Jane Marcet

Removal to Ash Grove

Part I

S UMMER was now come, and Willy learnt with delight that the whole family were to go into the country. Ann was very busy in the nursery packing up, and had little time to attend to Willy's prattle. So to keep him quiet she gave him a large box for him to pack his toys in. Willy was much pleased with this; he fetched all the toys that were scattered about the room, and threw them into the box one after the other, without any order. The box was soon piled up, so that the lid would not shut before half the toys were put in.

"Oh, this box is not large enough Ann," said he; "you must give me another."

"I have no other to spare," replied she; "if your toys were well packed, I think it would hold them all."

She then came to look at the box. "This will never do; here are the large nine-pins tumbled over the two sawyers, and the heavy box of bricks lying on your cart and horses; it is well if they are not broken."

She then took them all out, and Willy saw with dismay that the arms of the sawyers were broken, and the sand was all running out by a hole one of the nine-pins had made in it, so that turn the toy which way you would, the sawyers could work no more. Then, when the box of bricks was lifted out, Willy saw one of the wheels of his cart, and the head of one of the horses, broken off; besides a battledore with the leather cracked, and a shuttlecock whose feathers were sadly crushed. This was too much for him to bear; he burst into tears, and cried so loud that his Mother ran up stairs to enquire what was the matter.

"Oh, Mamma, all my playthings broken to pieces!" and he sobbed with grief.

His Mamma looked at the broken toys, and then at Willy, and he saw something in her looks that all at once made him remember what she had taught him. Then he stopped crying, and took his Mamma's handkerchief to wipe his eyes; but every now and then a sob burst out.

"God will not mind my sobbing, Mamma, will he? for I cannot stop."

"No, my dear," said his Mother, "he will love you for trying to be good."

"I was so sorry," said Willy, between his sobs, "when I saw my toys all broken, I could not help crying."

"It is not nearly so wrong to cry, because you are sorry, as it is to cry because you are angry. It is naughty to cry when you are angry and in a passion, but it is only foolish to cry about these playthings. Come, I will show you how to pack them properly."

"Oh, but they are all broken and good for nothing now," said Willy, sorrowfully.

"No, no," replied she; "when we get to Ash Grove we will set the carpenter to mend them."

She then began to put them in the box again; the bricks at the bottom, because they were the heaviest; then the nine-pins, which she carefully stowed in the empty space beside the bricks; next came a light box of Tunbridge dairy articles, and a Noah's ark, and above these were placed the cart and horses: the two sawyers she put within the cart; and after she had pulled out the crushed feathers of the shuttlecock, she stuck it into an empty corner where nothing could touch it; the battledore she slipped down on one side of the box where there was just room to hold it, and she filled up the box with two or three dolls, which were very light.

"Willy, who had been observing her all the time, now exclaimed,—"Why, Mamma, I think the box is grown larger while you were packing it."

His Mamma laughed and said,—"Are boxes alive, Willy, that they can grow?"

"No," said Willy, "the box is not alive now; but is it not made of wood, Mamma, like my hoop?"

"Yes, my dear."

"Then you know, Mamma, the wood the box is made with was a tree once, and grew, till they cut it down to make it into a box."

"The wood grew, it is true," replied she, "while it was alive in the tree; but when the tree was cut down it died, and then the wood could grow no longer."

"So then, Mamma, the box is made of dead wood, and that it is why it cannot grow."

"Yes," replied she; "and the tree is made of living wood, and that is the reason it does grow."

"And why, Mamma, could you get so many more toys into the box than I did?"

"Because I took care how I placed them, and made them fit in, so that no empty spaces were left."

A large cart now drew up to the door; and Willy was much amused with seeing all the boxes and bundles that were to go to Ash Grove, packed in the cart. He stood upon the balcony watching them, and observed that the servants did it very much in the same way as his Mamma had packed his box. The heavy things were all put at the bottom of the cart, and so nicely arranged side by side, that they fitted in close together; the lighter things were then put at top; and Willy was very glad to see his box of toys safely stowed in one corner.

"But look, Mamma," said he, "how little it looks now."

"It looks little, because you compare it with the large trunks in the cart."

"What is compare, Mamma?"

"Look at the breakfast table, Willy, and now at my work table, which is the largest?"

"Oh, the breakfast table, a great deal, Mamma."

"Well, that is comparing the size of the two tables. Now, if you choose, you may compare their shape, and tell me which you like best. The breakfast table, you see, is round, and the work table square."

"I like a round table best, Mamma; you may run all round it and not hurt yourself at the corners."

"No," said his Mother, laughing; "there is not much danger of that, if there are no corners."

"Can you compare any thing else about the tables, Mamma?"

"Yes; any thing you observe in them."

"Then," said he, "the great table is high, and the little table is low."

"Is it as low as your stool, Willy?"

"Oh dear! no, Mamma, it is quite high to the stool."

"Yes," said his Mother; "it is high, if you compare it to the stool, and low if you compare it to the great table. And so your box of toys looked small compared to the large trunks."

"Oh, but Mamma," cried Willy, "there is something else to compare in the tables; the little table has got four legs, and the great table but one; only think of the little table having more legs than the great one!"

"The large table has only one, it is true," said she; "but then observe how thick it is; and there branch out from it three short legs or claws."

"Yes," said Willy; "they look like three little legs growing out of one big one."

"They do not grow any more than the box," said his Mamma, laughing.

"Oh, no, I know that the table is made of dead wood, as well as the box."

"Now look at the legs of the little table," said his Mother, "how slender and small they are; they would not support the large round table, though there are four of them."

"Yes," said Willy, "but I think that the great table ought to have as many legs as the little table."

"And do you think you ought to have as many legs as that fly that is crawling up the window? Count how many it has."

"I cannot count while it is moving about so;" and Willy tried to catch it, to hold it still, but that only made the fly buzz about and fly away; however, at last it settled, and he counted 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. "What a number of legs for such a little thing, whilst I, who am such a great boy, have only two."

His Mamma smiled at his calling himself such a great boy; so he added, "I mean compared  to the fly, Mamma. But what does the fly want so many legs for?"

"To crawl about. You, who walk upright, can do better with two; you would not like, when you were running, to have six legs to move. So you see, Willy, that large animals can do with fewer legs than small ones."

"And so can a large table, Mamma."

"I cannot be sure," replied his Mother, "whether the number of legs of a table are the right number, because tables are made by carpenters, who may be mistaken. But I am quite sure that the number of legs of animals are the number that is best for them to have, because they are made by God, who is never mistaken."

"But if God did not make the tables, Mamma, he made the trees, that the tables are made of, when they are cut down."

"Yes, my dear, and he made the men who make the tables; so you see that every thing comes from the goodness and power of God."

"But, Mamma, are flies animals? Such little tiny things."

"That does not prevent their being animals; they are alive, and feel, and move about."

"Oh, that they do," cried Willy, "for they will hardly ever stand still; they can move about more than I can, for they can walk and crawl like me, and besides that, they can fly."

"Small animals," said his Mother, "such as a gnat, a bee, and others of the same kind, are called insects;  try to remember that name."