me I have the answers to his questions, but I am not very good at finding them. And I canât find the answers to long division at all.
Â
J ULY 14, 1843
I do not see that I will ever be able to keep simple accounts, for no one but Mr. Lane seems to feel arithmetic of any value. Father never wishes to discuss numbers. When Mother brings them up to say we have no money, Father tells her he cannot be bothered with such things. Perhaps if Father knew a little more about sums, he would understand why we are so poor.
Mr. Lane has spent all of his money to pay for Fruitlands and to keep us fed and clothed. I have seen him sit by himself and go over the account books with a worried look. His money has been used up. Yet we still have urgent needs.I canât help wondering how we will meet them. Perhaps Mr. Lane wishes to be sure that although our father knows nothing of numbers, his children will, for Mr. Lane takes time in our lessons for the doing of sums.
Lizzie is good-natured and listens patiently to all the questions that Father puts to us. Anna tries hard to give the correct answers, but sometimes when the questions are difficult she pleads a headache and slips away. I say what comes into my head and know at once it is a foolish answer. I wish I could learn to keep my silence.
After our lessons it is a pleasure to put on my sunbonnet and go out to weed the garden. With what vengeance I pull up the weeds! With what vigor I ply the hoe! I learn little during lessons, but the sitting still makes me a good laborer when at last I am freed.
Â
J ULY 16, 1843
Today we are busy in the house and in the fields, for Mr. Emerson is coming to visit Fruitlands. Just as Mr. Thoreau is my best friend, Mr. Emerson is a best friend to Mother and Father. He is very wise and has given usmoney for our experiment here. We are all anxious for his good opinion of Fruitlands.
Â
J ULY 16, 1843
I have heard Mr. Lane fussing about money. William says his father has spent all he had on Fruitlands, and he doesnât have any more. It is the same old story. We are to be impoverished once more. Father thinks it is shameful to work for wages, and he will not do it. This fall Mother will have to write to our grandfather or our uncle to beg for money. She has done it so often, she would rather die than do it again. I know she does it only to put food in our mouths. It makes me feel bad, but I donât see how we are to stop eating. We have enough from the garden to get through the summer but not enough for the winter.
That is the reason we all worked so hard to make Fruitlands look attractive to Mr. Emerson. He believes in Fatherâs dream, but he likes his roast mutton and beef and his puddings. He would not sit down happily to a dinner of beans and peas. He would rather help us with money than live with us.
When he arrived, Mr. Emerson greeted us with enthusiasm. He is a tall man, and so thin he would hardly make a shadow. Like Henry Thoreau he has a large hawklike nose. His blond hair falls over his forehead, and his keen blue eyes miss nothing.
His visit began with a trip through the house. He was much taken with the library and all of Mr. Laneâs books. In the upstairs he asked, âWhere do the girls sleep?â Father waved his hand in the direction of the attic stairway, saying we had âspacious quartersâ there. In truth we cannot walk upright in most of the attic, and the heat in the summer nights is beyond anything. Also spiders remain.
It was the same in the fields. Mr. Lane referred to the small sticks of trees they have planted as âthe orchard.â Father, sweeping his hand in the direction of the fields, spoke of the âbounteous harvestâ that would feed us in the fall. Though there is much barley planted, I donât believe there is enough wheat for many loaves of bread, and even if there were, where would we get the money to have it ground into flour at the mill? Still, I truly
Â
J ULY 14, 1843
I do not see that I will ever be able to keep simple accounts, for no one but Mr. Lane seems to feel arithmetic of any value. Father never wishes to discuss numbers. When Mother brings them up to say we have no money, Father tells her he cannot be bothered with such things. Perhaps if Father knew a little more about sums, he would understand why we are so poor.
Mr. Lane has spent all of his money to pay for Fruitlands and to keep us fed and clothed. I have seen him sit by himself and go over the account books with a worried look. His money has been used up. Yet we still have urgent needs.I canât help wondering how we will meet them. Perhaps Mr. Lane wishes to be sure that although our father knows nothing of numbers, his children will, for Mr. Lane takes time in our lessons for the doing of sums.
Lizzie is good-natured and listens patiently to all the questions that Father puts to us. Anna tries hard to give the correct answers, but sometimes when the questions are difficult she pleads a headache and slips away. I say what comes into my head and know at once it is a foolish answer. I wish I could learn to keep my silence.
After our lessons it is a pleasure to put on my sunbonnet and go out to weed the garden. With what vengeance I pull up the weeds! With what vigor I ply the hoe! I learn little during lessons, but the sitting still makes me a good laborer when at last I am freed.
Â
J ULY 16, 1843
Today we are busy in the house and in the fields, for Mr. Emerson is coming to visit Fruitlands. Just as Mr. Thoreau is my best friend, Mr. Emerson is a best friend to Mother and Father. He is very wise and has given usmoney for our experiment here. We are all anxious for his good opinion of Fruitlands.
Â
J ULY 16, 1843
I have heard Mr. Lane fussing about money. William says his father has spent all he had on Fruitlands, and he doesnât have any more. It is the same old story. We are to be impoverished once more. Father thinks it is shameful to work for wages, and he will not do it. This fall Mother will have to write to our grandfather or our uncle to beg for money. She has done it so often, she would rather die than do it again. I know she does it only to put food in our mouths. It makes me feel bad, but I donât see how we are to stop eating. We have enough from the garden to get through the summer but not enough for the winter.
That is the reason we all worked so hard to make Fruitlands look attractive to Mr. Emerson. He believes in Fatherâs dream, but he likes his roast mutton and beef and his puddings. He would not sit down happily to a dinner of beans and peas. He would rather help us with money than live with us.
When he arrived, Mr. Emerson greeted us with enthusiasm. He is a tall man, and so thin he would hardly make a shadow. Like Henry Thoreau he has a large hawklike nose. His blond hair falls over his forehead, and his keen blue eyes miss nothing.
His visit began with a trip through the house. He was much taken with the library and all of Mr. Laneâs books. In the upstairs he asked, âWhere do the girls sleep?â Father waved his hand in the direction of the attic stairway, saying we had âspacious quartersâ there. In truth we cannot walk upright in most of the attic, and the heat in the summer nights is beyond anything. Also spiders remain.
It was the same in the fields. Mr. Lane referred to the small sticks of trees they have planted as âthe orchard.â Father, sweeping his hand in the direction of the fields, spoke of the âbounteous harvestâ that would feed us in the fall. Though there is much barley planted, I donât believe there is enough wheat for many loaves of bread, and even if there were, where would we get the money to have it ground into flour at the mill? Still, I truly
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