LUCY’S father lived not a great many miles from a town which was quite large; and the family used often to ride to the town in a chaise or carryall. When only two wanted to go, they took the chaise; but if more than two, the carryall, as that had seats for four.
One pleasant morning, Lucy, Miss Anne, and Royal, set out in the carryall to go to the town, to do some shopping. Royal sat upon the front seat to drive. Lucy and Miss Anne sat behind. Royal moved out to the end of the front seat, and then sat with his back turned a little to the side of the carryall; and by this arrangement he could see the horse, and could also join in the conversation with Lucy and Miss Anne.
“What are you going to buy in town, Miss Anne?” asked Royal.
“O, various things,” replied Miss Anne; “among the rest, I am going to buy a book for Lucy.”
“We have not decided. We are going to choose it when we get to the bookstore.”
Just at this moment, Royal’s attention was attracted by the sight of the heads of a yoke of oxen, just coming into view, in the road before them, as they were coming up a hill. The heads seemed to shake and to be agitated, as if the oxen were running. As they came up higher, and Royal could see a part of their bodies, he found that they were running, and drawing after them a large hay cart; that is, a cart with a large rack upon the axletree, for holding hay, instead of the common cart-body. The hay cart was empty. There was nobody near the oxen to drive them.
In an instant, however, Royal’s eye glanced farther down the hill,—for he had now advanced so far towards the brow of it, that he could see better,—and there he perceived a man running up the hill, with a goad-stick in his hand, and shouting out all the time, for the oxen to stop.
“O dear me!” said Lucy, “O dear me! now we shall all be run over.”
“Take the reins, Miss Anne,” said Royal; “just take the reins.” So saying, he passed the reins into Miss Anne’s hands on the back seat, and sprang out of the carryall. He ran forward, and began to march up towards the oxen with a bold and determined look, brandishing his whip, and shouting to them, to make them stop.
The oxen slackened their pace a little, but did not seem much inclined to stop. They, however, turned a little to one side. Royal then concluded to let them go on, but to drive them away out to one side, so that they should not run against the carryall. So he flourished his whip at them, and turned them off more and more. The oxen shook their heads at Royal, but ran on, until, at length, one wheel of the cart passed over a large stone by the side of the road, while the other sank into a hole, and the cart upset. The great rack tumbled off upon one side, and the oxen, having come up against the fence, stopped. Just at this moment, the man came running up to them.
“I am very much obliged to you for stopping my steers,” said the man. “They are as wild as a pair of colts.”
Royal looked at the oxen, and observed that they were quite small.
“I have been to get this hay cart,” continued the man, “and, while I stepped into the blacksmith’s shop a minute, they got away, and undertook to run home. I am much obliged to you for stopping them.”
“But I am sorry your cart is broken,” said Royal.
“O, it is not broken,” replied the man, “only the rack has come off. I can put it right on again,—if you would be so good as to stop and help me a moment, about backing the oxen.”
Just then the man happened to see a boy coming up the road, and he immediately said,—
“Ah, no; here comes Jerry. Jerry!” said he, in a louder voice, calling to the boy, “come here quick, and help me get this rack on.”
Then Royal, finding that he was no longer needed, got into the carryall again, took the reins from Miss Anne’s hands, and drove on.
“The man seems very glad to get his oxen again,” said Miss Anne.
“His steers,” said Lucy. “He said they were steers.”
“Yes,” added Royal; “but he need not have thanked me so much for stopping his steers; I did not think of doing him any good,—but only of keeping them from running against the carryall.”
Lucy here kneeled up upon the seat, and put her head out at the side of the carryall, where the curtain had been rolled up, and looked back to see what they were doing.
“How do they get along, Lucy?” said Royal.
“Why, the man has got the hay cart out in the road, and the oxen and the wheels too.”
“The hay rack, you mean,” said Royal.
“Yes,” said Lucy, “that great thing like a cage, which tumbled off. Now the man is holding it up, and the boy is backing the oxen so as to get the wheels under it. Do you think you could have backed the oxen, Royal, if his boy had not come?”
“Yes,” said Royal, “I could have backed them, I have no doubt.”
“There was one thing,” said Miss Anne, “that I noticed, that was singular.”
“What was it?” asked Royal.
“Why, the great difference in the man’s way of speaking, when he was asking Royal to help him put his cart together, and when he called the boy to come.”
“Yes,” said Royal; “he asked me if I would be kind enough to do it; but he said to Jerry, ‘Here, Jerry, come here quick.’”
“Yes,” rejoined Miss Anne; “now, what was the reason of the difference?”
“Why, Jerry was his boy, I suppose,” said Lucy.
“I don’t see that that makes any difference,” said Royal. “A man ought to speak as pleasantly to his boy as to any other boy.”
“He did speak pleasantly,” said Miss Anne, “only he spoke to Jerry in the form of command; but in speaking to you, he only made a request. The reason was, as Lucy says, that Jerry was his boy, and so bound to do whatever he should say; but you were not his boy, and therefore under no obligation to help him.”
“No,” said Royal, “I might do just as I pleased about it.”
“And yet,” said Miss Anne, “are you not under obligation to help any one whom you find in trouble or difficulty when you can do it so easily?”
“Why, yes,” said Royal.
“So it seems, in that point of view, that you were under obligation to help the man, as truly as his boy Jerry was,—though it was an obligation of a different kind. He was bound to do it, because it is every boy’s duty to obey his father; you, because it is every boy’s duty to help those who are in difficulty or trouble.”
“Yes,” said Royal.
“It is a case very much like the one we had the other day, when Lucy would not run to help you tie the knot. I asked your father about it afterwards, and he explained it to me.”
“And what did he say about it?” asked Royal.
“Why, he said,” rejoined Miss Anne, “that it very often happens that there is a duty which we ought to perform to a person, and yet we are not responsible to him if we do not perform it. He told me a story to help explain it.”
“What was the story, Miss Anne?” said Lucy. “Tell it to us.”
“It was about a widow and her garden. The widow was poor, and rather cross, and she had one son, who took care of her garden. At last her son became sick, and so the poor widow’s garden was neglected.
“Now, it happened that a gentleman lived near, who had a gardener. He was walking by the widow’s house, and he looked over the fence, and he saw that the weeds were getting up pretty high. So he told the widow that the next morning he would bring his gardener, and let him put it in order for her.
“The widow said that she had hired a man to come the next morning.
“‘Very well,’ said the gentleman, ‘I will let my gardener come and help; and then you will not have so much to pay.’
“Accordingly he came the next morning, and set his gardener at work, telling him what to do. Then he went away, and the two men went on working, one upon one side of the garden, and the other on the other.
“At length, after they had been working about an hour, the woman came out and began to scold them because they did not work faster. When she came to the gentleman’s gardener, he stopped, and listened to her a few minutes, leaning on his hoe, and then he said,—
“‘I will thank you, ma’am, to go and scold your own man. I am responsible to my master.’”
“Is that all the story, Miss Anne?” said Lucy, when she found that Miss Anne paused.
“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “that is all.”
“I don’t see how that explains the difficulty, exactly,” said Royal.
“Why, it is to show that, though the gardener was performing a duty which was for the advantage of the woman, yet he was not responsible to her for the performance of it. He was under obligation, but not under obligation to her. So it often happens that persons are under obligation to do things, and yet they are not under any obligations to us. And in such cases, we have no right to insist upon their doing them, nor to command them to do them. You were under obligation to help the man out of his difficulty with the cart, but you were not under obligation to him.”
“Who is it, then, that I am under obligation to, in such a case?” asked Royal.
“Why, to conscience,—or to God. But you are not responsible to the man at all. Of course, if he wishes you to do it, he ought only to request it. He must not command. But his boy is under obligation to him. The obligation is, perhaps, no greater in itself, but it runs to the man himself, and the man has a right to exact the fulfilment of it. But your obligation is not to him at all; and he has no right to insist upon your fulfilling it, or to call you to account for it at all.”
Royal listened very attentively to this explanation, though Lucy did not understand it very well. However, Lucy understood better what followed.
“Your father told me,” continued Miss Anne, “that this was a distinction in moral philosophy, very important for children to understand.”
“Is that moral philosophy?” asked Royal.
“Yes,” rejoined Miss Anne. “He said it would very much promote peace and harmony among children, if they only knew the difference between what they have a right to insist upon from each other, and what they have not. They often think that, because a playmate ought to do a thing, therefore they have a right to insist upon it. For instance, one boy wanted another to go and be his horse, and was displeased with him because he would not go, and found a great deal of fault with him. Another boy, named Thomas, had two apples, and his brother James had none. James asked Thomas to give him one, but Thomas would not. So James sat down muttering sullenly, and looking very ill-humored, and every now and then would tease Thomas to give him an apple. Just then his father came along, and asked him what was the matter. ‘Why, Thomas won’t give me an apple,’ said he, ‘when he has got two, and I haven’t got any.’ ‘Well,’ said his father, ‘you ought not to look out of humor about that, and to try to compel him to give you the apple, by teasing and fretting.’ ‘Why, father,’ said James, ‘I am sure he ought to do as he would be done by; and I know he would want me to give him an apple if I had two.’ ‘Yes,’ replied his father, ‘I don’t deny that he ought to give you the apple. I only deny that you have any right to insist upon it. He is not responsible to you, at all. If he had agreed to give you an apple, on account of something which you had done for him, then the obligation would have been to you, and you might have insisted upon it. But in this case it is only his general obligation to be kind and friendly; and you have no jurisdiction over that. He is not responsible to you for that, at all.’
“So, you see,” continued Miss Anne, “children often insist upon things which they have no right to insist upon,—though perhaps the other children ought to do them.”
“Yes,” said Royal. “Once we were playing together, and there were four boys, and it takes four to play ball,—and we all wanted to play but one, and he wouldn’t, and so the rest of us could not play.”
“Yes,” said Miss Anne. “Now, I suppose that, in such a case, he ought to have been willing to play; but, if he would not, you would have no right to insist upon it. Children very often are unreasonable in urging others to play with them, when they do not wish to.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, “that is the way that Royal always does with me.”
“O no, I don’t, Lucy, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” added Lucy, “you want me to be your horse, very often, when I don’t want to;—and, besides, I don’t think it is proper for me to be your horse.”
“Well, never mind that now,” said Miss Anne. “We won’t spoil the pleasure of our ride by a dispute.”
“Well,” said Lucy, “and I mean to take out my money-purse, and count my money, and see if it is all safe.”
Lucy had several pieces of money which her father had given her to buy something with, in the town. She was going to buy a book, and any thing besides, which Miss Anne might approve. So she poured the money out upon her lap, and began to count it.
“What would you buy with this money, Miss Anne?” said Lucy, after she had counted it, and found it all safe.
“Why, I can hardly say, till I see what they have got to sell. But I can tell you what I think I would not buy.”
“Well,” said Lucy, “what?”
“Why, I think I would not buy any very perishable property.”
“What do you mean by perishable property?”
“Property that is soon consumed or destroyed. Sugar-plums are very perishable property indeed; for you eat them, and they are gone.”
“But a doll isn’t perishable, is it?” said Lucy.
“No, not so perishable as sugar-plums or candy. But you have got a doll.”
“Yes, but I want a new one, for my doll is old and worn out.”
“So, you see, dolls are perishable; that is, they will wear out.”
“Then every thing is perishable,” said Royal, “for every thing will wear out in time.”
“Yes,” replied Miss Anne, “but then some things will last so long that we do not consider them perishable. A silver bowl, for instance, will last for several generations; but then it would wear out in time.”
“I should not think it would ever wear out, if it was really silver,” said Lucy.
“Yes, if it was used, it would wear out in time; but it would take a very long time. At any rate, we should not consider it perishable property. A silver thimble would not be perishable property.”
“Is a book perishable?” asked Lucy.
“Yes, more so than many other things; for it gets worn out and defaced, so that its value is destroyed before a great while. A box is not so perishable,—a handsome, well-made box.”
“I believe I’ll buy a box,” said Lucy.
“I’d buy something not very perishable, if I were you, at any rate, and then you can keep it and enjoy it a great many years.”
“Well,” replied Lucy. “But what other kind of things are there that you would not buy?”
“I would not buy any thing that you are growing away from. I would rather buy something that you are growing up to.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Lucy.
“Why, once there was a boy about three years old. He had never had any playthings bought for him, because his father had no money to spare. But one day his uncle came to visit him, and he gave him a shilling to go and buy himself a plaything with. So he went to the toy-shop, and they showed him a whistle and a ball. Now, he was not quite old enough to play with a ball, though it was almost time for him to be too old to be amused much with a whistle. However, he concluded to take the whistle. It was a very good whistle, and it lasted a long time; but he very soon ceased to care any thing about it. On the other hand, he very soon became big enough to play ball, and then almost every time that he saw his whistle for two years, he wished that it was a ball. He did not consider, when he bought it, that the time for him to be pleased with a whistle was almost gone by, while the time for him to be pleased with a ball was all to come. He bought something that he was growing away from.”
“What kind of a ball was it, Miss Anne?” asked Royal.
“An India rubber ball,” replied Miss Anne, “large, and round, and smooth.”
“What a foolish boy!” said Royal.
“Yes, he was not so wise as a girl I knew once, named Harriet.”
“Why, what did she do?” asked Lucy.
“When she was twelve years old, her father gave her five dollars to buy whatever she pleased with, for a birthday present. There were two things which she thought of, which she could have for five dollars. One was a beautiful waxen doll, with eyes that would open and shut, and a handsome cradle to put it in. The other was a portable desk, to hold writing materials,—such as paper, pens, an inkstand, wafers, sealing-wax, &c. There was also room in it to keep her notes and papers, and any valuable treasures which she might have. She asked her mother which she thought she had better take; and her mother said that she thought the doll would give her the most pleasure for a few days.
“‘And after that, would the desk give me most pleasure?’ asked Harriet.
“‘Yes,’ said her mother,—‘because your time for playing with dolls has nearly gone by. You will feel less and less interest in them now every year,—and the interest will soon be gone entirely. But your interest in writing and in other intellectual pleasures, will increase every year. So that I would recommend to you to buy the desk. If you were three years old instead of twelve, perhaps I should recommend to you to buy the doll; but for you to buy it now, would be like a man’s buying a trunk at the end of his journey.’”
“Well,” said Lucy, “and what did Harriet do?”
“O, she bought the desk, and she liked it better and better every year. She used to write notes, and a journal upon it; and she kept the notes which the other girls wrote to her, and her journal books, and her drawings, and her pencils, and all her treasures, in it. Thus she bought something that she was growing up to.”
Lucy determined to follow Miss Anne’s advice; but she had not time to hear any more, for very soon after this they reached the town.