of the cotton wool," said his father, "makes a great deal of dust, which would injure the machinery, and prevent it from working, if it collected on it; so these children are employed to wipe it away, and keep every thing clean."

They then went into another room where the cotton-thread, which had been wound off from the spindles after it had been sufficiently spun, was being made up into skeins, and this was done by women and children. At last they were taken to see the great water-wheel which put all the machinery into motion, and Willy declared that it was as big again as the wheel at the corn-mill, and he thought it must be as strong as a hundred horses to be able to make so many things move.

"Everything seems alive in the factory," said he; "nothing stands still except the people, who are really alive, and they move only when they have threads to tie, or other work to do, whilst the machinery is at work all day long; it works a great deal harder, and does a great deal more, than all the live people."

"Very true," observed his papa, "but the machinery would work to no purpose if these living people did not set things to rights when they went wrong."

"Yes," said Willy, "if there was nobody to join the threads when they broke, the wheel might go round and round for ever; there would be no thread to twist."

He then asked if all the people who worked in the factory were paid for it.

"Certainly," replied his papa, "they are paid by the person to whom the factory belongs."

"He must have a great deal of money to pay so many people; where does he get it all?"

"By selling the thread after it is spun," said his mamma.

"There must be a great deal of cotton-thread to sell, indeed," said Willy; "but do you think he will get money enough for it, to pay all these people?"

"Yes, and a great deal more; for he must get money enough to pay for the cotton, which comes from countries a great way off, and for all the machinery. And then he must get something over, for he would not take so much trouble, if he did not make some profits to put into his pocket."

"What are _profits_?" inquired Willy.

"I will tell you what profits are," said his mother; "it is the _little over_ which the landlady makes at the inn."

"But a manufacture is not at all like an inn," observed Willy.

"Not much," replied she; "but the manufacturer buys the cotton, and when he has spun it into thread he sells it again, and he sells it for more than it cost him, and what he gets over is profit."

"Oh yes, now I understand it," said Willy, "and with what he gets over he buys clothes and dinners for his children, and sends them to school, as the landlady did."

"Yes," said his father, "he may spend his profits in whatever manner he chooses. And it has pleased the good Mr. Joseph Strutt, to whom this factory belongs, to spend a great deal of his profits in making that fine garden for the people."

"Oh how good he is!" cried Willy. "But, Papa, does every body who sells things sell them for a little more than the things cost him?"

"Yes," said his father. "But we have had enough of buying and selling now, and I should think more than enough to puzzle your little head."

"I was puzzled," said Willy, "till I thought of the landlady at the inn and her pockets full of money, made by people paying a little over, and then I understood it."

The next day they continued their journey by railway, and arrived safely at grandmamma's country-house, where they were to spend a month.

THE COUNTRY HOUSE.

Willy was highly delighted with every thing he saw at his grandmamma's house; it was quite unlike his papa's house in town; the rooms were smaller, and the curtains, and tables, and chairs were not so fine; but then there were cows with their calves in the cow-house, and horses with their young colts in the stables, and sheep in the meadows with their lambs skipping about them, and hens with their chickens in the poultry yard, and ducks and geese swimming in the pond; and they all looked as if they were so happy and so hungry; for, excepting the birds, which were swimming in the water, they were all busy eating. "As for the cows and sheep," said Willy, "they may eat all day long, and I believe they do; for only look at that cow, Grandmamma, lying down to rest; she is still chewing the grass she has been eating."

"That cows always do," replied his grandmother; "when they eat grass they do not chew it, but put it into a sort of bag, or pouch, they have inside them, and when the bag is full they lie down, and whilst they are resting they bring the grass out of this pouch back into their mouths, chew it at their leisure, and then swallow it, just as we do our food."

Grandmamma then took Willy to a little garden, which had been made on purpose for him. "The gardener," said she, "has got it into very good order for you, and you are to keep it so. Look at these rows of peas, they are now in blossom--next week these blossoms will fall."

"Oh! I shall be very sorry for that," said Willy; "they look so pretty, and they smell so sweet," added he, putting his nose close to one of the flowers, "it is a pity they do not last longer."

"But when they are gone something better, though not so pretty, will come in their place; instead of flowers, there will be peas in a pod."

"I know what pea-pods are," said Willy, "very well; for though we have no garden in London, the cook buys peas, and sometimes Mamma lets me shell them. I like shelling peas very much, the pod cracks and opens so nicely, and the pretty little round peas lie so straight in a row. But how can these flowers turn into pods? they are not the least like pods."

"Perhaps we may find a pod already formed," said his grandmother, "and then you will see." So she took Willy by the hand, and they looked carefully all over the row of peas a long time without success; at last they found upon one stalk the remains of a flower, the greater part of which had already fallen to the ground. Grandmamma picked off what remained, and then showed Willy a very small pod; but she would not open it, "because," she said, "the peas would be too small to eat, she thought not larger than pins heads; next week," added she, "they will be fit to gather, and then you will give mamma and me a dish of peas from your garden." Willy was highly pleased at this idea, and declared he would shell them himself; he only regretted that next week would be so long coming.

"Well," said his grandmamma, "let us see if there is nothing ripe for you to gather now. Here are some lettuces, rather small yet, it is true, but I think, if you choose two or three of the largest, they will make a salad."

"Oh, Grandmamma," said Willy, "they must be large enough, for they are twenty times bigger than a pea."

"That don't signify; peas and lettuces cannot be compared together, they are so different." She then took out her garden-knife, and showed Willy how to cut a lettuce, and having cut one herself, she let Willy cut two; the first he cut rather awkwardly, but with the second he succeeded tolerably well. "Now," said he, "I must take them in to the cook, to be boiled."

"No, you are thinking again of your peas; lettuces are eaten without any boiling; you have only to wash them well, and pour some oil and vinegar over them, with a little salt, and they will make a nice salad."

Willy then gathered a nosegay for his mamma: he chose first a full-blown rose; "then," said he, "there must be some buds too; little buds are like the little children of the rose, and mamma is very fond of little children;" then he gathered some jessamine and several other flowers, and was very proud that this beautiful nosegay should come from his own garden, and he felt that he loved his grandmamma better than ever for having given it to him. The only fear he had was that he should not know how to keep it in order; "I have seen a gardener dig and hoe," said he, "but their spades and hoes are so large and so heavy, that when I tried to use them, I could scarcely lift them." Grandmamma then called to the gardener, who was at work in another part of the garden, and he came up, holding his spade in his hand. Willy tried to handle it, but he could scarcely lift it from the ground. He looked very sorrowful, but grandmamma smiled, and said, "Little children must have little tools to work with." She then took him to a tool-house, where, amongst a number of large tools, she found a complete set of small ones, fit for a boy of Willy's age to use. Oh! if you had but seen how he jumped about for joy, and then sprang up to kiss his grandmamma for her charming present!

"These tools will be of no use," said she, "unless you know how to work with them; but if you are a good child, and mind what the gardener tells you, you will learn to be a little gardener yourself."

"That I will," said Willy; "I shall be a little gardener, just big enough for my little garden."

They then returned to the house, and grandmamma took out her spinning-wheel and began to spin. This delighted Willy, who immediately told her all he had seen at the factory, and how much her wheel was like the machinery there; and then he laughed, and said, "that her foot had been compared to a steam-engine."

"Not quite so powerful," replied she; "but it is strong enough to set every thing going in my little factory; and a factory it is, as well as the great ones, for it makes thread as good as they do, though not so much, I must allow."

THE GARDENER.