her a rolling mouse, for her kitten to play with.
Miss Anne had a way of unwinding a ball of yarn a little, and then fastening it with a pin, so that it would not unwind any farther. Then Lucy could take hold of the end of the yarn, and roll the ball about upon the floor, and let the kitten run after it. She called it her rolling mouse.
Miss Anne made her a mouse, and Lucy played with it for some time. At last the kitten scampered away, and Lucy could not find her. Then Anne proposed to Lucy that she should finish the work of re-arranging her treasury.
“Let me see,” said Miss Anne, “if you remember what I told you the other day. What were the kinds of things that I advised you to carry away?”
“Why, there were the sulky things.”
“The what!” said Miss Anne.
“No, the big things, – the big things,” said Lucy.
“The bulky things,” said Miss Anne, “not the sulky things!”
“Well, it sounded like sulky,” said Lucy; “but I thought it was not exactly that.”
“No, not exactly, – but it was not a very great mistake. I said useless things, and bulky things, and you got the sounds confounded.”
“Con – what?” said Lucy.
“Confounded, – that is, mixed together. You got the s sound of useless, instead of the b sound of bulky; but bulky and sulky mean very different things.”
“What does sulky mean? I know that bulky means big.”
“Sulkiness is a kind of ill-humor.”
“What kind?”
“Why, it is the silent kind. If a little girl, who is out of humor, complains and cries, we say she is fretful or cross; but if she goes away pouting and still, but yet plainly out of humor, they sometimes say she is sulky. A good many of your playthings are bulky; but I don’t think any of them are sulky, unless it be old Margaret. Does she ever get out of humor?”
“Sometimes,” said Lucy, “and then I shut her up in a corner. Would you carry old Margaret up garret?”
“Why, she takes up a good deal of room, does not she?” said Miss Anne.
“Yes,” said Lucy, “ever so much room. I cannot make her sit up, and she lies down all over my cups and saucers.”
“Then I certainly would carry her up garret.”
“And would you carry up her bonnet and shawl too?”
“Yes, all that belongs to her.”
“Then,” said Lucy, “whenever I want to play with her, I shall have to go away up garret, to get all her things.”
“Very well; you can do just as you think best.”
“Well, would you?” asked Lucy.
“I should, myself, if I were in your case; and only keep such things in my treasury as are neat, and whole, and in good order.”
“But I play with old Margaret a great deal, – almost every day,” said Lucy.
“Perhaps, then, you had better not carry her away. Do just which you think you shall like best.”
Lucy began to walk towards the door. She moved quite slowly, because she was uncertain whether to carry her old doll up stairs or not. Presently she turned around again, and said,
“Well, Miss Anne, which would you do?”
“I have told you that I should carry her up stairs; but I’ll tell you what you can do. You can play that she has gone away on a visit; and so let her stay up garret a few days, and then, if you find you cannot do without her, you can make believe that you must send for her to come home.”
“So I can,” said Lucy; “that will be a good plan.”
Lucy went immediately to the treasury, and took old Margaret out, and everything that belonged to her. This almost made a basket full, and she carried it off up stairs. Then she came back, and got another basket full, and another, until at last she had removed nearly half of the things; and then she thought that there would be plenty of room to keep the rest in order. And every basket full which she had carried up, she had always brought first to Miss Anne, to let her look over the things, and see whether they had better all go. Sometimes Lucy had got something in her basket which Miss Anne thought had better remain, and be kept in the treasury; and some of the things Miss Anne said were good for nothing at all, and had better be burnt, or thrown away, such as old papers, and some shapeless blocks, and broken bits of china ware. At last the work was all done, the basket put away, and Lucy came and sat down by Miss Anne.
“Well, Lucy,” said Miss Anne, “you have been quite industrious and persevering.”
Lucy did not know exactly what Miss Anne meant by these words; but she knew by her countenance and her tone of voice, that it was something in her praise.
“But perhaps you do not know what I mean, exactly,” she added.
“No, not exactly,” said Lucy.
“Why, a girl is industrious when she keeps steadily at work all the time, until her work is done. If you had stopped when you had got your basket half full, and had gone to playing with the things, you would not have been industrious.”
“I did, a little, – with my guinea peas,” said Lucy.
“It is best,” said Miss Anne, “when you have anything like that to do, to keep industriously at work until it is finished.”
“But I only wanted to look at my guinea peas a little.”
“O, I don’t think that was very wrong,” said Miss Anne. “Only it would have been a little better if you had put them back upon the shelf, and said, ‘Now, as soon as I have finished my work, then I’ll take out my guinea peas and look at them.’ You would have enjoyed looking at them more when your work was done.”
“You said that I was something else besides industrious.”
“Yes, persevering,” said Miss Anne.
“What is that?”
“Why, that is keeping on steadily at your work, and not giving it up until it is entirely finished.”
“Why, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “I thought that was industrious.”
Here Miss Anne began to laugh, and Lucy said,
“Now, what are you laughing at, Miss Anne?” She thought that she was laughing at her.
“O, I am not laughing at you, but at my own definitions.”
“Definitions! What are definitions, Miss Anne?” said Lucy.
“Why, explanations of the meanings of words. You asked me what was the meaning of industrious and persevering; and I tried to explain them to you; that is, to
