To teach Bonnyboy the trade of a carpenter was a task which would have exhausted the patience of all the saints in the calendar. If there was any possible way of doing a thing wrong, Bonnyboy would be sure to hit upon that way. When he was eleven years old he chopped off the third joint of the ring-finger on his right hand with a cutting tool while working the turning-lathe; and by the time he was fourteen it seemed a marvel to his father that he had any fingers left at all. But Bonnyboy persevered in spite of all difficulties, was always cheerful and of good courage, and when his father, in despair, exclaimed: “Well, you will never amount to anything, Bonnyboy,” he would look up with his slow, winning smile and say:
“Don’t worry, father. Better luck next time.”
“But, my dear boy, how can I help worrying, when you don’t learn anything by which you can make your living?”
“Oh, well, father,” said Bonnyboy, soothingly (for he was beginning to feel sorry on his father’s account rather than on his own), “I wouldn’t bother about that if I were you. I don’t worry a bit. Something will turn up for me to do, sooner or later.”
“But you’ll do it badly, Bonnyboy, and then you won’t get a second chance. And then, who knows but you may starve to death. You’ll chop off the fingers you have left; and when I am dead and can no longer look after you, I am very much afraid you’ll manage to chop off your head too.”
“Well,” observed Bonnyboy, cheerfully, “in that case I shall not starve to death.”
Grim had to laugh in spite of himself at the paternal way in which his son comforted him, as if he were the party to be pitied. Bonnyboy’s unfailing cheerfulness, which had its great charm, began to cause him uneasiness, because he feared it was but another form of stupidity. A cleverer boy would have been sorry for his mistakes and anxious about his own future. But Bonnyboy looked into the future with the serene confidence of a child, and nothing under the sun ever troubled him, except his father’s tendency to worry. For he was very fond of his father, and praised him as a paragon of skill and excellence. He lavished an abject admiration on everything he did and said. His dexterity in the use of tools, and his varied accomplishments as a watch-maker and a horse-doctor, filled Bonnyboy with ungrudging amazement. He knew it was a hopeless thing for him to aspire to rival such genius, and he took the thing philosophically, and did not aspire.
It occurred to Grim one day, when Bonnyboy had made a most discouraging exhibition of his awkwardness, that it might be a good thing to ask the pastor’s advice in regard to him. The pastor had had a long experience in educating children, and his own, though they were not all clever, promised to turn out well. Accordingly Grim called at the parsonage, was well received, and returned home charged to the muzzle with good advice. The pastor lent him a book full of stories, and recommended him to read them to his son, and afterward question him about every single fact which each story contained. This the pastor had found to be a good way to develop the intellect of a backward boy.
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