Abbott Jacob
Caleb in the Country
CHAPTER IV.
A DISCUSSION
While Caleb stood upon the mole, he began to whip the water; and, in doing so, he spattered David and Dwight a little.
Dwight said, “Take care, Caleb—don't spatter us;” and he went up to him, and was going gently to take hold of his whip, to take it away. “Let me have the whip,” said he.
“No,” said Caleb, holding it firmly, “I want it.”
“Let go of it, Dwight,” said Madam Rachel.
“Why, mother, he ought to let me have it, for I went and got it for him. He would not have had it at all without me.”
“You must not take it by violence,” said his mother, “if you have ever so good a right to it. But did you get it for him?”
“Yes, mother; and he told a lie about it.”
“O, Dwight,” said his mother, “you ought not to say so. I can't think Caleb would tell a lie.”
“He did, mother; he said he was sure he hung it up, when, after all, he dropped it in the water; and we agreed to leave it to you if that was not telling a lie.”
“Did you know, Caleb, when you said you hung it up, that you had really left it in the water?”
“No, grandmother,” said Caleb, very earnestly; “I really thought I had hung it up.”
“Then it was not telling a lie, Dwight. A lie is told with an intention to deceive. To make it a lie it is necessary that the person who says a thing, must know distinctly at the time that he says it, that it is not true; and he must say it with the particular intention to deceive. Now, Caleb did not do this.”
“Well, mother,” said Dwight, “I am sure you have told us a good many times that we must never say any thing unless we are sure it is true.”
“So I have. I admit that Caleb did wrong in saying so positively that he had hung his whip up, when he did not know certainly that he had. But this does not prove that it was telling a lie. You know there are a great many other faults besides telling lies; and this is one of them.”
“What do you call it, mother?” said David.
“I don't know,” said she, hesitating. “It is a very common fault,—asserting a thing positively, when you do not know whether it is true or not. But if you think it is true, even if you have no proper grounds for thinking so, and are entirely mistaken, it is not telling a lie.”
“In fact,” she continued, “I once knew a case where one boy was justly punished for falsehood when what he said was true; and another was rewarded for his truth, when what he said was false.”
“Why, mother?” said Dwight and David together, with great surprise.
“Yes,” said Madam Rachel; “the case was this. They were farmers' boys, and they wanted to go into the barn, and play upon the hay. Their father told them they might go, but charged them to be careful to shut the door after them in going in, so as not to let the colt get out. So the boys ran off to the barn in high glee, and were so eager to get upon the hay, that they forgot altogether to shut the door. When they came down they found the door open, and to their great alarm, the colt was nowhere to be seen. Josy, one of the boys, said, 'Let us shut the door now, and not tell father that we let the colt out, and he will think somebody else did it.'
“'No,' said James, the other, 'let us tell the truth.'
“So about an hour afterwards, Josy went into the house, and his father said, 'Josy, did you let the colt out?'
“'No, sir,' said Josy.
“Not long after he met James.
“'James,' said he, 'you had a fine time upon the hay, I suppose. I hope you did not let the colt out.'
“James hung his head, and said, 'Why, yes, sir, we did. We forgot to shut the door, and so he got away.'
“Now, which of these boys, do you suppose, was guilty of telling a lie?”
“Why, Josy, certainly,” said David, Dwight, and Caleb, all together.
“Yes, and yet the colt had not got away.”
“Hadn't he?” said Dwight.
“No, he was safely coiled up in a corner upon some hay, out of sight; and there the farmer found him safe and sound, when he went in to look. But did that make any difference in Josy's guilt, do you think?”
“No, mother,” said Dwight. David, at the same time shook his head, shewing that he entertained the same opinion.
“I think it did not,” continued Madam Rachel, “and the farmer thought so too; for he very properly punished Josy, and rewarded James.”
Dwight seemed to assent to this rather reluctantly, as if he was almost sorry that Caleb had not been proved guilty of telling a lie.
“Well, mother,” he said presently, with a more lively tone, “at any rate he disobeyed you; for you told him not to go near the brook where the bank was high; and he did, or else he never would have fallen in.”
“But I could not help it,” said Caleb, “the cow frightened me so.”
“Yes, you could help it,” said Dwight; “for the cow did not come up and push you; you walked back yourself, of your own accord.”
Madam Rachel observed that Caleb appeared more pale and languid than usual; and this new charge which Dwight brought against him, made him more sad and melancholy still.
Madam Rachel accordingly then said she would not talk any more about it then, for she must go in, and she asked Caleb whether he would rather go in with her, or remain out there with the boys. He said he would rather go in. So he took hold of Madam Rachel's hand, and walked along by her side. David said he would bring his rocking-chair for him, when he and Dwight should come in.
CHAPTER V.
THE STORY OF BLIND SAMUEL
Madam Rachel went into the house, and sat down in her large rocking-chair, by a window, in a back parlour that looked out upon a little garden, and began to sew. Caleb played around a little while, rather languidly, and at last came up to his grandmother, and leaning upon her lap, asked her if she would not take him up, and rock him a little. She could not help pitying him, he looked so feeble and sad; and she accordingly laid down her work, and lifted him up,—he was not heavy.
“Well Caleb, you have not asked me to take you up, and tell you a story so, for a long time. This is the way I used to do when you were quite a little boy; only then you used to kneel in my lap, and lay your head upon my shoulder, so that my mouth was close to your ear. But you are too big now.”
Caleb smiled a little, for he was glad to find that he was growing big; but it was rather a faint and sad smile.
“But I don't grow any stronger, grandmother,” said he. “I wish I was well and strong, like the other boys.”
“You don't know what would be best for you, my little Caleb. God leads you along in his own way through life, and you must go patiently and pleasantly on, just where he thinks best. You are like blind Samuel, going through the woods with his father.”
“How was that, grandmother?” said he, sitting up, and turning round to look at her.
“You sit still,” said she, gently laying him back again, “and I will tell you.”
“Samuel was a blind boy. He had been away, and was now going home with his father. His father led him, and he walked along by his side. Presently, they came to a large brook, and, before they got near it, they heard it roaring. His father said, 'Samuel, I think there is a freshet.' 'I think so too,' said Samuel, 'for I hear the water roaring.' When they came in sight of the stream, his father said, 'Yes, Samuel, there has been a great freshet, and the bridge is carried away.' 'And what shall we do now?' said Samuel. 'Why we must go round by the path through the woods.' 'That will be bad for me,' said Samuel 'But I will lead you,' said his father, 'all the way; just trust every thing to me.' 'Yes, father,' said Samuel, 'I will.'
“So his father took a string out of his pocket, and gave one end of it to Samuel. 'There, Samuel,' said he, 'take hold of that, and that will guide you; and walk directly after me.'”
“How long was the string?” said Caleb.
“O not very long,” replied Madam Rachel; “so as just to let him walk a step or two behind.”
“After he had walked on a short distance, he said, 'Father, I wish you would let me take hold of your hand.' 'But you said,' replied his father, 'that you would trust every thing to me.' 'So I will, father,' said Samuel; 'but I do wish you would let me take hold of your hand, instead of this string.' 'Very well,' said his father, 'you may try your way.'
“So Samuel came and took hold of his father's hand, and tried to walk along by his father's side. But the path was narrow; there was not more than room for one, and though his father walked as far on one side as possible, yet Samuel had not room enough. The branches scratched his face, and he stumbled continually upon roots and stones. At length he said, 'Father, you know best. I will take hold of the string, and walk behind.'
“So, after that, he was patient and submissive, and followed his father wherever he led. After a time his father saw a serpent in the road directly before them. So he turned aside, to go round by a compass in the woods.”
“A compass?” said Caleb.
“Yes,” said his grandmother; “that is a round-about way. But it was very rough and stony. Presently, Samuel stopped and said, 'Father, it seems to me it is pretty stony; haven't we got out of the path?'
“'Yes,' said his father; 'but you promised to be patient and submissive, and trust every thing to me.'
“'Well,' said Samuel, 'you know best, and I will follow.'
“So he walked on again. When they had got by, his father told him that the reason why he had gone out of the road was, that there was a serpent there. And so, when God leads us in a difficult way, Caleb, that we don't understand at the time, we often see the reason of it afterwards.”
Caleb did not answer, and Madam Rachel went on with her story.
“By and by, his father came within the sound of the brook again, and stopped a minute or two, and then he told Samuel that he should have to leave him a short time, and that he might sit down upon a log, and wait until he came back. 'But, father,' said Samuel, 'I don't want to be left alone here in the woods, in the dark.' 'It is not dark,' said his father. 'It is all dark to me,' said Samuel. 'I know it is,' said his father, 'and I am very sorry; but you promised to leave every thing to me, and be obedient and submissive.' 'So I will, father; you know best, and I will do just as you say.' So Samuel sat down upon the log, and his father went away. He was a little terrified by the solitude, and the darkness, and the roaring of the water; but he trusted to his father, and was still.
“By and by, he heard a noise as of something heavy falling into the water. He was frightened, for he thought it was his father. But it was not his father. What do you think it was, Caleb?”
Caleb did not answer. Madam Rachel looked down to see why he did not speak, and as she moved him a little, so as to see his face, his head rolled over to one side; and, in short, Madam Rachel found that he was fast asleep.
“Poor little fellow!” said she; and she rose carefully, and carried him to the bed, and laid him down. He opened his eyes a moment, when his cheek came in contact with the cool pillow, but turned his face over immediately, shut his eyes again, and was soon in a sound sleep.
CHAPTER VI.
ENGINEERING
When Caleb awoke it was almost evening. The rays of the setting sun were shining in at the window. Caleb opened his eyes, and, after lying still a few moments, began to sing. He thought it was morning, and that it was time for him to get up. Presently, however, he observed that the sun was shining in at the wrong window for morning: then he noticed that he was not undressed; and, finally, he thought it must be night; but he could not think how he came to be asleep there at that time.
Caleb went out into the parlour. David and Dwight were just putting the chairs around the tea table. At tea time, the boys talked a good deal about the mole, and they asked Mary Anna if she would help them rig some vessels to sail in the Maelstrom.
“Sail in the Maelstrom!” said Mary Anna; “whoever heard of sailing in the Maelstrom? That is a great whirlpool, which swallows up ships; they never sail in it. You had better call it the Gulf Stream.”
“Well,” said Dwight, “we will; and will you help us rig some vessels?”
“Yes,” said Mary Anna, “when you get the mole done.”
Mary Anna was a beautiful girl, about seventeen years old, with a mild and gentle expression of countenance, and very pleasant tone of voice. She helped the children in all their plays, and they were always pleased when she was with them. She had great stores of pasteboard and coloured papers, to make boxes, and portfolios, and little pocket-books, and wallets of; and she had a paint-box, and pencils, and drawing-books, and portfolios of pictures and drawing lessons.
She rigged the boys' vessels, and covered their balls, and made them beautiful flags and banners out of her pieces of coloured silk. She advised them to have a flag-staff out at the end of the mole, as they generally have on all fortifications and national works. She told them she would make them a handsome flag for the purpose.
After tea she went down with them to see the works. She seemed to like the mole very much. The whirlpool was moving very regularly, and she advised them to build the mole out pretty far.
“Yes,” said Dwight; “and we are going to have a piece across up and down the stream, at the end of it, so as to make a T of it.”
“I think you had better make a Y of it,” said Mary Anna.
“A Y!” said Dwight, “how?”
“Why instead of having the end piece go straight across the end of the mole, let the two parts of it branch out into the stream, one upwards and the other down.”
“What good will that do?” said David.
“Why, if you make it straight like a T, the current will run directly along the outer edge of it, and so your vessels will not stay there. But if you have it Y-shaped, there will be a little sort of harbour in the crotch, where your vessels can lie quietly, while the current flows along by, out beyond the forks.”
“That will be excellent,” said Dwight, clapping his hands.
“And besides,” said she, “the upper part of the Y will run out obliquely into the stream, and so turn more of the current into your eddy, and make the whirlpool larger.”
“Well, and we will make it so,” said David; “and then it will be an excellent mole.”
“Yes,” said Mary Anna, “there will be all sorts of water around it;—a whirlpool above, a little harbour in the crotch, a current in front, and still water below. It will be as good a place for sailing boats as I ever saw.”
But the twilight was coming on, and they all soon returned to the house.
Madam Rachel had a little double-bedroom, as it was called, where she slept. It was called a double-bedroom, because it consisted, in fact, of two small rooms, with a large arched opening between them, without any door. In one room was the bed, which moved in and out on little trucks, for Caleb. In the other room was a table in the middle, with books and papers upon it. There was a window in one side, and opposite the arched opening which led to the bedroom was a small sofa.
Now, it was Madam Rachel's custom every evening, before the children went to bed, to take them into her bedroom, and hear them read a few verses of the Bible; and then she would explain the verses, and talk with them a little about what had occurred during the day, and give them good advice and good instruction. At such times the children usually sat upon the sofa, on one side of the table, and Madam Rachel took her seat on the other side of the table, in the chair, so as to face them. The children generally liked this very much; and yet she very seldom told them any stories at these times. It was almost all reasonings and explanations; and yet the children liked it very much.
CHAPTER VII.
THE SOFA
The boys took their places on the sofa, and afterwards laid their books upon the table. After that Madam Rachel began to talk about the occurrences of the day, as follows:—
“There are two or three things, boys, that I have been keeping to talk with you about this evening. One is the question you asked, Dwight, about Caleb's disobeying me, when he fell into the water.”
“Yes, mother,” said Dwight, looking up at once, very eagerly; “you told him never to go near the bank; and yet he went, and so he fell in.”
“But I could not help it,” said Caleb.
“Why, yes, mother, he certainly could help it; for he walked there himself of his own accord.”
“Very well; that is the question for us to consider; but, first, we must all be in a proper state of mind to consider it, or else it will do us no good. Now, Dwight, I am going to ask you a question, and I want to have you answer it honestly:—Which way do you wish to have this question, about Caleb's disobedience, decided?”
“Why,—I don't know,” said Dwight.
“Suppose I should come to the conclusion that Caleb did right, and should prove it by arguments, should you feel a little glad, or a little sorry?”
Dwight hung his head, and seemed somewhat confused, but said, doubtfully, that he did not know.
“Now, I think, myself,” said his mother, “that you have a secret wish to have it appear that Caleb is guilty of disobedience. You said he disobeyed, at first, from unkind feelings, which you seemed to feel towards him at the moment; and now, I suppose, you wish to adhere to it, so as to get the victory. Now, honestly, isn't it so?”
Dwight did not answer at first. He looked somewhat ashamed. Presently, however, he concluded, that it was best to be frank and honest; so he looked up and acknowledged that it was so.
“Yes,” said his mother; “and while you are under the influence of such a prejudice, it would do no good for us to discuss the subject, for you would not be convinced; so you had better give it up.”
Madam Rachel saw, while she was speaking, that Dwight did not look sullen and dissatisfied, but good-natured and pleasant; and so she knew that he had concluded to listen, candidly, to what she had to say.
“I think that Caleb was not to blame at all,” said Madam Rachel, “for two reasons. One is, that he was probably overwhelmed with terror. To be sure, as you say, the cow did not push him. He walked himself,—yet still he was impelled as strongly as if he had been pushed, though in a different manner.”
“Then there is another reason why Caleb is innocent of any disobedience. When I told him that he must not go to the high banks, I did not mean that he never must go, in any case whatever.”
“I thought you said he never must,” said David.
“I presume I did say so, and I made no exceptions; but still some exceptions are always implied in such a case. In all commands, however positive they may be, there is always some exception implied.”
“Why, mother?” said Dwight with surprise.
“It is so,” said his mother. “Suppose, for instance, that I were to tell you to sit down by the parlour fire, and study a lesson, and not to get out of your chair on any account. And suppose that, after I had gone and left you, the fire should fall down, and some coals roll out upon the floor, would it not be your duty to get up, and brush them back?”
“Why, yes,” said Dwight.
“So in all cases, very extreme and extraordinary occurrences, that could not, by possibility, have been considered, make exceptions. And Caleb, thinking, as he did, that he was in great danger from the cow, if he had thought of my command at all, he would have done perfectly right to have considered so extraordinary a case an exception, and so have retreated towards the brook, notwithstanding my commands. And now that question is settled.”
Here little Caleb, who had been sitting up very straight, and looking eagerly at his grandmother and at the other boys, during the progress of the conversation, drew a long breath, and leaned back against the sofa, as if he felt a good deal relieved.
“And now, Dwight, there is one thing I have seen in you to-day, which gave me a great deal of pleasure, and another which gave me pain.”
“What, mother,” said Dwight.
“Why, after I talked with you at noon, about teasing Caleb, you began to treat him very kindly. That gave me a great deal of pleasure. I saw that your heart was somewhat changed in regard to Caleb; for you seemed to take pleasure in making him happy, while before you took delight in making him miserable.”
Dwight looked gratified and pleased while his mother was saying these things.
“But then, in the course of the afternoon,” she continued, “the old malignant heart seemed to come back again. When I came down to see the mole, I found you in such a state of mind as to take pleasure in Caleb's suffering. You wanted to prove that he had told a lie, and looked disappointed when I shewed you that he had not. Then you wanted to prove he had disobeyed me, when, after all, you knew very well that he had not.”
“O, mother,” said Dwight.
“Yes, Dwight, I am very sorry to have to say so; but you undoubtedly had no real belief that Caleb had done wrong. Suppose I had told you I was going to punish him for disobeying me in retreating to the brook, should you have thought that it would have been right?”
“Why, no, mother,” said Dwight.
“You would have been shocked at such an idea. And now don't you see that all your attempts to prove that he had done wrong, was only the effect of the ill-will you felt towards him at the time. It was malice triumphing over your judgment and your sense of right and wrong. I told you, you know, that your resolutions would not reach the case.”
“Well, mother, I am determined,” said Dwight, very deliberatively and positively, “that I never will tease or trouble Caleb any more.”
“The evil is not so much in teasing and troubling Caleb, as in having a heart capable of taking any pleasure in it. That is the great difficulty.”
“Well, mother, I am determined I never will feel any pleasure in his trouble again.”
“I am afraid that won't depend altogether upon the determination you make. For instance, when you went to Caleb to-day, and kindly tried to persuade him to go down, and offered to carry his rocking-chair for him, your heart was then in a state of love towards him. Do you think you could then, by determination, have changed it from love to hate, and begun to take pleasure in teasing him?”
Dwight remembered how kindly and pleasantly he had felt towards Caleb at that time, and he thought that it would have been impossible for him then to have found any pleasure in tormenting him; and so he said, “No, mother, I could not.”
“And so, when you are angry with a person, and your heart is in a state of ill-will and malice towards him, does it seem to you that you can merely by a determination change it all at once, and begin to be filled with love, so as to feel pleasure in his happiness?”
Dwight was silent at first; he presently answered, faintly, that he could not.
“And if you cannot change your heart by your mere determination at the time, you certainly cannot by making one general determination, now beforehand, for all time to come.”
Dwight saw his helpless condition, and sighed. After a pause, he said,
“Mother, it seems to me you are discouraging me from trying to be a better boy.”
“No, Dwight; but I don't want you to depend on false hopes that must only end in your disappointment. Your determination will help in not indulging the bad feelings; but I want to have your heart changed so that you could not possibly have such feelings. I hope mine is. I once shewed the same spirit that you do; but now I don't think it would be possible for me to take any pleasure in teasing Caleb, or you, or David.
“I hope,” added Madam Rachel, “that God will give you a benevolent and tender heart, so that there shall be no tendency in you to do wrong. He will change yours, if you pray to him to do it. In fact, I hope, and sometimes I almost believe, that he has begun. I do not think you would have gone to Caleb to-day so pleasantly, and acknowledged your fault, as you did by your actions, and felt so totally different from what you had done, if God had not wrought some change in you. I have very often talked with children about such faults, as plainly and kindly as I did with you, and it produced no effect. When they went away, I found, by their looks and actions afterwards, that their hearts were not changed at all. And so, Dwight,” said she, “I have not been saying this to discourage you, but to make you feel that you need a greater change than you can accomplish, and so to lead you to God that you may throw yourself upon him, and ask him, not merely to help you in your determinations not to act out your bad feelings, but to change the very nature of them, or rather, to carry on the change, which I hope he has begun.”
Dwight remembered, while his mother was talking, how full his heart had been of kindness and love to Caleb, while he was helping him that afternoon, and he perceived clearly that he had not produced that state of mind by any of his own determinations that he would feel so before he actually did. He remembered how happy he had been at that time, and how discontented and miserable after he had been troubling Caleb; and he had a feeling of strong desire that God would change his heart, and make him altogether and always benevolent and kind.
Now, it happened that Caleb had not understood this conversation very well, and he began to be weary and uneasy. Besides just about this time he began to recollect something about his grandmother's beginning a story for him, when she took him up in her lap, after he came in from the mole. So, when he noticed that there was a pause in the conversation, he said,
“Grandmother, you promised to tell me a story about blind Samuel.”
“So I did,” said his grandmother smiling, “and I began it; but before I got through you got fast asleep.”
David and Dwight laughed, and so in fact did Caleb; and Madam Rachel then said that if he would tell David and Dwight the story as far as she had gone, she would finish it.
“Well,” said Caleb, “I will. Once there was a blind boy, and his name was Samuel; and, you see, he was going through the woods, and his father was with him. And his father walked along, and he walked along, and it was stony, and he said he would do just what his father said, because his father knew best,—and—and so he took hold of the string again.”
“What string?” said Dwight.
“Why, it was his father's string,” said Caleb, eagerly, looking up into Dwight's face.
“What did he have a string for?” said David.
“Why to lead him along by,” said Caleb.
“Yes—but why did not he take hold of his father's hand?” asked Dwight.
“Why,—why,—there was a snake in the road, I believe,—wasn't there, grandmother?”
His grandmother smiled,—for Caleb had evidently got bewildered, in his drowsiness, so that he had not a very distinct recollection of the story. She, therefore, began again, and told the whole. When she got to the place where she left off before, that is, to the place Samuel heard a splash in the water, Dwight started up, and asked, eagerly,
“What was it?”
“A stone, I suppose,” said David, coolly.
“No,” said Madam Rachel, “it was only the end of the stem of a small tree, which Samuel's father was trying to fix across the brook, so that he could lead his blind boy over. It was lying upon the ground, and he took it and raised it upon its end, near the edge of the bank, on one side, and then let it fall over, in hopes that the other end would fall upon the opposite bank. But it did not happen to fall straight across, and so the end fell into the water, and this was the noise that Samuel heard.
“He drew the stick back again, and then contrived to raise it on its end once more; and this time he was more successful. It fell across, and so extended from bank to bank. In a few minutes he succeeded in getting another by its side, and then he came back to Samuel.
