Cousin Lucy at Study by Jacob Abbott - HTML preview

 

CHAPTER XIII.
 THE THEORY OF INTERRUPTION.

ROLLO did not interrupt his father but once more that evening. That happened in the following manner: Rollo agreed to be Lucy’s scholar, and she was to teach him to draw. So she began to set him a copy. She drew a row of figures, in a line along the top of the paper, and Rollo was to imitate them by making similar drawings below. The first drawing was the figure of a dog, the second of a hat; the third was a pair of tongs, and the last a mouse. Lucy said that they were not very good, but that they were as good as she could make.

Rollo set himself at work to copying them. But he said that he meant to begin with the hat, which was the second picture; for he said the dog was too hard for him.

“O no,” said Lucy; “you must begin at the beginning, and proceed regularly.”

“No,” said Rollo; “I’ll do the hat first, and then the dog.”

 “There’s an interruption,” said Rollo’s father; and he took up the paper, and made a mark.

“Why, father!” said Rollo.

“Yes,” said his father, “that interrupts me—to hear a dispute between you and Lucy.”

“O father,” said Rollo, “we were not disputing.”

“It was only the commencement of a dispute, I acknowledge,” said his father; “but when you had agreed to be Lucy’s scholar, to hear you refusing to obey her directions, and beginning to argue with her, disturbs my mind at once.”

“Well, sir,” said Rollo, “then I’ll draw the dog.”

There was no more disputing, and no more interruption, for more than half an hour. Rollo was Lucy’s scholar, and he followed her instructions with great faithfulness and docility. At length, just as Rollo was finishing the chimney of a house, he saw that his father was getting up, and beginning to put his papers away.

“Have you finished your work, father?” said Rollo.

“Yes,” replied his father; “and when I have put away my papers, I am coming to see you. I think you had better put away your drawing, too.”

 “Yes, so we will,” said Lucy. “I am tired of drawing now.”

Rollo put away the paper, which he had not used, reserving that which had his and Lucy’s drawing upon it, to show to his mother; and he gave Lucy the pencils to carry into the other room. Then he put the board away in its place again, and set the lamp upon the table. By this time, his father was ready; and he came and sat down upon the sofa, while Lucy took her place upon one side, and Rollo upon the other.

“I believe,” said Mr. Holiday, “that children very often don’t understand exactly how it is that they interrupt their parents, when they are busy. They think it is noise which constitutes interruption.”

“Well, sir,” said Rollo, “and is not it?”

“No, not exactly,” replied his father. “If it should thunder while I was writing, do you suppose that it would interrupt me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Lucy; “I am sure I should.”

Mr. Holiday smiled. In fact, he perceived that he had fallen upon an unfortunate illustration.

“Well, then,” said he, “suppose that I were in a city, and were writing by a window, which opened upon a street, where a great many horses, and heavy wagons, and coaches, were passing; do you suppose that that noise would interrupt me?”

“Why, no, sir,” said Rollo.

“Well, now, suppose that I was seated at my own window, and saw a single horse, walking slowly into my garden; would not that interrupt me.”

“Yes, sir,” “Yes, sir,” answered Rollo and Lucy together.

“Because,” continued Mr. Holiday, “it would attract my attention. It would call upon me to do something; that is, to get up, and go and get somebody to drive him out.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rollo, “I think that would interrupt me.”

“While you and Lucy,” continued his father, “were talking and laughing together, pleasantly, it did not disturb me at all.”

“When was it, father?” said Rollo.

“Why, when we were looking at the dog standing on his head,” said Lucy; “don’t you remember? I was afraid that we should interrupt you.”

“No,” said her uncle, “that did not disturb me; because you were good-natured and pleasant, and every thing was going on right. But the moment Rollo began to argue about obeying your directions in regard to the drawing, that moment my mind was disturbed. You did not make nearly as much noise as you had done when talking and laughing about the dog; but it was the beginning of a difficulty, and so it troubled my mind.

“And so,” continued his father, “when you came, Rollo, and stood by my side, waiting to speak to me; although I don’t think that you did wrong at all, yet it interrupted me; that is, it attracted my attention from my work. I said to myself, ‘Here is Rollo wanting to speak to me, and I must stop my work, and hear what he has to say.’ It was not so sudden and violent an interruption as it was when you came the first time, and broke in upon my work at once, asking me for the pencils; but still it interrupted me. It required me to stop my work to attend to you.”

“I thought that you could just tell us,” said Rollo, “if you knew where there were any pencils.”

“Yes,” replied his father, “and so I might, if I had only been busy about some ordinary work. But I was very specially busy. I was making calculations; and I knew that, if you came ever so still to speak to me, and should thus make me stop in the middle of a calculation, I should have to give it up, and begin again, and so lose what I had done.

“That’s the reason,” he continued, “why I am not willing to have you in my room when I am very busy. You don’t know very well what an interruption is. Children do not have such perplexing work to do as men have, and they don’t understand how easily the mind may be disturbed.”

“I did not think that I should interrupt you,” said Rollo, “by only going up to the table and standing still.”

“No; and therefore,” said his father, “you were not to blame. But you see now, I suppose, how it did interrupt me. Why, one day you interrupted me, and did a great deal of mischief, without saying a word to me, or even coming near to the table.”

“How was it?” said Rollo.

“Why, you had lost your hat. I knew where it was, for I saw it out under a tree, where you had left it. And I heard you walking about and asking every body if they knew where your hat was. You asked them quietly and very properly, but still I heard; and the difficulty which you were in attracted my attention, and confused me in my adding.”

 “Adding?” said Lucy, in an interrogative tone; that is, in the tone of asking a question.

“Yes,” said her uncle. “I was adding a long column of figures; and this difficulty about Rollo’s hat took place when I had nearly got through. So I lost my reckoning just as Rollo was coming into my room, to ask me where his hat was. I told him that it was out under the tree; and then I had to begin once more, and do my work all over again.”

“But, father,” said Rollo, “you said that I did not speak to you at all.”

“True,” replied his father, “and you did not. You were coming to speak to me, and I knew what you were coming for. But the interruption was occasioned before, by the inquiries which you were making out in the entries, which I heard, although you did not speak very loud.”

“Well, sir,” said Rollo, “I am sorry that I interrupted you. I did not know it.”

“O, it is not of much consequence,” said his father; “I only mentioned the case to help explain to you the theory of interruption.”

“The what, sir?” said Rollo.

“The theory of interruption; that is, the nature of it.”

 “Yes, sir,” said Rollo, “I understand the nature of it now.”

Mr. Holiday then said that Lucy and Rollo might go into the other room, and that he was coming in himself pretty soon. So Lucy took their lamp, and they walked along into the front parlor.

Lucy saw, as soon as she entered the room, that her aunt was sitting near the cradle. Nathan was lying in the cradle asleep. Her aunt was reading, with her foot near the rocker, ready to rock him immediately in case he should move.

Rollo was going up immediately to his mother to ask her what she thought he and Lucy had better play. But then he concluded, on the whole, not to interrupt her; and he accordingly turned round and walked back to Lucy.

“Now, Lucy, what shall we do for the rest of the evening.”

“I don’t know,” said Lucy; “I expect it is very nearly time for Royal to come for me.”

“O no,” said Rollo, “not yet. It is only eight o’clock; and you are not going home until half after eight. We shall have time to play half an hour yet.”

Lucy admitted this, and Rollo proposed that Lucy should be a man walking in the woods, and that he should be a lion roaring at her, and frightening her. The tables and chairs were to be the trees.

Lucy agreed to this plan; and so Rollo got down, upon his hands and knees, under the table, and Lucy began to walk slowly back and forth, as if she was walking in the woods. She talked to herself all the time, as follows,—

“O dear! what a dark night! What a terrible dark night! And I am afraid that there are lions in these woods.”

Here Rollo began to roar a little.

“Hark!” said Lucy. “I believe I hear a lion roaring. What shall I do? He’s a great way off, I suppose; but what if he should come nearer!”

Here Rollo began to roar louder.

“Hush! children,” said Rollo’s mother, without, however, looking round, or even taking her eyes off her book.

Here Rollo’s roar subsided into a lower tone.

“O dear me!” said Lucy, speaking more softly; “I am afraid I shall lose my way, and then I shall get caught by that terrible lion.”

Rollo began to roar again a little louder than before.

 “O, how he roars!” said Lucy; “what shall I do?”

At this moment, Rollo scrambled out towards Lucy upon all fours, just as if he was a lion, springing out of the thicket to seize her. Lucy ran, Rollo pursuing her; his roaring growing louder and louder.

“Children,” said his mother, “that’s too noisy a play. I can’t let you play that play; you must think of something else.”

“Why, mother,” said Rollo, still, however, keeping his quadruped form and position, “father said a little noise was not any interruption.”

“Did he?” said his mother.

“Yes, mother,” replied Rollo, with a very confident tone. “He said that it did not do any harm to make a little noise, if we did not come and do any thing to attract your attention.”

“Yes,” said his mother, “that is true in regard to grown persons, but there is a very different rule in regard to babies. Noise alone disturbs them. What I’m afraid is, not that you’ll interrupt me, but that you’ll wake Nathan.”

“O,” said Rollo; and just at that moment the door opened, and Royal came in.

Royal smiled to see Rollo upon his hands and knees, and yet looking towards his mother, with such a sober expression of countenance. He asked them what they were playing.

Rollo got up, and answered,—

“Lion. But you have come too early, Royal. Lucy was not to go home until half past eight.”

“I know it,” said Royal, “and I have come to play with you half an hour.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Rollo; “only we can’t play now very well, because we shall wake the baby.”

“Let’s go into the kitchen, then,” said Royal. “Aunt, may we go into the kitchen?”

“Yes, if Dorothy is willing. You must not play unless Dorothy is willing.”

They all went out into the kitchen to ask Dorothy; and she said they might make any reasonable noise; but that, as soon as the noise became too great, she should stop the game.

“Well,” said Royal, “you may. And now,” he continued, “we’ll play elephant. I’ll be the elephant. Rollo, where’s your little chain? Go and get your little chain, to chain round my fore leg.”

Rollo went and got his chain. It was a small iron chain, such as is used to support stove-pipes, and it had a hook in one end. It was a favorite plaything of Rollo’s, for he could use it in a great many ways.

 Rollo brought the chain, and then Royal got down upon all fours, and pretended that he was an elephant. Lucy was the hunter, and Rollo the dog. There was considerable barking, and other noise, while they were hunting the elephant; but when, at last, they got him caught and chained, they were more still.

Rollo then turned into a man, in order that he might be the elephant’s keeper. He put the chain around Royal’s shoulder, and led him about. Royal walked upon his hands and knees, with a very deliberate motion, as much as possible like that of a real elephant. Sometimes Rollo would order his elephant to kneel, and then Royal would fold his arms before him, and lie down close to the floor, so that Rollo could easily get upon his back. Rollo would mount, and then call upon his elephant to get up again; and so he would take a short ride about the room. Lucy had one ride herself.

Royal at last began to pretend that he was in a frenzy. He said that he had read in books of elephants’ getting into a frenzy, and frightening their keepers terribly. So he scrambled around the floor, shaking his head about in a very ferocious manner, while Rollo and Lucy ran off, trying to get out of his way, and making the kitchen ring with their peals of laughter.

 Dorothy, who was knitting all this time at the side of the fire, at length interrupted their play by saying,—

“Come, come, children! I think that’s getting to be unreasonable noise.”

“O Dorothy,” said Lucy, “I don’t think that’s much noise.”

“Yes,” said Dorothy, “you must not play so any more. But if you’ll come and sit down here by the fire, I’ll tell you a story.”

“Well,” said the children. In fact, they were as much pleased at the idea of having a story, as they would have been to have gone on with their play. So they all came and sat down by the fire.

“Tell us a story about a snow-storm,” said Lucy.

“I have told you pretty much all my snow-storm stories, already,” said Dorothy. “Let me think,—did I ever tell you about Oliver’s snow-shoes.”

“No,” said Lucy; “tell us now.”

Accordingly, when all were ready, Dorothy commenced her story as follows:—

“It was a great many years ago that what I am going to tell you took place. It was when Oliver was about eight years old.”

“And how old were you?” asked Royal.

 “I was about twelve,” replied Dorothy. “Our house was in the woods, a great way from the school-house where we used to go to school. I should think that it was more than two miles; and we had to go by a path through the woods. We walked to school in the mornings with our dinners in a basket. Then we staid in the school-room at noon, eating our dinners by the fire.”

“What did you use to have for dinner?” asked Rollo.

“O, bread and cheese,” said Dorothy, “and sometimes an apple turnover, which my mother made for us.

“Well, one day,” continued Dorothy, “when we had got half way to school, in the morning, it began to snow. It snowed very fast all the forenoon; and at noon, when school was done, we found that the boys who went out came in again with their clothes whitened with snow, half way up to their knees. We were afraid that we should not be able to get home.”

“And what should you do if you could not get home?” said Lucy. “Should you stay in the school-house all night?”

“O, I don’t know,” said Dorothy, “what we should have done. Perhaps we should have gone to Mary Green’s house.”

 “Mary Green’s house?” said Lucy; “who was Mary Green?”

“Why, she was a girl that went to our school.”

“Never mind about her,” interrupted Royal, “but tell the story. I want to hear about the snow-shoes.”

“It stopped snowing about the middle of the afternoon,” said Dorothy, “and Mary Green’s father came for her in a sleigh; and he said that he would carry us as far as he was going our way; for, you see, we had to go along the main road for about half a mile, till we came to the place where the path through the woods turned off. When we came to this place, we got out of the sleigh, and began to walk along through the woods. At last, we came to a little opening by the side of a mill-stream, where there was a little hut. The hut was built there to make shingles in. It was what they call a shingle camp.”

“How do they make shingles?” said Royal.

“O, they cut down a large pine-tree, and then cut it up into very short logs, and then split the logs into thin pieces, very wide. Then they take these pieces, and shave them smooth. We looked into the hut, but the man was not there. His shave was there, and there was a great pile of shavings; and the horse was in one corner.”

 “The horse!” said Rollo.

“Yes,” replied Dorothy, “and we went in and sat down on the shavings to rest ourselves.”

“How came the man to leave his horse there?” said Royal.

“Why, he was coming back again in the morning, and so he left his horse and his tools. There was nobody about there to steal them. It would have been a great deal of trouble to have taken his horse home every night.”

“And what did he have to eat?” said Royal—“shavings?”

Dorothy laughed, and said there was nothing else for him to eat, and that, in fact, he looked as if he lived upon shavings.

“We staid here a few minutes to rest,” continued Dorothy, “and then we concluded that we would make ourselves some snow-shoes.”

“What are snow-shoes?” asked Lucy.

“They are large, flat things to put under your feet to keep your feet from sinking into the snow. They make them in different ways; but we were going to make ours of the broad and thin pieces of pine which had been split out for shingles. So we began to look about before the hut for some pieces which were of the right size.”

“But, Dorothy,” said Lucy, “I should think that they would have been all covered up in the snow.”

“They were not,” replied Dorothy;—“but stop,—let me see. It appears to me that the sun was shining, and that it was a warm, pleasant day when we made our snow-shoes. Yes;—it was; and I have been making a mistake all this time. For we didn’t make our snow-shoes the day that it snowed; it was one day in the spring, when the snow was melting, so that we kept sinking into it, and could not get along.”

“Never mind,” said Royal; “no matter what day it was,—only tell on.”

“Well,” said Dorothy, “I told Oliver that if he had any string in his pocket, so that we could fasten the snow-shoes on, we would make two pair, one for him and one for me. He said that he had got some string, and he drew out a long piece from his pocket. So we found pieces of wood, of the right size, and then we went into the hut, and Oliver undertook to shave them smooth. So he took one of the pieces, and sat down upon the seat before the horse, and put one end of it into the horse’s mouth, and gripped it tight, while he shaved the other end.”

“O Dorothy,” exclaimed the children, “what a story!”

 “He did,” said Dorothy, seriously. “He was a little fellow, it is true, but then he was very handy with tools.” Dorothy thought that the children were surprised that such a little boy as Oliver could use the shave; but, in fact, what surprised them was, that the piece of wood was held in the horse’s mouth.

“When he had shaved one half of the piece, he turned it end for end, and shaved the other half. Then he turned it over, and shaved the other side.”

“But how did he get it out of the horse’s mouth?” said Rollo.

“O, there was a little foot-piece down underneath; and when he pressed that with his foot, it pressed down the jaw, and when he lifted off his foot, the jaw came up again, and let the wood out.”

“Why, Dorothy!” said Lucy; “what sort of a horse do you mean?”

“Why, a shaving horse,” said Dorothy.

“A shaving horse!” repeated Rollo and Lucy.

“Yes, certainly,” said Dorothy. “What sort of a horse did you think I meant?”

“Why, a real horse, live horse,” said Rollo.

Dorothy laughed very heartily at this mistake; and the children, when they understood the case, laughed heartily too. In the midst of their merriment, Royal looked up at the clock, and said that it was time for him and Lucy to go. “Only,” said he, “Dorothy, I wish you’d finish the story.”

“Why, that is about all,” said Dorothy; “we made the snow-shoes, and tied them on, and then we walked along over the soft snow without sinking in, and so got safely home.”

“How did you tie the shoes on?” asked Royal.

“Why, Oliver contrived to bore some holes in the wood,” replied Dorothy, “and then he had a piece of twine in his pocket, for strings. He cut the strings into proper lengths, and then put them into the holes; and so we fastened the snow-shoes to our feet.”

“I should not think that you could walk very well with snow-shoes,” said Lucy.

“We can’t walk very well,” replied Dorothy; “but it is better than sinking down deep into the snow. You must understand that we don’t lift the whole snow-shoe off from the ground, when we step.”

“Don’t you?” said Royal.

“No,” said Dorothy. “It is fastened on with the strings, in such a way that the back part of it hangs down, and drags along. When we step, we only lift the front part of it up, and the back part drags along upon the snow to the new place, and then we step down upon it again.”

“I wish I had a pair of snow-shoes,” said Royal.

“You must make a pair,” said Dorothy.

“But I haven’t got any such pieces of wood,” said Royal.

“Nor any shaving horse,” said Lucy.

“O, perhaps you can find some thin pieces of wood,” replied Dorothy. “You’d better make a pair; and then, when there comes a deep snow, this winter, you can walk on them. You can draw Lucy with your hand-sled all over the fields.”

“But the sled would sink down into the snow,” said Royal.

“Why, haven’t you got a snow-sled?” asked Dorothy.

“A snow-sled?” replied Royal; “no; what is a snow-sled?”

“Why, it is a sled,” replied Dorothy, “with broad runners, so that it will not sink deep into the snow.”

“How broad?” said Royal.

“O, about as broad as my hand,” said Dorothy.

“Then it must be a very heavy sled,” said Royal.

 “No,” replied Dorothy, “it is a very light sled. The runners are not solid; they are framed, and made light, with only a broad, thin piece at the bottom.”

“I wish you had a snow-sled, Royal,” said Lucy, “and a pair of snow-shoes.”

“So do I,” said Royal, “and I mean to try to make them; only the sled,—I don’t believe I can make a sled.”

Royal then got his hat, and went out into the yard to get the chaise. He told Lucy to go and put on her bonnet, and then come to the front door, when she heard the sound of the wheels.

Lucy accordingly went in, and put on her bonnet, and bade her aunt and uncle good night. She asked her aunt when Rollo might come and return her visit. She said that she would let him come the next week, if Royal could come and bring him home. And Lucy said that she had no doubt that her father would let Royal bring him home.

By this time, she heard the sound of the wheels driving up to the door; and so she went out, and got into the chaise, and Royal drove her away.

 

THE END.