A1r omitted3-5 words

Early Lessons.
Part X.

Price Six-Pence.

A1v A2r

Little Dog Trusty;
Orange Man;
and the
Cherry Orchard:

Being the Tenth Part of
Early Lessons.

By the Author of the Parent’s
, Six Volumes.

Printed for J. Johnson,
No. 72, St. Paul’s Churchyard,
By H. Bryer, Bridewell-Hospital, Bridge-Street. 18011801.


Little Dog Trusty;
The Liar and the Boy of Truth.

Very, very little children
must not read this story; for
they cannot understand it:
they will not know what is
meant by a liar and a boy of

Very little children, when
they are asked a question, say B B1v 2
“yes,” and “no,” without
knowing the meaning of the
words; but you, children, who
can speak quite plain, and who
can tell, by words, what you
wish for, and what you want,
and what you have seen, and
what you have done; you
who understand what is meant
by the words “I have done
or “I have not,” you
may read this story; for you
can understand it.

Frank and Robert were two
little boys, about eight years

B2r 3

Whenever Frank did any
thing wrong, he always told
his father and mother of it;
and when any body asked
him about any thing which
he had done or said, he always
told the truth; so that
every body who knew him,
believed him: but nobody who
knew his brother Robert, believed
a word which he said,
because he used to tell lies.

Whenever he did any thing
wrong, he never ran to his
father and mother to tell them B2 B2v 4
of it; but when they asked
him about it, he denied it,
and said he had not done the
things which he had done.

The reason that Robert told
lies was, because he was afraid
of being punished for his
faults, if he confessed them.
He was a coward, and could
not bear the least pain; but
Frank was a brave boy, and
could bear to be punished for
little faults: his mother never
punished him so much for
such little faults, as she did B3r 5
Robert for the lies which he
told, and which she found out

One evening, these two little
boys were playing together, in
a room by themselves; their
mother was ironing in a room
next to them, and their father
was out at work in the fields, so
there was nobody in the room
with Robert and Frank; but
there was a little dog, Trusty,
lying by the fire-side.

Trusty was a pretty playfulB3 B3v 6
little dog, and the children
were very fond of him.

“Come,” said Robert to Frank, “there is Trusty lying
beside the fire asleep; let us
go and waken him, and he
will play with us.”

“O yes, do, let us,” said Frank. So they both ran together,
towards the hearth, to
waken the dog.

Now there was a basin of
milk standing upon the hearth;
and the little boys did not
see where-abouts it stood; for B4r 7
it was behind them: as they
were both playing with the
dog, they kicked it with their
feet, and threw it down;
and the basin broke, and all
the milk ran out of it over
the hearth, and about the
floor; and when the little
boys saw what they had done,
they were very sorry, and
frightened; but they did not
know what to do: they stood
for some time, looking at the
broken basin and the milk,
without speaking.

B4 B4v 8

Robert spoke first.

“So, we shall have no
milk for supper to-night,”

said he; and he sighed―

“No milk for supper!―
why not?”
said Frank “is
there no more milk in the

“Yes, but we shall have
none of it; for, do not you
remember, last Monday, when
we threw down the milk, my
mother said we were very
careless, and that the next
time we did so, we should B5r 9
have no more; and this is
the next time; so we shall
have no milk for supper to-

“Well, then,” said Frank,
“we must do without it, that’s
all: we will take more care
another time; there’s no great
harm done; come, let us run
and tell my mother. You
know she bid us always tell
her directly when we broke
any thing; so come,”
said he,
taking hold of his brother’s

B5v 10

“I will come, just now,”
said Robert; “don’t be in such
a hurry, Frank—Can’t you stay
a minute?”
So Frank staid;
and then he said, “Come
now, Robert.”
But Robert answered,
“Stay a little longer;
for I dare not go yet—I am

Little boys, I advise you,
never be afraid to tell the
truth; never say, “Stay a
and, “Stay a little
but run directly, and
tell of what you have done B6r 11
that is wrong. The longer
you stay, the more afraid you
will grow, till at last, perhaps,
you will not dare to tell the
truth at all.—Hear what happened
to Robert.

The longer he staid, the
more unwilling he was to go
to tell his mother that he had
thrown the milk down; and
at last he pulled his hand
away from his brother, and
cried, “I won’t go at all;
Frank, can’t you go by yourself?”

B6v 12

“Yes,” said Frank, “so I
will; I am not afraid to go
by myself: I only waited
for you out of good-nature,
because I thought you would
like to tell the truth too.”

“Yes, so I will; I mean
to tell the truth when I am
asked; but I need not go
now, when I do not choose
it:—and why need you go
either?—Can’t you wait here?
—Surely my mother can see
the milk when she comes

B7r 13

Frank said no more; but,
as his brother would not come,
he went without him. He
opened the door of the next
room, where he thought his
mother was ironing; but when
he went in, he saw that she
was gone; and he thought
she was gone to fetch some
more clothes to iron. The
clothes, he knew, were hanging
on the bushes in the
garden; so he thought his
mother was gone there; and
he ran after her, to tell what
had happened.

B7v 14

Now whilst Frank was gone,
Robert was left in the room
by himself; and all the while
he was alone, he was thinking
of some excuses to make
to his mother; and he was
sorry that Frank was gone to
tell her the truth. He said
to himself, “If Frank and I
both were to say, that we did
not throw down the basin,
she would believe us, and we
should have milk for supper.
I am very sorry Frank would
go to tell her about it.”

B8r 15

Just as he said this to himself,
he heard his mother
coming down stairs—“Oh
said he to himself,
“then my mother has not
been out in the garden, and
so Frank has not met her,
and cannot have told her;
so now I may say what I

Then this naughty, cowardly
boy, determined to tell his
mother a lie.

She came into the room;
but when she saw the broken B8v 16
basin, and the milk spilled,
she stopped short, and cried;
“So, so!—What a piece
of work is here!—Who did
this, Robert?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,”
said Robert, in a very low

“You don’t know, Robert!
—tell me the truth—I shall
not be angry with you, child—
You will only lose the milk
at supper; and as for the
basin, I would rather have
you break all the basins I C1r 17
have, than tell me one lie.—
So don’t tell me a lie.—I ask
you, Robert, did you break
the basin?”

“No, ma’am, I did not,”
said Robert; and he coloured
as red as fire.

“Then, where’s Frank?—
did he do it?”

“No mother, he did not,”
said Robert; for he was in
hopes, that when Frank came
in, he should persuade him
to say that he did not do it.

C C1v 18

“How do you know,”
said his mother, “that Frank
did not do it?”

said Robert,
hesitating, as liars do for an
excuse—“because I was in
the room all the time, and
I did not see him do it.”

“Then how was the basin
thrown down? If you have
been in the room all the
time, you can tell.”

Then Robert, going on from
one lie to another, answered, C2r 19 “I suppose the dog must
have done it.”

“Did you see him do it?”
says his mother.

“Yes,” said this wicked

“Trusty, Trusty,” said his
mother, turning round; and
Trusty, who was lying before
the fire, drying his legs, which
were wet with the milk,
jumped up, and came to her.
Then she said, “Fie! fie!
and she pointed to C2 C2v 20
the milk.—“Get me a switch
out of the garden, Robert;
Trusty must be beat for this.”

Robert ran for the switch,
and in the garden he met his
brother: he stopped him, and
told him, in a great hurry,
all that he had said to his
mother; and he begged of
him not to tell the truth, but
to say the same as he had

“No, I will not tell a lie,”
said Frank.—“What! and is
Trusty to be beat!—He did C3r 21
not throw down the milk,
and he shan’t be beat for it
—Let me go to my mother.”

They both ran toward the
house—Robert got first home,
and he locked the house-door,
that Frank might not come
in. He gave the switch to
his mother.

Poor Trusty! he looked up
as the switch was lifted over
his head; but he could not
speak, to tell the truth. Just
as the blow was falling upon C3 C3v 22
him, Frank’s voice was heard at the window.

“Stop, stop! dear mother,
cried he, as loud as
ever he could call; “Trusty
did not do it—let me in—I
and Robert did it—but do not
beat Robert.”

“Let us in, let us in,” cried
another voice, which Robert
knew to be his father’s; “I
am just come from work, and
here’s the door locked.”

Robert turned as pale as
ashes when he heard his father’s C4r 23
voice; for his father always
whipped him when he
told a lie.

His mother went to the
door, and unlocked it.

“What’s all this?” cried
his father, as he came in;
so his mother told him all
that had happened;—how the
milk had been thrown down;
how she had asked Robert
whether he had done it; and
he said that he had not, nor
that Frank had not done it, C4 C4v 24
but that Trusty, the dog, had
done it; how she was just
going to beat Trusty, when
Frank came to the window
and told the truth.

“Where is the switch with
which you were going to beat
said the father.

Then Robert, who saw, by
his father’s looks, that he was
going to beat him, fell upon
his knees, and cried for mercy,
saying, “Forgive me this time,
and I will never tell a lie

C5r 25

But his father caught hold
of him by the arm—“I will
whip you now,”
said he,
“and then, I hope, you will
So Robert was whipped,
till he cried so loud with the
pain, that the whole neighbourhood
could hear him.

“There,” said his father,
when he had done, “now go
to supper; you are to have
no milk to-night, and you
have been whipped. See how
liars are served!”
Then, turning
to Frank, “Come here, and C5v 26
shake hands with me, Frank;
you will have no milk for
supper; but that does not signify;
you have told the truth,
and have not been whipped,
and every body is pleased
with you. And now I’ll tell
you what I will do for you—
I will give you the little dog
Trusty, to be your own dog.
You shall feed him, and take
care of him, and he shall be
your dog; you have saved
him a beating; and, I’ll answer
for it, you’ll be a good C6r 27
master to him. Trusty, Trusty,
come here.”

Trusty came; then Frank’s
father took off Trusty’s collar
“To-morrow I’ll go to the
added he, “and
get a new collar made for
your dog: from this day
forward he shall always be
called after you, Frank!―
And, wife, whenever any of
the neighbours’ children ask
you why the dog Trusty is
to be called Frank, tell them
this story of our two boys: c6v 28
let them know the difference
between a liar and a boy of

C7r 29

Orange Man;
The Honest Boy and the Thief.

Charles was the name of
the honest boy; and Ned was
the name of the thief.

Charles never touched what
was not his own: this is being
an honest boy.

Ned often took what was
not his own: this is being a

C7v 30

Charles’s father and mother,
when he was a very little
boy, had taught him to be
honest, by always punishing
him when he meddled with
what was not his own: but
when Ned took what was
not his own, his father and
mother did not punish him;
so he grew up to be a thief.

Early one summer’s morning,
as Charles was going
along the road to school, he
met a man leading a horse,
which was laden with panniers.

C8r 31

The man stopped at the door
of a public-house which was
by the road side; and he said to
the landlord, who came to the
door, “I won’t have my horse
unloaded; I shall only stop
with you whilst I eat my
breakfast.—Give my horse to
some one to hold here on
the road, and let the horse
have a little hay to eat.”

The landlord called; but
there was no one in the way;
so he beckoned to Charles,
who was going by, and begged
him to hold the horse.

C8v 32

“Oh,” said the man, “but
can you engage him to be
an honest boy? for these are
oranges in my baskets; and it
is not every little boy one can
leave with oranges.”

“Yes,” said the landlord,
“I have known Charles from
the cradle upwards, and I
never caught him in a lie or a
theft; all the parish knows
him to be an honest boy; I’ll
engage your oranges will be
as safe with him as if you
were by yourself.”

D1r 33

“Can you so?” said the
orange man; “then I’ll engage,
my lad, to give you
the finest orange in my basket,
when I come from breakfast,
if you’ll watch the rest whilst
I am away.”

“Yes,” said Charles, “I
will take care of your oranges.”

So the man put the bridle
into his hand, and he went
into the house to eat his

Charles had watched the
horse and the oranges about D D1v 34
five minutes, when he saw one
of his school-fellows coming
towards him. As he came
nearer, Charles saw that it was

Ned stopped as he passed,
and said, “Good-morrow to
you, Charles; what are you
doing there? whose horse is
that? and what have you
got in the baskets?”

“There are oranges in the
said Charles; “and
a man, who has just gone
into the inn, here, to eat his D2r 35
breakfast, bid me take care
of them, and so I did; because
he said he would give
me an orange when he came
back again.”

“An orange!” cried Ned;
“are you to have a whole
orange?—I wish I was to
have one! However, let me
look how large they are.”

Saying this, Ned went towards
the pannier, and lifted up the
cloth that covered it. “La!
what fine oranges!”
he exclaimed,
the moment he saw D2 D2v 36
them: Let me touch them,
to feel if they are ripe.”

“No,” said Charles, “you
had better not; what signifies
it to you whether they
are ripe, you know, since you
are not to eat them. You
should not meddle with them;
they are not your’s—You
must not touch them.”

“Not touch them! surely,”
said Ned, “there’s no harm
in touching them. You don’t
think I mean to steal them,
I suppose.”
So Ned put his D3r 37
hand into the orange-man’s
basket, and he took up an
orange, and he felt it; and
when he had felt it, he
smelled it. “It smells very
said he, “and it feels
very ripe; I long to taste
it; I will only just suck one
drop of juice at the top.”

Saying these words, he put
the orange to his mouth.

Little boys, who wish to
be honest, beware of temptation;
do not depend too much
upon yourselves; and remember,D3 D3v 38
that it is easier to resolve
to do right at first, than at
last. People are led on, by
little and little, to do wrong.

The sight of the oranges
tempted Ned to touch them;
the touch tempted him to
smell them; and the smell
tempted him to taste them.

“What are you about,
cried Charles, taking
hold of his arm. “You said,
you only wanted to smell the
orange; do, put it down,
for shame!”

D4r 39

“Don’t say for shame to
cried Ned, in a surly
tone; “the oranges are not
your’s, Charles!”

“No, they are not mine;
but I promised to take care
of them, and so I will:—so
put down that orange!”

“Oh, if it comes to that,
I won’t,”
said Ned, “and let
us see who can make me,
if I don’t choose it;—I’m
stronger than you.”

“I am not afraid of you
for all that,”
replied Charles, D4 D4v 40
“for I am in the right.”
Then he snatched the orange
out of Ned’s hand, and he
pushed him with all his force
from the basket.

Ned, immediately returning,
hit him a violent blow, which
almost stunned him.

Still, however, this good
boy, without minding the pain,
persevered in defending what
was left in his care; he still
held the bridle with one hand,
and covered the basket with
his other arm, as well as he

D5r 41

Ned struggled in vain, to
get his hands into the pannier
again; he could not;
and, finding that he could
not win by strength, he had
recourse to cunning. So he
pretended to be out of breath
and to desist; but he meant,
as soon as Charles looked
away, to creep softly round
to the basket, on the other

Cunning people, though
they think themselves very
wise, are almost always very

D5v 42

Ned, intent upon one thing,
the getting round to steal the
oranges, forgot that if he went
too close to the horse’s heels,
he should startle him. The
horse indeed, disturbed by the
bustle near him, had already
left off eating his hay, and
began to put down his ears;
but when he felt something
touch his hind legs, he gave
a sudden kick, and Ned fell
backwards, just as he had
seized the orange.

Ned screamed with the D6r 43
pain; and at the scream all
the people came out of the
public house to see what was
the matter; and amongst them
came the orange-man.

Ned was now so much
ashamed, that he almost forgot
the pain, and wished to
run away; but he was so
much hurt, that he was obliged
to sit down again.

The truth of the matter
was soon told by Charles,
and as soon believed by all
the people present who knew D6v 44
him: for he had the character
of being an honest
boy; and Ned was known
to be a thief and a liar.

So nobody pitied Ned for
the pain he felt. “He deserves
says one. “Why
did he meddle with what
was not his own?”
he is not much hurt, I’ll answer
for it,”
said another.
“And if he was, it’s a lucky
kick for him, if it keeps
him from the gallows,”
a third. Charles was the only D7r 45
person who said nothing; he
helped Ned away to a bank:
for brave boys are always

“Oh, come here,” said
the orange-man, calling him;
“come here, my honest lad!
what! you got that black
eye in keeping my oranges,
did you?—that’s a stout little
said he, taking him
by the hand, and leading
him into the midst of the

Men, women, and children, D7v 46
had gathered around, and all
the children fixed their eyes
upon Charles, and wished to
be in his place.

In the mean time, the
orange-man took Charles’s hat
off his head, and filled it
with fine China oranges.
“There, my little friend,”
said he, “take them, and
God bless you with them!
If I could but afford it, you
should have all that is in my

Then the people, and especially D8r 47
the children, shouted
for joy; but as soon as there
was silence, Charles said to
the orange-man, “Thank’e,
master, with all my heart;
but I can’t take your oranges,
only that one I earned; take
the rest back again: as for
a black eye, that’s nothing!
but I won’t be paid for it;
no more than for doing what’s
honest. So I can’t take your
oranges, master; but I thank
you as much as if I had
Saying these words, D8v 48
Charles offered to pour the
oranges back into the basket;
but the man would not let

“Then,” said Charles, “if
they are honestly mine, I
may give them away;”
he emptied the hat amongst
the children, his companions.
“Divide them amongst you,”
said he; and without waiting
for their thanks, he pressed
through the crowd, and ran
towards home. The children
all followed him, clapping E1r 49
their hands, and thanking

The little thief came limping
after. Nobody praised him,
nobody thanked him; he had
no oranges to eat, nor had
he any to give away. People
must be honest, before they can
be generous
. Ned sighed as
he went towards home; “And
all this,”
said he to himself,
“was for one orange; it was
not worth while.”

No: it is never worth while to do wrong.

E E1v 50

Little boys who read this
story, consider which would
you rather have been, the
honest boy
, or the thief.

E2r 51

Cherry Orchard.

Marianne was a little girl
of about eight years old; she
was remarkably good-tempered;
she could bear to be disappointed,
or to be contradicted,
or to be blamed, without looking
or feeling peevish, or
sullen, or angry.—Her parents,
and her school-mistress and E2 E2v 52
companions, all loved her, because
she was obedient and

Marianne had a cousin, a
year younger than herself,
named Owen, who was an
ill-tempered boy; almost every
day he was crying, or pouting,
or in a passion, about
some trifle or other; he was
neither obedient nor obliging.
—His playfellows could not
love him; for he was continually
quarrelling with them;
he would never, either when E3r 53
he was at play or at work, do
what they wished; but he always
tried to force them to
yield to his will and his humour.

One fine summer’s evening,
Marianne and Owen were setting
out, with several of
their little companions, to
school. It was a walk of
about a mile from the town
in which their fathers and
mothers lived to the schoolhouse,
if they went by the
high-road; but there was anotherE3 E3v 54
way, through a lane,
which was a quarter of a mile

Marianne, and most of the
children, liked to go by the
lane, because they could gather
the pretty flowers which grew
on the banks, and in the
hedges; but Owen preferred
going by the high-road, because
he liked to see the carts
and carriages, and horsemen,
which usually were seen upon
this road.

Just when they were setting E4r 55
out, Owen called to Marianne,
who was turning into
the lane.

“Marianne,” said he, “you
must not go by the lane to-
day; you must go by the

“Why must not I go by the
lane to-day?”
said Marianne;
“you know, yesterday, and
the day before, and the day
before that, we all went by the
high-road, only to please you;
and now let us go by the
lane, because we want to gatherE4 E4v 56
some honey-suckles and
dog-roses, to fill our dame’s

“I don’t care for that; I
don’t want to fill our dame’s
flower-pots; I don’t want to
gather honey-suckles and dog-
roses; I want to see the
coaches and chaises on the
road; and you must go my
way, Marianne.”

“Must! Oh, you should
not say must,”
replied Marianne,
in a gentle tone.

“No, indeed!” cried one E5r 57
of her companions, “you
should not; nor should you
look so cross: that is not the
way to make us do what you

“And, besides,” said another,
“what right has he always
to make us do as he
pleases?—He never will do
any thing that we wish.”

Owen grew quite angry
when he heard this; and he was
just going to make some sharp
answer, when Marianne, who
was good-natured, and always E5v 58
endeavoured to prevent quarrels,
said, “Let us do what he
asks, this once; and I dare say
he will do what we please the
next time—We will go by the
high-road to school, and we
can come back by the lane,
in the cool of the evening.”

To please Marianne, whom
they all loved, they agreed to
this proposal. They went by
the high-road; but Owen was
not satisfied, because he saw
that his companions did not
comply for his sake; and as E6r 59
he walked on, he began to
kick up the dust with his
feet, saying, “I’m sure it is
much pleasanter here than in
the lane; I wish we were to
come back this way—I’m sure
it is much pleasanter here than
in the lane: is not it, Marianne?”

Marianne could not say that
she thought so.

Owen kicked up the dust
more and more.

“Do not make such a dust,
dear Owen,”
said she; “look E6v 60
how you have covered my
shoes and my clean stockings
with dust.”

“Then, say, it is pleasanter
here than in the lane. I shall
go on, making this dust, till
you say that.”

“I cannot say that, because
I do not think so, Owen.”

“I’ll make you think so,
and say so too.”

“You are not taking the
right way to make me think
so: you know that I cannot
think this dust agreeable.”

E7r 61

Owen persisted; and he
raised continually a fresh cloud
of dust, in spite of all that Marianne
or his companions could
say to him.—They left him,
and went to the opposite side
of the road; but wherever they
went, he pursued—At length
they came to a turnpike-gate,
on one side of which there was
a turn-stile; Marianne and the
rest of the children passed, one
by one, through the turn-stile,
whilst Owen was emptying his
shoes of dust. When this was E7v 62
done, he looked up, and saw
all his companions on the other
side of the gate, holding the
turn-stile, to prevent him from
coming through.

“Let me through, let me
cried he, “I must
and will come through.”

“No, no, Owen,” said they,
“must will not do now; we
have you safe; here are ten
of us; and we will not let
you come through till you
have promised that you will
not make any more dust.”

E8r 63

Owen, without making any
answer, began to kick, and
push, and pull, and struggle,
with all his might; but in vain
he struggled, pulled, pushed
and kicked; he found that ten
people are stronger than one.—
When he felt that he could
not conquer them by force, he
began to cry; and he roared
as loud as he possibly could.

No one but the turnpike-
man was within hearing; and
he stood laughing at Owen.

Owen tried to climb the E8v 64
gate; but he could not get
over it, because there were iron
spikes at the top.

“Only promise that you will
not kick up the dust, and they
will let you through,”

Owen made no answer, but
continued to struggle till his
whole face was scarlet, and
till both his wrists ached: he
could not move the turn-stile
an inch.

“Well,” said he, stopping
short, “now you are all of F1r 65
you joined together; you are
stronger than I; but I am as
cunning as you.”

He left the stile, and began
to walk homewards.

“Where are you going?
You will be too late at school,
if you turn back and go by
the lane,”
said Marianne.

“I know that, very well;
but that will be your fault,
and not mine—I shall tell
our dame, that you all of
you held the turn-stile against F F1v 66
me, and would not let me

“And we shall tell our
dame why we held the
turn-stile against you,”
one of the children; “and
then it will be plain that it
was your fault.”

Perhaps Owen did not hear
this; for he was now at some
distance from the gate. Presently
he heard some one
running after him—It was

“Oh, I am so much out of F2r 67
breath with running after you!
—I can hardly speak!—But I
am come back,”
said this good-
natured girl, “to tell you that
you will be sorry if you do
not come with us; for there
is something that you like very
much, just at the turn of the
road, a little beyond the turnpike-gate.”

“Something that I like
very much!—What can that

“Come with me, and you shall see,” said Marianne; F2v 68
“that is both rhyme and
reason—Come with me, and
you shall see.”

She looked so good-humoured,
as she smiled and nodded
at him, that he could not
be sullen any longer.

“I don’t know how it is,
cousin Marianne,”
said he;
“but when I am cross, you
are never cross; and you can
always bring me back to
good-humour again, you are
so good-humoured yourself—
I wish I was like you—But F3r 69
we need not talk any more
of that now—What is it that
I shall see on the other side
of the turnpike-gate?—What
is it that I like very much?”

“Don’t you like ripe cherries
very much?”

“Yes; but they do not
grow in these hedges.”

“No; but there is an old
woman sitting by the roadside,
with a board before her,
which is covered with red ripe

“Red ripe cherries! Let us F3 F3v 70
make haste then,”
cried Owen.
He ran on, as fast as he could;
but as soon as the children
saw him running, they also began
to run back to the turnstile;
and they reached it before
he did; and they held it
fast as before, saying, “Promise
you will not kick up
the dust, or we will not let
you through.”

“The cherries are very
said Marianne.

“Well, well, I will not kick
up the dust—Let me through,”

said Owen.

F4r 71

They did so, and he kept
his word; for though he was
ill-humoured, he was a boy of
truth; and he always kept his
promises—He found the cherries
looked red and ripe,
as Marianne had described

The old woman took up a
long stick, which lay on the
board before her. Bunches of
cherries were tied with white
thread to this stick; and as
she shook it in the air, over F4 F4v 72
the heads of the children, they
all looked up with longing

“A halfpenny a bunch!—
Who will buy? Who will buy?
Who will buy?—Nice ripe
cried the old woman.

The children held out their
halfpence; and “Give me a
and “give me a
was heard on all

“Here are eleven of
said the old woman, F5r 73
“and there are just eleven
bunches on this stick.”
put the stick into Marianne’s
hand, as she spoke.

Marianne began to untie
the bunches; and her companions
pressed closer and
closer to her, each eager to
have the particular bunches
which they thought the largest
and the ripest.

Several fixed upon the uppermost,
which looked indeed
extremely ripe.

“You cannot all have this F5v 74
said Marianne; “to
which of you must I give it?
You all wish for it.”

“Give it to me, give it to
was the first cry of each;
but the second was, “Keep
it yourself, Marianne; keep it

“Now, Owen, see what it
is to be good-natured, and
good-humoured, like Marianne,”
said Cymon, the eldest
of the boys, who stood near
him—“We all are ready to
give up the ripest cherries to F6r 75
Marianne; but we should
never think of doing so for
you, because you are so cross
and disagreeable.”

“I am not cross now; I am
not disagreeable now,”
Owen; “and I do not intend
to be cross and disagreeable
any more.”

This was a good resolution;
but Owen did not keep it many
minutes.—In the bunch of
cherries which Marianne gave
to him for his share, there
was one which, though red F6v 76
on one side, was entirely
white and hard on the other.

“This cherry is not ripe; and
here’s another that has been
half eaten away by the birds.
—Oh, Marianne, you gave
me this bad bunch on purpose
—I will not have this bunch.”

“Somebody must have it,”
said Cymon; “and I do not
see that it is worse than the
others; we shall all have some
cherries that are not so good
as the rest; but we shall not F7r 77
grumble and look so cross
about it as you do.”

“Give me your bad cherries,
and I will give you
two out of my fine bunch, instead
of them,”
said the good-
natured Marianne.

“No, no, no!” cried the
children; “Marianne, keep
your own cherries.”

“Are not you ashamed,
said Cymon“How
can you be so greedy?”

“Greedy!—I am not greedy,” cried Owen, angrily; F7v 78
“but I will not have the
worst cherries; I will have another

He tried to snatch another
bunch from the stick.—Cymon
held it above his head.
Owen leaped up, reached
it, and when his companions
closed round him, exclaiming
against his violence, he grew
still more angry; he threw the
stick down upon the ground,
and trampled upon every
bunch of the cherries in his
fury, scarcely knowing what
he did, or what he said.

F8r 79

When his companions saw
the ground stained with the red
juice of their cherries, which
he had trampled under his
feet, they were both sorry and

The children had not any
more halfpence; they could
not buy any more cherries;
and the old woman said that
she could not give them

As they went away sorrowfully,
they said, “Owen is
so ill-tempered, that we will F8v 80
not play with him, or speak
to him, or have any thing to
do with him.”

Owen thought that he
could make himself happy
without his companions; and
he told them so.—But he
soon found that he was mistaken.

When they arrived at the
school-house, their dame was
sitting in the thatched porch
before her own door, reading
a paper that was printed in
large letters—“My dears,” said G1r 81
she to her little scholars, “here
is something that you will
be glad to see; but say your
lessons first—One thing at a
time—Duty first, and pleasure
afterwards——Which ever of
you says your lesson best,
shall know first what is in
this paper, and shall have the
pleasure of telling the good

Owen always learned his
lessons very well, and quickly:
he now said his lesson better
than any of his companions said G G1v 82
theirs; and he looked round
him with joy and triumph;
but no eye met his with
pleasure; nobody smiled upon
him, no one was glad that he
had succeeded: on the contrary,
he heard those near him
whisper, “I should have been
very glad if it had been
Marianne who had said her
lesson, because she is so good-

The printed paper, which
Owen read aloud, was as follows:-

G2r 83

“‘On Thursday evening next,
the gate of the cherry-orchard
will be opened; and all who
have tickets will be let in,
from six o’clock till eight.—
Price of tickets, six-pence.’”

The children wished extremely
to go to this cherry
orchard, where they knew
that they might gather as many
cherries as they liked, and
where they thought that they
should be very happy, sitting
down under the trees, and eatingG2 G2v 84
fruit—But none of these
children had any money; for
they had spent their last half-
pence in paying for those
cherries which they never
tasted—those cherries which
Owen, in the fury of his
passion, trampled in the dust.

The children asked their
dame what they could do
to earn six-pence a piece; and
she told them, that they might
perhaps be able to earn this
money by plaiting straw for
hats, which they had all been G3r 85
taught to make by their good

Immediately the children
desired to set to work.
Owen, who was very eager
to go to the cherry orchard,
was the most anxious to get
forward with the business: he
found, however, that nobody
liked to work along with him;
his companions said, “We are
afraid that you should quarrel
with us—We are afraid that
you should fly into a passion
about the straws, as you did G3 G3v 86
about the cherries; therefore
we will not work with you.”

“Will not you? then I
will work by myself,”
Owen; “and I dare say that
I shall have done my work
long before you have any of
you finished yours; for I can
plait quicker and better than
any of you.”

It was true that Owen
could plait quicker and better
than any of his companions;
but he was soon surprised to
find that his work did not go
on so fast as theirs.

G4r 87

After they had been employed
all the remainder of
this evening, and all the next
day, Owen went to his companions,
and compared his work
with theirs.

“How is this?” said he;
“how comes it, that you have
all done so much, and I have
not done nearly so much,
though I work quicker than
any one of you, and I have
worked as hard as I possibly
could?—What is the reason G4 G4v 88
that you have done so much
more than I have?”

“Because we have all been
helping one another, and you
have had no one to help you:
you have been obliged to do
every thing for yourself.”

“But still, I do not understand
how your helping one
another can make such a difference,”
said Owen: “I plait
faster than any of you.”

His companions were so busy
at their work, that they did
not listen to what he was saying G5r 89
—He stood behind Marianne,
in a melancholy posture,
looking at them, and trying to
find out why they went on so
much faster than he could—
He observed that one picked
the outside off the straws;
another cut them to the proper
length; another sorted
them, and laid them in bundles;
another flattened them;
another (the youngest of the
little girls, who was not able
to do any thing else) held
the straws ready for those who G5v 90
were plaiting; another cut off
the rough ends of the straws
when the plaits were finished;
another ironed the plaits with
a hot smoothing-iron; others
sewed the plaits together. Each
did what he could do best, and
quickest; and none of them
lost any time in going from
one work to another, or in
looking for what they wanted.

On the contrary, Owen had
lost a great deal of time in
looking for all the things
that he wanted; he had nobody G6r 91
to hold the straws ready
for him as he plaited; therefore
he was forced to go
for them himself, every time
he wanted them; and his
straws were not sorted in nice
bundles for him; the wind
blew them about; and he
wasted half an hour, at least,
in running after them. Besides
this, he had no friend
to cut off the rough ends for
him; nor had he any one
to sew the plaits together;
and though he could plait G6v 92
quickly, he could not sew
quickly; for he was not
used to this kind of work.
He wished extremely for Marianne
to do it for him. He
was once a full quarter of
an hour in threading his
needle, of which the eye was
too small—Then he spent
another quarter of an hour
in looking for one with a
larger eye; and he could
not find it at last, and nobody
would lend him another
—When he had done G7r 93
sewing, he found that his
hand was out for plaiting
; that
is, he could not plait so
quickly after his fingers had
just been used to another
kind of work; and when he
had been smoothing the straws
with a heavy iron, his hand
trembled afterwards for some
minutes, during which time
he was forced to be idle;
thus it was that he lost time
by doing every thing for
himself; and though he lost
but few minutes or seconds G7v 94
in each particular, yet, when
all these minutes and seconds
were added together, they
made a great difference.

“How fast, how very fast,
they go on! and how merrily!”
said Owen; as he
looked at his former companions
“I am sure I shall
never earn sixpence for myself
before Thursday; and I
shall not be able to go to
the cherry-orchard—I am
very sorry that I trampled
on your cherries; I am very G8r 95
sorry that I was so ill-humoured
—I will never be cross
any more.”

He is very sorry, that
he was so ill-humoured; he
is very sorry that he trampled
on our cherries,”
Marianne; “do you hear
what he says; he will never
be cross any more.”

“Yes, we hear what he
answered Cymon; “but
how can we be sure that he
will do as he says.”

“Oh,” cried another of his G8v 96
companions, “he has found
out at last that he must do
as he would be done by.”

“Aye,” said another;
“and he finds that we who
are good-humoured and good
natured to one another, do
better even than he who is
so quick and so clever.”

“But if, besides being so
quick and so clever, he was
good-humoured and good-natured,”
said Marianne, “he
would be of great use to
us; he plaits a vast deal H1r 97
faster than Mary does, and
Mary plaits faster than any
of us—Come, let us try him,
let him come in amongst

“No, No, No,” cried
many voices; “he will quarrel
with us; and we have
no time for quarrelling—We
are all so quiet and happy
without him!—Let him work
by himself, as he said he

Owen went on, working
by himself; he made all the H H1v 98
haste that he possibly could;
but Thursday came, and his
work was not nearly finished
—His companions passed by
him with their finished work
in their hands—Each, as they
passed, said, “What, have
not you done yet, Owen?”

and then they walked on to
the table where their Dame
was sitting ready to pay them
their sixpences.

She measured their work,
and examined it; and when
she saw that it was well H2r 99
done, she gave to each of
her little workmen and workwomen
the sixpence which
they had earned, and she
said, “I hope, my dears,
that you will be happy this

They all looked joyful;
and as they held their six-
pences in their hands they
said, “If we had not helped
one another, we should not
have earned this money; and
we should not be able to go
to the cherry-orchard.”

H2 H2v 100

“Poor Owen!” whispered
Marianne to her companions,
“look how melancholy he is,
sitting there alone at his work!
—See! his hands tremble,
so that he can scarcely hold
the straws; he will not have
nearly finished his work in
time, he cannot go with

“He should not have
trampled upon our cherries;
and then perhaps we might
have helped him,”
said Cymon.

H3r 101

“Let us help him, though
he did trample on our cherries,”
said the good-natured
Marianne,—“He is sorry for
what he did, and he will
never be so ill-humoured or
ill-natured again—Come, let
us go and help him—If we
all help, we shall have his
work finished in time, and
then we shall all be happy

As Marianne spoke, she
drew Cymon near to the
corner where Owen was sitting;H3 H3v 102
and all her companions

“Before we offer to help him,
let us try whether he is now
inclined to be good-humoured,
and good-natured.”

“Yes, yes, let us try that
said his companions.

Owen, you will not have
done time enough to go
with us,"—said Cymon.

“No, indeed,” said Owen,
“I shall not; therefore I
may as well give up all
thoughts of it—It is my own
fault, I know.”

H4r 103

“Well, but as you cannot
go yourself, you will not
want your pretty little basket;
will you lend it to us to
hold our cherries?”

“Yes, I will with pleasure,”
cried Owen, jumping up to
fetch it:

“Now he is good-natured,
I am sure,”
said Marianne.

“This plaiting of your’s
inis not nearly so well done as
said Cymon, “look
how uneven it is.”

H4v 104

“Yes, it is rather uneven, indeed,” replied Owen.

Cymon began to untwist
some of Owen’s work; and
Owen bore this trial of his
patience with good temper.

“Oh, you are pulling it
all to pieces, Cymon,”
Marianne; “this is not fair.”

“Yes, it is fair,” said Cymon;
“for I have undone
only an inch; and I will do as
many inches for Owen as he
pleases, now that I see he
is good-humoured.”

H5r 105

Marianne immediately sat
down to work for Owen;
and Cymon and all his companions
followed her example
—It was now two hours before
the time when the cherry-
orchard was to be opened;
and during these two hours,
they went on so expeditiously,
that they completed
the work.

Owen went with them to
the cherry-orchard, where they
spent the evening all together
very happily—As he was sitting
under a tree with his H5v 106
companions eating the ripe
cherries, he said to them,—
“Thank you all, for helping
me; I should not have been
here now eating these ripe
cherries, if you had not been
so good-natured to me—I
hope I shall never be cross
to any of you again, whenever
I feel inclined to be
cross, I will think of your
good-nature to me, and of
The Cherry Orchard.”

Printed by H. Bryer, Brideswell-Hopsital