|
|
One morning that Willy was in the parlour at breakfast-time, he enquired what was all that smoke which came up out of the tea-urn.
"It is not smoke," said his Mamma; "it is steam."
"It looks just like smoke," cried Willy.
"No, not exactly, for it is white, and smoke is more frequently black."
"Then what is steam, Mamma?"
"It is made of hot-water, my dear."
"I do think every thing is made of water!" cried Willy. "Snow is made of water, and ice is made of water, and steam is made of water."
"There is this difference," said his Mamma; "water is turned into snow and ice, when it is very cold; and water is turned into steam when it is very hot."
"But, Mamma, it is not very hot to-day, I am sure: look, there is snow falling as fast as it can fall."
"The weather is not hot, certainly," said his Mamma; "but the water in the urn is very hot, for it has been boiling over the fire for our breakfast, and the steam rises from that." Mamma then held a teaspoon over the steam, and the steam was stopped by the teaspoon, which in a short time was covered with it; and the steam was cooled by the cold teaspoon, and turned to water again,—small tiny drops of water; but Willy saw that it was water, and he not only saw it, but he felt it too, for he put his finger into the spoon, and felt that it was wet.
"This is not a cold teaspoon, Mamma," said he; "for it has almost burnt my finger, it is so hot."
"It was cold before I put it into the steam. What do you think has made it so hot now?"
"Oh, the hot steam, to be sure!"
"Then you see, Willy, the steam has warmed the spoon, and the spoon has cooled the steam, and turned it into water."
"Now, Mamma, let us catch a little of the smoke that is going up the chimney, and see if the spoon will not turn that into water."
Mamma took another spoon, and held it in the smoke, and after some little time the bright silver began to look dingy, and then it was covered with little blacks. Willy touched it, and said, "No, it is not wet; so smoke cannot be made of water." Then, looking at his fingers, he exclaimed, "Oh, Mamma! how I have dirtied my fingers with these nasty blacks!"
"No wonder," answered his Mother; "for these little blacks are very small bits of black coal, that fly up from the coal while it is burning: it is the heat of the fire which changes them into smoke."
"Then, Mamma," said Willy, "though smoke is not made of water, it is like steam in one thing, for it rises up because it is so hot."
"Very true," said his Mamma; "coal is turned into smoke by heat, just as water is turned into steam by heat."
Mamma then began pouring out the tea, and Willy observed that the water she poured out of the teapot was of a yellow colour, and the water she poured into the teapot was quite clear and without any colour.
"I wonder what happens inside the teapot, Mamma," said he; "for the water goes in white and it comes out yellow. I think you must have some yellow paint in the teapot to change its colour so."
"No," said Mamma, laughing; "I should not like tea if it were made of paint. You know, Willy, that paint is not good to eat or to drink."
"Oh yes, Mamma; for when you are painting you will not allow me to put the paint to my mouth; no, nor even my fingers, if I have daubed them with paint."
"Well," said Mamma, "I will show you what it is that makes the water yellow." She opened the tea-caddy, and showed him the tea within it. "You know, Willy, that when I make tea, I take out a few teaspoons full of this tea, and put it into the teapot; then I pour water from the urn upon it; and it is the tea that makes the water yellow."
"But the tea is black, Mamma, so it ought to make the water black instead of yellow?"
"The colour of the tea leaves, it is true, is dark, rather of a greenish-brown colour, but the juice within the leaves is of a yellow colour; and it is that which colours the water."
"Leaves, Mamma! What do you mean by leaves? I see none. The tea in the caddy looks like little bits of dry—I don't know what—dirt, I think."
"But let us see, Willy, what it looks like, after it has been in the teapot." So she opened the lid, and took out some of the tea with a spoon, and she spread some of the little bits of dry dirt, as Willy called them, upon a plate; and he was quite surprised to see that they were leaves, or rather pieces of leaves, for there were half leaves and quarters of leaves; but they could scarcely find one whole leaf. He saw clearly, however, by their shape that they were leaves, and by their colour, for they were green. Then he compared them with some of the tea in the caddy, and exclaimed, "They do not look like the same thing!" He tried to unroll some of the dry tea, and spread it out upon the plate, as Mamma had done the tea she had taken out of the teapot, but it broke all to pieces, it was so brittle.
"How can there be any juice in this dry tea, Mamma?" asked Willy. "I am sure there is nothing wet or even sticky in it."
"The juice is dried up in it," replied his Mother; "but the hot water melts it, and when it is melted it comes out of the leaves into the water and colours it; and then we call the water tea."
Willy wondered that the green tea leaves should make yellow tea.—"Then I dare say, Mamma, strong tea is when there is a great deal of the juice melted and mixed with the water, and weak tea when there is only a little."
"Just so," said his Mamma. "And how do you think I contrive to make it strong or weak?"
"Why, you pour it out first for me, I know, Mamma, before there is much juice melted, and then you let it wait longer in the teapot for you and Papa, for more juice to melt, and then it looks stronger."
"Yes," said Mamma; "the more juice is melted the stronger it tastes of tea; but strong tea is not good for little boys: so when I treat you with a little tea, I pour it out before much juice is melted."
"Do, pray Mamma, give me a little of the dry tea out of the caddy."
Mamma enquired what he wanted it for.
"Oh, that is a secret, Mamma I cannot tell you now, but I will by-and-by."
Then his mamma gave him a teaspoon full of tea, and he ran away with it into the nursery. His Grandmamma had given him a set of doll's tea-things, and he thought he should like very much to make some tea in his tiny teapot, and take a teacup of it to his Mamma. He begged Ann to get him a little sugar, and a little milk; and while she was gone to fetch some, he put the tea into the pot, and poured some water out of the water-jug over the tea; and as soon as Ann returned with the sugar and milk, he poured out the tea.—This will never do for Mamma," thought he; "it looks like plain water. I must let it wait longer in the pot, to melt more of the juice;" so he waited, and waited, and then tried again; but it would not do: he could not make the tea strong; and he was quite vexed, and began to feel cross, because he was disappointed in the pleasure he expected of surprising his Mamma by bringing her a cup of nice strong tea; so, instead of thanking Ann for the trouble she had taken to fetch him the milk and the sugar, he spoke to her quite out of temper.
"If you behave in that way, Willy," cried Ann, "do not ask me to go for what you want another time. I will fetch and carry willingly for good children, but not if they are cross."
Willy now found out that he really was cross: he did not know it before, because he was thinking of nothing but his disappointment. So he remembered what his Mamma had told him, and thought, "Now I will try to command myself not to be cross, and instead of being out of temper about the tea, will go and ask Mamma why I cannot make it strong; but then I cannot surprise her with my nice tiny cup of tea: that is a great pity; but being cross will do no good." So he went to his Mamma, and told her all about it; and she explained to him that the reason he could not make good strong tea was, because he had used cold water instead of hot water. "Now," said she, "cold water will not melt the juices, at least not nearly so well nor so quickly as hot water; and the water must not only be hot but boiling to make good tea."
The next morning, when Mamma was at breakfast, she called Willy to bring his little teapot, and make some tea with the hot water from the urn. Willy ran to fetch his teapot; but when he opened the lid to put in the tea, he found that it was full already.
"Oh, I forgot to empty the cold water tea," cried he; and he emptied it into the slop basin, and was surprised to see that the tea was of a strong yellow colour. "Look, Mamma!" he cried, "the cold water has melted the juices of the tea leaves at last."
"Yes, it has; but it has taken all day and all night to melt them, and now it has made cold tea; and I think hot tea this cold weather is much better."
Willy then made some tea with hot water in his little teapot, and it was as good as that which his Mamma made in the great teapot.
"You will not ask me for any tea from my teapot to-day, Willy; you have got enough in your own."
"Oh, but I shall, Mamma," cried Willy; "because I want you so much to drink a cup of my tea; that was the secret; and I meant to surprise you, and bring you one of my tiny cups on a little waiter: would not that have surprised you, Mamma? and when I could not make the tea strong, I was so sorry that I had very near—you know what, Mamma?" said he, looking down and blushing.
"Well, I am very glad it was only very near, Willy: I suppose you commanded yourself to be good."
"Yes, Mamma; and I obeyed so well, that the tears went back again into my eyes, and I did not cry."
"That is a good boy," said his Mamma, giving him a kiss.