rISS n 1 1(111 ^o rill diislx niihhcdv I'he F; armer's by Boy Clift on Johnson With Ilhistrations by the Author New York THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. Publishers LIBHARY of CONGRESS Two Coolw Received SEP 16 \90r -„ Cooynrht Bntry •^ /? /'TO/ CLASS A uc, No. COPY a. COPYRIOHT, 19C7, BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL .V CO. PUIILISHEU, SeITEMBER, I907. INTRODUCTORY NOTE I SUPPOSE there is a good deal of fun in being a boy anywhere; but I shall always firmly believe that the best place in the world to enjoy life in one's youth is in the New England country. Probably all the northeastern portion of the I'nited States has much the same charm. However, I know in my own experience what it is to be a New England boy, and if I were to live the old days over I would not want to risk venturing the least bit across the line into other parts lest I should miss some evanescent delight or other — I can hardly tell what — which I imagine New England has all to itself. This volume shows the farm boy as I used to know him — at work and at play, in all seasons, and under such varied conditions as come into the average boy's experience. Such an experience is of course not all gayety. There are ups and downs ; but even so the fact is scarcely to be regretted. We would not appre- ciate the sunshine if we never had clouds ; and in looking back the hardships are often seen to have been fairies in dis, more or less, but his real Winter 13 happiness came wlien work was done, and he could wash up and sit down to his su]jj)er. The consciousness that he had finished ihc day's kdx)r, the comfort of tlic indoor warmth, the i<.een ajjpetite he had won — all com- bined to give such a complaisancy, both ])hysical and men- tal, as might move many a grown-up and pampered son of fortune to envy. The boy usuall}' s]X'nt his e\'enings very quietly. He studied his lessons at the kitchen table, or he drew up Friendly help in pulling ojj his boots close to tile fitting room lire and read a stor\ 1 taper. There was not so much literature in the averatre famiiv but that 14 The Farmer's Boy the boy would go through this paper from beginning to end, advertisements and all, and he looked at the ])ictures half a dozen times over. In the end, the paper was laid away in a closet upstairs, and when he happened on dull times and didn't know what else to do with himself, he wandered uj) there and delved in this ])ile of papers. He found such an experience })articularh- }jleasant, for it stirred up the echoes of past enjoyment by a renewed acquaintance with the stories and pictures he had found interesting long before. Evenings were varied with family talks, and some-times the boy induced his grandfather to repeat some old rhymes, tell a story, or sing a song. When there were several children in the family, things often became (|uite li\ely after supi)er. The older children were called on to amuse the younger ones, and they had some high times. There was lots of fun and noise, and squalling, too, and some energetic remarks and actions on the ])art of tlie elders, calculated to ])Ut a sudden sto]) to certain of the most enter] )rising and reckless of the ])roceedings. The baby was a continual subject of solicitude. His tottering steps gave him many a fall, even on a le\el, yet he aspired to climb e\-er\tliing climbal)le; and if he did not tumble down two or three times getting up, lie was jjrettv sure to exi)erience a disastrous descent after the ac- complishment of liis ambilion. He made astonishing ex])e- Winter 15 ditions on his hands and knees, and it seemed as if he was liable to be stumbled over and annihilated almost any- where. The parents realized these things, and is it any wonder, when the rest of the tlock got to flying around the room full tilt, that they were alarmed for the baby, and that their voices became raspy and forceful? Blindman's buff and tag and general skirmishing were not altogether suited to the little room where, besides the chairs and lounge and organ, there was a hot stove and a table with a lamp on it. A ])erson needed some practice to get much satisfaction from a conversation carried on amid the hubbub. You had to shout every word; and if the children ha]:)pened to have a special fondness for you, they did most of their tumbling right around your chair. Some of the children's best times came when the father and mother threw off all other cares and thoughts, and were for the time being the little folks' companions in the evening enjoyment. What roaring fun the small peoj)le had when their father i)layed wheelbarrow with them. With what keen delight they watched his motions while he puzzled them with some of the sleight-of-hand tricks he learned when he was young; and how ha])])v thev were when mamma became a much -entertained listener while the oldest boy sj)oke a piece, and rolK-d his voice, and kept his arms wa\'ing in gestures from beginning to end I l6 The Farmer's Boy The other children were quite overpowered by the larger boy's eloquence. Even the baby sat in cj^uiet on the floor, and let his mouth drop open in astonishment. The mother was apt to be more in sympathy with these goings-on than the father, and it was on such occasions as he happened to be absent that they had most of this sort of celebration. At such a time, too, the children waxed confidential, and told what calling they intended to adopt when they grew up. This one would be a storekeeper, this one a minister, this one a doctor, this one a singer. They all intended to be rich and famous, and to do fine things for their mother some day. They did not pick out anv of the callings for love of gain jjrimarily, but be- cause they thought they would enjoy the life. Indeed, when Tommy said he was going to be a minister, the rea- son he gave for this desire was that he wanted to ring the bell every Sunday. Bedtime came on a progressive scale, gauged by ihr age of the individual. First the baby was tucked away in his crib. Then the three-year-old went through a linger- ing ])rocess of preparation, and after a little run in his nightgown about the room, he was stowed away in crib number two, and his mother sang him a lullab\ . These two occupied the same sleeping-room as the jmrents, and il adjoined the sitting-room. The door to it had been o])en all the e\ening, and it was comfortably warm. Winrer \n Girls and boys of eight or ten years old would take their o\A-n lamps and manh olT by themselves at an earlv hour to the cold chambers. Some of the upper rooms had a stovepipe running through, which served to blunt the edge of the cold a trille, or there might be a register or hole in the floor to allow the heat to come up from below; but, as a rule, the chambers were shivery places in winter, and when the youngsters crept in between the icy sheets, their teeth were set chattering, and it was some minutes before the delightful warmth which followed gained ascendency. The boy who sat uj) as late as his elders was usually well started in his teens. Children were not inclined to complain of early hours unless something uncommon was going on. I1iey were tired enough by bedtime. Even the older members of the family were physically weary with the day's work, and the evening talk was apt to be lagging and drowsy in its tone. The father would get to ya\\Tiing over his reading, and the mother to nodding over her sewing. Many times the chiefs of the house- hold would themselves start bedward soon after eight; and the growing boy usually disregarded the i)rivilege of late hours and took himself off at whatever time after supper his tiredness began to get overi)owering. It Avould be difficult to say surely that the bov's room I described early in this chapter was an a\erage one. The l8 The Farmer's Boy boy was not coddled with the best room in the house. In certain dwellings the upper story had but two or three rooms that were entirely finished. The rest was open space roughly tloored, and with no ceiling but the rafters and boards of the roof; and some boys had their beds in such (juarters, or in a little half-garret room in the L. These unfinished spaces were the less agreeable if the roof happened to be leaky. Sounds of dripping water or sifting snow within one's room are not pleasant. On the other hand, there were ])lenty of boys who had rooms with striped paper on the walls, and ])Ossibly a rag carpet under foot, not to s])eak of other things ecjually ornate. Jn the matter of knickknacks, most boys did not fill their rooms to any extent with them. The girls were more apt to do that. But a boy was pretty sure to have at least a few treasures in his room. He was not \ery j)articular where he stowe'd them, and he was like!}- to have some severe trials about liouse-tleaning time. His mollier failed to appreciate the \alue of his s])ecial belongings^ and was not in sym])alli\' with liis method of placing them. She had a good deal to do tlurefore with their getting disarranged and thrown awa}'. if fortuni' fa\"ore(l the bov with an old bureau, hv was fairlv safe; but things Ik' ]ui1 on the >hi'lf and >tan b\- ha\ing lo replenish the slock before the regidation lime the night foUowing. Sometimes he tried 24 The Farmer's Boy to avoid the responsibihty of a doubtfully filled woodbox by referring the case to his mother. "Is that enough, mamma?" he said. "Have you filled it?" she asked. "It's pretty full," rephed the boy. "Well, perhaps that'll do," responded his mother, sym- pathetically, and the boy became at once conscience free and cheerful. All through the day, when the boy was in the home neigh- borhood, he was continually resorting to the stoves to get w^arm. Every time he came in he made a few passes over the stove with his hands, and he must be crowded for time if he could not take a turn or two before the fire to give the heat a chance at all sides. If he had still more leisure, he secured an apple from the cellar or a cooky from the pantry, and ate it while he warmed up ; or he went into the sitting-room and sat by the stove there, and read a little in the paper. One curious thing he early found out was, that he got cold much ([uickcr whvn he was working than wlu-n he was ])laying; but he quite failed to see that this was because he went at his tasks with less energy, and that because he had less interest in them his fancy exaggerated the discomforts. Probably the majority of New England boys spent most of the winter in school; though in tlie hill lowns, where roads went- bad and houses much scattered, the Winter 25 smaller schools were closed. W'liik' he attended school, the l3oy had not mucli lime for anything except the home chores ; but on Saturdays, and in vacation, he might now and then go into the woods with the men. There was no small excitement in clinging to the sled as it pitched along through the rough wood roads amid a clanking of chains and the shouts of the driver. The men, who were familiar with the work, seemed to have no hesitation in driving anywhere and over all sorts of obstacles. The boy did not know whether he was most exhilarated or frightened, but he had no thought of showing a lack of courage, and he hung on, and when he reached the end of the journey, thought he had been having some great fun. The bo\- had brought his own small axe, and was all eagerness to j)rove his \irtues as a woodsman. He whacked away energetically at some of the young growths, and when he brought to the ground a sapling three inches through, he was triumphant, and wanted all the other cho])pers to look and see what he had done. He found himself getting into quite a sweat over his work, and he had to roll up his earlaps and take his overcoat off and hang it on a stump. Then he dug into the work again. In time the labor became monotonous to him, and he was moved to tramp through the snow and investigate the work of the others. His father was making a clean, wide gash in the side of a great hemlock. M\cr\ ])Iow 26 The Farmer's Boy was effective, and seemed to go just where he wanted it to. The boy wondered why, when he himself cut off a tree, he made his cut so jagged. He stood a long time watching his father's chips fly, and then gained a safe distance to see the tree tremble and totter as the oppo- site cut deepened, and neared its heart. What a mighty crash the tree made when it fell I How the snow flew, and the branches snapped ! The boy was awed for the moment, then was fired with enthusiasm, and rushed in with his small axe to help trim off the branches. After a time there came a willingness that his father should linish the operation, and he wandered off to see how the other workers were getting on. By and by he stirred u]) the neighborhood with shouts to the effect that he liad found some tracks. His n>ind immediately became chaotic witli ideas of hunting and trapping. Now that he had begun to notice, he discovered frequent other tracks, and some, he was prettv sure, were those of foxes and some of rabbits and some of s(|uirrels. Why, the woods were just full of game I - he would bring out his box trap tomorrow, and tlie cerlaintv grew on him ihat he wouhl-not onl\- catih some creatures ihat would j)ro\e a pleasant addition lo the famil\- larder, but he would also have numerous skins nailed u]) on tlie side of thi- barn that would bring him a nice little sum of pocket monev. Winter 27 That evening he brought out the box Iraj) and got it into working order, and made all the younger children wild with excitement over his story of the tracks he had seen, and his ])lans for tra])|)ing. They each wanted a __ 4(Rr V 'A "i' \ A chipmunk tip a tree share, and were greatl\' disa])i)oinled the next day when their father would not lei ihcm all go to the woods. The boy set his trap, and mo\ed it e\er\- few days 28 The Farmer's Boy to what he thought would prove a more favorable place, bui he had no luck to boast of. Yet he caught something three times. The first time he had the trap set in an evergreen thicket in a little space almost bare of snow. He was pleased enough, one day, to find the trap sprung, and at once became all eagerness to know what he had inside. He pulled out the spindle at the back and looked in, but the tiny hole did not let in light enough. \'ery cautiously he lifted the lid a trifle. Still nothing was to be seen, and he feared the trap had sprung itself. When he ventured to raise the lid a bit more, a little, slim-legged field-mouse leaped out. The boy clapped the lid down hard, but he was too late. The mouse ho]3pcd awa}', and in a flash had disappeared into a hole at the foot of a small tree. The boy was disappointed to have even such a creature escape him. The next time, whatever it was he caught gnawed a hole through the corner of the Ijox, and had gone about its business when tlie box- made his morning visit to the trap. Then he took the trap home and lined the inside with tin. He had no luck for some days after, and finall}- forgot the trajj altogellier. It was not till spring that lie ha])]iene deposited in the home yard. He knew that so lonu; as there was a stiek of it left he would never have a moment of leisure that would not run the risk of beinii; interrupted with a suggestion that he go out and shake the saw awhile. The hardest woods, that made the hottest fires, were the ones the saw bit into most slowh- and were the most discouraging. The best the bov could do was to hunt out such soft wood as the ])ile contained, and all the small sticks. He attained some ^•arietv in his labor by ])iling u]) the sawed sticks in a bulwark to keep the wind off, only it has to be acknowl- edged that he never really succeeded in accomplishing this purpose. But the unsawcd pile grew gradually smaller, and his folks were not so se\ere that they expected the boy to do a man's work or to keej) at it as steadih' as a person of mature years. He stopped now and then to ])la\- with the smaller children, and to go to the house to see what time it was, or to gel something to eat. Besides, his father worked with him a good deal, and if there were times when the minutes went slowly, the days, as a whole, slipped along (juickly, and, before the boy was aware, winter was at an end if the woodjjile wasn't. II SPRING WITH the coming of ^Nlarch comes spring, ac- cording to the almanac, but in New Eng- land the snow-storms and wintry gales hold sway often to the edge of April. Yet some quite vigor- ous thaws generally occur before the end of the month. There are occasional days of such warmth and quiet lliat you can fairly hear the snow melt, and the air is full of the tinkle of running brooks. You catch the sound of a woodpecker tapping in the orchard, and about that time the small boy would tumble into the house, jubilant over the fad that he had seen a bluel)inl Hilling llirough tlie branches of the elm before the house. All the children made haste to run forlh into ihe yard to see the sight. Even the mother llirew a shawl over her head and slcp])cd out on the pia/za. "Yessir! ihere he is!" said Frank^'s }(ningcr l)r()lliers, 'J'omnn- and Johnny, excitedly. ''That's a blucl)ir(l, sure l)op!" Puddles had gathered in the soggy snow along the road- side, and the liltie stream in llie meadow had overflowed :!0 Sjiring 31 its banks. Wlirn thr hoy ])(.M\c'i\(.'(l ihis, lie hrcamc imnu-diak'ly anxious to grl into his ruhhcT hoots and c him, and con- le-nlc'd herself with admonitions not to stav out loo long, not to wade in too dee]), not to get his ilothes wet, etc., etc. The boy began with one of the small jjuddle^, t'or he had these cautions in his mind, hut llie scope of his en- terpri.se continually enlarged, and he |)resentlv was Irving to determine just how deej) a phut.' he could \enture into without letting the water em loat h oMr hi> boot-top^. He 32 The Farmer's Boy did not desist from the experiment until he feh a cold trickle douTi one of his legs, from wliich sensation he con- cluded that he got in just a little too far that time, and he beat a hasty retreat. But he had made his mind easy on the point as to how deep he could go, and now turned his attention to poking about with a stick he had picked up. He was C[uite charmed with the way he could make the water and slush spatter with tliat stick. When he grew tired of this performance, and the accumulating wet began On Ihr joirr over llic brook to pcnctrali' hi> clotliiug Iuti' and ilu'i"i', W- adjounu'd to the meadow and set his slit k saih'ng down the >iream. ]l liiled his heart with di'lighl to set.' liow it |iiuhed and \\hii"led. and he slumped along the hrook l)orders and Spring 33 shouted al it as lie kr])l il c-oni])an\-. Later he returned to the roadway and made hah' a (U)zen (hims or more to stop the tiny rills that were coursing down its furrows. He did this with >ueh serious tlioughtfulness and with such frequent, studious j)auscs as would well fit the actions ot the world's great philoso])hers. Xo doubt the boy was making diseoxeries and learn- ing lessons; for the farm, with \aried Xalure always so close, is an excellent kindergarten, and the farm children are all the time improving their opportunities after some fashion. When the boy went indoors, his mollu'r showed symp- toms of alarm o\er his condition. Ifc thought he had ke])t ])retty dry, InU his mother wanted to know what on earth he had been doing to gel so wet. "Ain't Ix'en doin' nothin'," responded Tommy. "Well, I should >ay so I" remarked his mother. " Here, you let me sit you in this chair to kind o' drean, while i pull off llicm sopi)in" miltens." She wrung the mittens out at the sink and hung them on the line back of the stoye. Next she pulled off the boy's boots, and stood him uj) while she remo\e(l his owr- coat, and lastly jnished him, chair and all, up by the lire, wheri' iu' i ould |»ut his \cv\ on the sto\e hearth. Tommy did not see the necessity :or all this fuss. He felt dry enough, and all right; yet, so long as his motlur did not 34 The Farmer's Boy get disturbed to the chastising point, he found a good deal of comfort in having her attend to him in this way. Com] art by the fire It was on one of the still, sunshiny March days that il occurred to the oldest boy of the household the majile saj) mu>l have begun to run. He did not waste much time in making tracks for ihe shop, where he hunted u]) some old s])Outs and an auger. He intended U) tap two or three of tile trees near the house, anyway. There was no lack of helpi^rs. .Ml the smaller t hildren wert' on luind to watt h and ad\i>e hiiu, and to fet( h pan> from the house Spnnj; 35 and pro]) ihcm up under tlu- spouts. Idii-y watclu'd raj^a-rly for the ai)pc"arani(.- of ihu first droj)s, and whi-n thcv sighted tluni facli cxtlainx'd : "Tlu'ri.' it is I 'Vhv sa]) runs I" and ihcy wanted ilicir olck-r hroilicr to slo]) his boring at the next tree and eonie and look. Bui Frank feU that he was too old to >h()w enthusiasm about such things, and he sim])ly told theni that he guessed he had "seen sap 'fore now." The chiklren took turns a])pl\ing llieir moutli> to the end of spout number one to catch the llrst (Irojjs thai trickled down it. In days following thev were fre(|uent visitors to these taj^ped trees, with ihe avowed purpose of seeing how the sap was running; but it was to be noticed that al the same time they seemed always to lind it con- venient to lake a drink from a ])an. In the more hilly regions of \ew Kngland most of ih.e farms have a sugar orchard on them, and the tree-tapjiing that began about the house was soon transferred to the woods. The boy went along, too - indeed, what work was there about a farm that hv (\u\ noi hiiw a hand in, either of his own will or because he liad to ? Bui the jjhase of sugar making I wi>li to sj)eak of now particularly is that found on the farms which possessed no ma])le orchard. The boy saw that the trees about tlu' house were attended to, as a matter of course, and he guanU-d the pans and warned off the neighb()r>' bovs wh.en he 36 The Farmer's Boy thought they were making too free with the pans' con- tents. Each morning he went out with a pail, gathered the sap, and set it boihng in a kettle on the stove. In time came the final triumph, when, some morning, the family left the molasses pot in the cupboard, and they had maple syrup on their griddle-cakes. Hoilin^ (lini'ii sap in the yard It was not e\X'rv bov whose enkT])i-isc' sl()p])i.(l wiili the tai)i)ing of ihc liomc yard shade trees. On iiiaii\- farms Sprino; 37 an occasional maple <^rew in tiic fields, anrl sometimes there were a few in a patch of near woodland, in such a case the boy cut a lot of elder stalks while it was still winter, cleaned out tlie pith, and sliaped them into spouts. At the tirst approach of mild weather he tapi)ed tlie scat- tered trees, and in order to catcli the sap. distributed among them every receptacle the house alTorded that (Vul not leak, or whose leaks could be soldered or beeswaxed. After that, while the season lasted, he and his brother swung a hea\y tin can on a staff between them and made period- ical tours sap-collecting. These fre(|uent tramps through mud and snow in all kinds of weather soon became mo- notonously wearisome, and the boys were not sorrv when the sap flow ended. With the going of the snow came a mud si)ell that lasted fully a month. To dri\e anywhere with a team took forever. It was drag, drag, drag, and sloj), sloj), slo]) all the way. Even the home dooryard was little better than a bog, and the boy could ne\er seem to step out an\where without coming in loaded with mud —at least, so his mother said. She had continually to be warning him to keep out of the sitting-room, and at times seemed to be thrown into as much consternation o\er some of his fool- ])rints that she found on the kitclien lloor as was Robinson Crusoe over the discovery of that lone footprint in the sand. Just as soon as she heard the boy's shullle on the j)ia/za ^8 The Farmer's Boy M.m^m 1 ■' .1/ ///( ydiuLidc ii.\il( liiii^^; ii laiiii ^i;i) by and caught si<^hl of him entcrinuj tlie kitchen door, slie said, "There, 1*' rank, don't }ou come in till you'\e wiped your feet." "I ha\'e \vi])ed 'em," said I'" rank. "\\'li_\-, jusi look at liiose boots of \()ur>!" his mother Spring 39 rcsponfk'd. "T should tliink xou'd ^ot aljoiU all tlu' mud lluTf was in the _\-ard on \'m.'" "1 n(.'\rr saw >uch st iik\- old stuff,'' declared I'Vank. "\'oui" l)i"oom'> ni(»t woi"e out alreadw" "Well."" i"e-niai"ke'd his mother, "what are you ,i^ettin' into the mud lor all o\er that way, e\er_\- lime you stcj) out? Pa's laid down l)oard> all around the }ard to walk on. \\'h\' don't vou ,1^0 on them?" "They ain't laid where I want to go," Frank re])lied. *'.\n\'wa\','" was hi> mother's final rema)"k, "1 can't ha\'e m\- kitthen lloor mussed up b}' you Irackin' in e\ery fnc minutes." l>ut the n'all\- >e\'ere experiences in this line came when the barnyard was cleaned out. For se\eral da}s the bo}"> shoes wei'e "a si,L!;ht," and his journeyings were accomj)anied witli such an odor that his mother warned him olT entirt'l}- from her domain. He was not allowed to walk in and get that ])ii'ce of pie for his lunch, but had it handed out to him tlirough the narrowly o])ened kitchen door. W'hi'n nK'altime arri\ed, he was commanded to lea\'e his boots and o\eralls in tlu' woodshed, and he came into tJie house in his stocking-feet. F\en then his mother made derogatory remarks, though he told her he "couldn't smell an\thing." .\fler the snow wt'Ut, it was astonishing how (piicklv the green would clothe the fields. Nature, with its bui->ting 40 The Farmer's Boy buds and abounding blossoms, was teeming with hfe again. I think the sentiment of the boy was touched by this season more than by any other. The unfolding of all this new life was full of mysterious charm. It was a delight to tread the velvety turf, to find the first flowers, to catch the oft-repeated sweetness of a phoebe's song, or the more forceful trilling of a robin at sundown. Spring appealed to the boy most strongly at nightfall. He could still feel the heat of the sun when it lingered at the horizon, and in tlie gentle warmth of its rays enjoyed a run about the yard, and clapped his hands at the little clouds of midges that were sporting in the air. As soon as the sun disapi)earcd, the cool damp of evening was at once apparent, and from the swam])y hollows came many strange pipings and croakings. The boy wondered vaguely about all the creatures that made these noises, and imitated their voices from the home la\Mi. When the dusk began to deepen into darkness, he was glad to get indoors to the light and warmth of tht' kitchen. To tell the truth, our boy was rather afraid of the dark. Just what he feared was l)Ut dimly delined, though bears, thieves, and Indians were among thi' fearsome shades that peopled tlie night glooms, it imagination i)ictured (bvadful i)ossibilities in the shapes and movements that greeted his eyesight. Spriiiij; 41 The onlv place ihat roused liis anxiety in the daytime was tlie eow stable. A hole in the lloor opened down into the bam cellar, and thi~. ia\it\- was always j^dooniy and mysterious, and >tirred the ho}'s fears every lime he had to clean out the stables. So he used to call the dog and send him under the barn to dri\e the s])Ooks away, and then would work like a bea\er to get the stables cleaned before the dog grew sick of his job and came out. A little burving-ground on a hill near his home also troubled him a good deal; for he knew that s])ooks liked to haunt )ust such places. While it was broad daxlighl he was all right, but when dusk came and he had to ])ass the lemeterv, he walked fast and stepped lightly. He was too scared to run; for it seemed to him if he did run, he would have a whole pack of ghosts right on his heels. However, when he got old enough to go to see the girls, his fears suddenK- left him, and he could come home i)ast the bur\-ing ground in the small hours of the morning without a tremor. While he was a little fellow, his fear of the dark e\en assailed him when he was in the house. He had a notion there might be a lurking sa\agt' in the ])anlr}', or the cellar, or in the dusk\' corners of the hallways, or, worst of all, imder his bed. Those fears were most \i\id after he had been reading some tale of desperate adwnlure or of mystery, dark doings, and e\il characters. \'ery good 42 The Farmer's Boy books and papers often had in them the elements that produced such scarey effects. These were the sources of his timidity; for dime-novel trash, although not alto- gether absent, was not common in the country. The boy did not usually acquire much of his fear from the talk of his fellows, and his parents certainly did not foster such feelings. It was undouljtedly his reading, mainly. He rarely felt fear if he had company, or if he was where it was light, or after he got into bed — that is, unless there were strange noises. What made these noises he heard sometimes in the night ? He certainly never heard such noises in the daytime. The boy did not fear rats. He knew tliem. Thev could race througli llie walls and grit their teeth on llie |)lastering, and tlirow all those l:)ricks and things, wliatewr they were, down inside llie liollow sj:)aces tliat lliey wanted to. iUit it was llii' creakings and crackings and softer noises, that lie couldn't tell what they were, which troubled him. The very best thai lie could do was to pull the covers up ()\er his head and shi\er into slee]) again. lUil if the boy had fi-iglits, ihey were inlermillent U)V the mo^l ])arl and soon foi-gollen. With liie ihawing of the snow on ihe h\\\> and the early rains there came, each spring, a limi' ot llood on all tin- brooks and ri\ers. No one a])])reciated this mori' than the bov who was so forlunalt' as to haw a home on the banks of a good-sized stream. W'aler, in whate\er shajie, Spring 43 possessed a magical delight for him, if we excej)l that for washing purj)Oses. it did not matter wiu'thcr it was a dirtv puddle or a sparkling rivulet or the spirting jet at the highway watering-trough - they all enticed him to j)addle and splash. He even saw a touch of the beauti- ful and sul)linu' in some of the water etTects. There was a charm to him in the jjlacid pond that mirrored every object along its banks, or, on l)risker days, in the choppy waves that broke the surface and curled up on the muddy shore. He liked to follow the course of a brook, and took pleasure in noting tlie clearness of its waters and in watching its cr^'stal leaps. When spi"ing changed the (piiet streams into mudd_\' torrents, and thev became foaming and wild and unfamiliar, the boy found the sight imj)ressivc and exhilarating. But it was on the larger rivers that the floods had most meaning. The water set back in all the hollows, and broad- ened into wide lakes on the meadows, and co\ered portions of the main road. The boy cut a notch in a >li( k and stU( k in his mark at the water's edge that he might keep posted as to how fast the r'wvv was rising. He got the spike pole and fished out the flood wood that floated within reach. If he was old enough to manage a boat, he rowed out into the stream and hitched on to an occasional log or large stick that was sailing along on the swift current. For this purpose, if he was alone, he had fastened at the 44 The Farmer's Boy back end of the boat an iron hook that he pounded into the log. It was hard, jerky work towing a log to shore, and he did not always succeed in landing liis capture. Sometimes the hook would keep pulling out; sometimes the thing he hitched on to was too bulky or clumsy, and, after a long, hard pull, panting and exhausted, he found himself gelling so far downstiTam llial 1k' rchnlaully knocked out the hook, rowfd in>h()ir,;ui(b ic]>t in the idch'es along the bank bat k to his slariing pkicc. Tlu-rc was SDiintr 45 just one trouble about this catcliinj^f llood-wood -— it increased the woodjjile niaterialh', and made a lot of work, sawin,!^ and cho])])in^, that the boy had )illle fanev for. W'litcliiiii^ jor loi^s DurinL^f llie early s])rinif there was sometimes a long- continuefl spell of dry weather, in the woods the trees were still bare, and the sunlijj;lil liad free access to the leaf- carpeted earlli. At such a lime, if a fire t^ot started among the shri\el]ed and tinder like leaves, it was no easy task to put it out. Whole neighborhoods sallied forth to light it, and several days and nights might ])a>s l)ef()ie it was under control. The boN' was among the first on the s|)()l, and with his hoe inunt-diatcK' be^an a xiirorous scralchini: 46 The Farmer's Boy to clear a path in the leaves that the fire Avoukl not Ijurn across. The company scattered, and sometimes the boy found himself alone. Close in front, extending away in both directions, was the ragged fire-line leaping and crac- kling. The woods were still, the sun shone bright, and there was a sense of mystery and danger in the presence of those sullen, devouring flames. Now came a putT of wind that caused the fire to make a sudden dash forward and that shrouded the boy with smoke. He ran back to a point of safety and listened to the far-off shouts of the men. The fire was across the path he had hoed, and he clambered up the hill to find company. When night came the boy wandered off home, to do his work and eat supi)er. If he could get permission, he was out again with his lioe in the evening. The scene was then more than e\er full of a wild charm. From the sombreness of tlic unburned tracts he looked into the hot, wavering line of daz/ling llames and on into regions where lingered many sparkling eml)ers wliicli the lire had not vet burned out. Xow and ihtn tlinv was a pik' ol wood that was a great mass of glowing coals; or he saw the high stum]) of some dead tree burning like a torch in tile 1)lackness. 'Vhv l)()y thought \hv mm (\n\ nww talking and advising tlian work. \lc (h'd not acn)iupli-li much him>L-h". Thr men kt])l togrthi'r, and lu' hung about tile half Hghted groups, h>trn((l to what was said, and (Jiugcr cookies wiih ihr oi1ht> did some (K'>ult()ry scratc'liin,^ lo kvv\) the fin- from ^;ainin,L,^ ni'w ground at ihc ]ioini ilu'y were <^uard- iiiLi;. \>y and 1)\' a man rame hallooim,^ his \\a\- through the woods to them, hrini^M'nu; a milk can lull of coffee. Every worker, old and younsj;. took a drink, and the\- all cracked jokes and exchanged opinions with the bearer till he started off to I'md the next ,L!;rou]). Some of the men stayed on hngers at the stow dam])er wlien hv was a babw He liked to look at the glow of a lamji; and a candle, with its soft llicker and halo, was especially' pleasing. Then those new matches his folks had got, that went off with a snap and burst at once into a sudden blaze ^ he had ne\er seen anything liki' them I The}' reminded him of the delights of I'"()urth of July. .\ chief event of tin- spring was a bonfire in the garden. There was an accumulation of di'ad \iiu> and old ])ea- brush and apj)le-tree trimmings that often made a large Ilea]). 'I"he lire was enjo\ab!e at \\hale\ir time it came, but it \\a> at it> best if thev touched it off in the evenini:. ^8 The Farmer's Boy The whole family then gathered to see it, and Frank fixed up a seat for his mother and the baby out of a board and some blocks, and invited some of the neighbors' boys to be on hand. He put an armful of leaves under a corner of the pile and set it on fire with some of those new matches. The neighbors' boys gathered around and told him how the lighting ought to be done, and even offered to do it themselves. When the blaze fairly started and began to trickle up through the twigs above it, the smaller children jumped for joy and clapped their hands, and ran to get handfuls of leaves and scattered rubbish to throw on. Frank poked the pile this way and that with his pitchfork, and the neighbors' boys lighted the ends of long sticks and waved them about in the air. Fven the baby cooed with delight. The father liad a rake and did most of the work that was really necessary, while the boys furnished all the action and noise essential to make the occasion a suc- cess. When the blaze was at its highest and the heat penetrated far back, the company became i|uiet, and they stood ab;)ut exchanging occasional words and simply watching \hv llames lick u]) the bru>h and Hash iii)war(l and disappi'ar amid the smoke and sparks that rose high toward the dark deeps of the sky. The frolic was resumed when the i)ile of brush began to fall inward, and presently the mother said she and the baby and the smaller children Sprin^T 49 must <;() [o ihr house Tlir (liildri'ii proli'Slcd, but i1k-v had to ii;o, nevcrlht'lcss. Xol Iohl,^ afterward the rmbcrs of thi- Tire wcri' all raked toifi'thrr. and I'Vank and the ncii'h- Rubbiuf:, doioi Old Hilly b()r>" b()y> tooled around a liltk- lons^n'r. and ijot about a half (lo/e-n Imal warminj,' u])S and liun tramped oil" home- ward in \vhi>tlinii; haii|iiiU'SS. On llu- da\ follow inj^', llu-^'arden was j)lou,Ljhc'd and bar- ^o The Farmer's Boy rowed. Then the boy had to help seralch it over and even it off witli a rake, and was kept on the jump the rest of the time getting seeds and ])lanters and other tools. Meanwhile he indueed his father to let him have a corner of the garden for his own, and got the ])aternal advice as to what he had best raise in it to make his for- tune. He scratched over the plot about twice as fine as the rest of the garden, and would not let any of the old hens that were hanging around looking for worms come near it. He concluded that ])eas were the things to bring in money, but he was tempted to try three or four hills of potatoes between the rows after he had the peas planted. He saved space for a hill of watermelons, and, just to iiU u]) the blanks, which seemed rather large with nothing showing, he put in, as a matter of exi)eriment, various seeds here and there, from lime to lime, when it came handy and llu' thought occurred to liim. 1 Ir was some- what astonishrd at the way things came uji. ln(lee(K lie thought they would never grt done coming up, and they were ])rettv wrll mi.xi'd in lln'ir arrangemcnl. He was so discouraged ()\rr liie constant si)r()Uting that he hoed off clean the most trouljlcsonu' half of his domain and trans])lanted a Uw i abbages on lo it. In liis lu>i en- thusiasm lu' had in(ki(ed his molhrr lo conic out t'\er_\- day or two and look at his gardm pah h. and he rnjoycd lelHng iicr \u> i)hiiis; \n\\ lir Icfl that off for a whiK' whui Ids Snnntr 5' vcgctabk'S beiann- so rrralir, and wailrd lill In- (oiilil iliin lluiii out and hrinij; du'ir |)ro(trding> within lii> coni- ]irrlu'n>ion. It \va> in s])rinj^, more- than any otluT season, that the bo\''s idras buddrd with n(.'\v rnti'r])rist'S. Hv l"orii;ot most ol' thcni b\- the timr he had them t'airK' started, and nonr ot" them \wrv Hkch' to lia\t' an\' ])(_■( uniar\- \-ah:c'. Bill thai never damped his entluisiasm for rushing into new one>. The huntini^ fe\-er was ajtl to lake him prt'llv soon after the snow went, and lie made a bow and wliiitled out some arrows. Then hv was read\' to l/o lo ihe W()()d>. Uillir.. (-2 The Farmer's Boy Suppose we follow him along the rough roadway among the trees. The dav is still and warm. The leaves are not vet out, and the sunlight comes in freely through the gray tree-twigs, and glistens on the brown leaves which carpet the ground. The air is full of sleepy quiet; yet if one listens, he can hear a multitude of little noises — ticking sounds and light rustlings, as if buds were bursting, and as if all the green undergrowth of the woods was pushing up amid the withered last year's leaves. The little boy tramps steadily onward. He does not shoot at the chickadees hopping about in the twigs of a thicket he passes. He does not shoot at the bluebird he sees flitting through the green boughs of a hemlock. He does not shoot at Woodpecker who is earnestly hammering awav at a dead tree bole. He does not shoot at Chip- munk who chatters at him from a roadside boulder as he ap])roaches, and then suddenly jiops out of sight, and an instant later is seen scudding up a stout oak, where he again sets up a k)ud chattering. Xo, tile bov does not shoot at these, for liis mother ha> told him they are liis friends, and that so kmg as llu'y do no harm they havi- the riglit to hve and to make a home in the woods, or anywheri' else they choose to stay. What he is hunting i> bears. lie whislUs softly as he pl()d> along; but all at ome lu' bri'ak> off short in his Sp rintr 53 Till- hunter tunc, aiifl half stooj)ing f^ocs fijrward on tiptoe. "()h, oh, what a l)i,<^ fellow!" he \vhis])c'rs to himsilf. " Til gel this one, I'm sure. M\', liow hhu k he is!" The ho\- does not aj)i:)ear at all frightened. Tn fact, the creature he is moving toward so stealthil}- looks \ery much like an old stump. However, that docs not matter. The hunlir drops on one knee and fits an arrow to his 54 The Farmer's Boy bow. "Gr-r-r-r!" he says in his gruffest growl. "There, he sees me! Quick now, right between the eyes!" The arrow flies. "Hurrah! hit fair and square!" the boy shouts. He runs and pulls out his arrow. "This is a big fel- low !" says he. " Fat, too," he adds, punching the stump with his arrow. "He'll weigh a million pounds, or pretty near it, I guess. He's larger'n the one I shot last summer in the Sarah Nevados. I think when I sell his hide 1 can buy that top and a dozen marbles I've been wanting. Well, I must get to skinning him. Where's my bowie- knife?" He dives into his pocket and brings up a small, one- bladed knife, and opening it, proceeds vigorously to attack the stump. The Ixirk hangs loosely, and the knife is more of a bother than a help. So he ])uls it back in his pocket and linishes the stripi)ing with his lingers. Then he starts in search of new achentures. Stumps are numerous, and he is wry successful. He not only shoots ten or fifteen bears, but se\t'ral lions and tigers. "I vum !" says he, after a whik', "this is hot work." He ])auses, puslu's his hat back, and draws his slecN'e across his forehead. " \'>\\\ ii wouldn't do to lii' down and rest," he (onlinues. "'I'lure's bears all around, and lions like enough u]) 'most an\ \vvv rc'ad\" to drop down o on a man if he isn't on the lookout. 1 dctiarc I 1 lei-1 hun^L^^ry." He searches ab,)ut till he finds a birch twitr to chew on, and then looks up at the sun. " Must b.- nearly noon," he comments. •" Dinnrr'll bi- read\- in a little while, and I'd better put lor home." So saving, he slings his bow o\it his shoulder, and, enlirelv careless of the dangerous woods he is in, he goes skipping down the rough road that leads homeward. He is thinking of the dinner that awaits him, and he looks neither to the right hand nor to the left. But luck seemed to be attendant on our unwar\' hunter. Xo bear pounced on him, he was not gobbled up by any of the prowling tigers, and no lion leaped down on him from the tree-to]»s. Thus it ha|)])(.'ned that our hero ended this achx-nturous morning in safety. Occasionally he j)layed Indian with his bow and arrows, and he would j)erha])s visit the resorts of the hens and colled enough feathers to make a circlet to wear around his head, .\fter he was properly decorated, he tramped off to shoot such of the ferocious wild beasts as he hap- pened to know the names of, or he would go and seal]) the neighbors' boys. Sometimes he induced his father to saw out a wooden gun, and armed with ihai, he turned pioneer. Then savatres and wild aninlai-^ hoth had to catch il. lie would 56 The Farmer's Boy skulk arouncl in the most ajjprovcfl fashion and say "Bang !" for his gun every time he fired, and hke enough he would kill half a hundred Indians and a dozen grizzly bears in one forenoon. He was as fearless as you please — • until night came. Not all the boy's hunting was so mild as to stop at the killing off of bears and Indians. Sometimes he shot his arrows at real, live things, or he might use pebbles and a sling, or he practised throwing stones ; and he did not resist the temptation to make the birds and squirrels, and ])ossibly the cats and the chickens, his marks. It is true he rarely hit any of them; and a sensi- tive boy, if he seriously hurl one of the creatures fired at, had a sickening twinge of remorse. Hut there were boys who would only glory in the straightness of tlieir aim. Something of the savage still lingered in their nature, and thev felt a sense of prowess and ])0wer in bringing down that whicli, in si)ite of its life and moxcmenl, did not escape them. It was to tliem a much grandiT and more enjoyable thing llian to hit a lifeless and unmoving mark. The bo\s al an\' rale, many of them wc-re at times, in a thoughtless wa\', downrighl cruc'l. How ihev would bang about tin- old horse on occasion 1 To drown a cat or wring ihe neck of a chicki'n aroused no t"()m|)unclions, and lhe\' would run iialf a mile lo he | indent al a liog- i;illini/. Tiu-\' had scarti'K- a irrain of s\'mi)alh\' for ihe Sjirino; 57 worm ihcy impalrd on tlu'ir fish hooks ; ihcy kilU-d the grasshopi)er who would not ^Iw ihcm "molasses"; they crushed the buUertly's wings in catching it with their straw hats; and they pulled ofT insects' limbs to see them wriggle, or lo find out how the insect would get along '1 iif opiiiiiii^ 0/ llir jisliiiii; scdsoii without them. 1 will not extend ihv h()rril)le list, and I am not sure hut that most boys were guiltless of the majority of these charges. Howe\er, they were much loo apt to play the part of destroyers. This spirit was shown in the way the boy would whip off die heads of llowers along his i)alh, if he had a >lit k in hi> hand. It was shown 58 The Farmer's Boy also in the manner he gathered them when gathering happened to be his purpose. Their bright colors were then the chief attraction. If he secured the blossoms, that was enough. He would pick ten thousand blossoms and not have a green leaf among them. Nor did he think of their life or of their beauty where they stood, or of the future. He picked them in wholly needless quantities, snapping off their heads, pulling them up by the roots — anv way to get the greatest number in the shortest pos- sible time. If the boy had been as thorough as he was ruthless, you could never tlnd more flowers of the same sort on that spot. This does not argue a total disregard for the flowers, but it is a ])ity to lo\e a thing to destruc- tion. The llrst token of spring in llu- flower line that the boy brought into the house was apt to be a sprig of pussy- willow. The fuzzy catkins were to liis mind ^•er\• odd and interesting and pretty. The ground was stiH snow- covered, and they had started witli tlie lirst real thaw. Before the pastures got their flrst green, the boy went off to And the new arl)utus l)U(ls, that smelled sweetest of all the flowers he knt-w, unless it might be the azalea, that came later. Already, by the brook, were the ([ueer skunk-cablxige blossoms, and the boy sometimes pulK'd one [o i)ieces, and vwn snilTi-d ilu' odor, just lo learn how bad it real!}' was. He ])erlia|i> found a stout, short- Sprinj 59 stemmed dandelion thus early open in some warm, grassy hollow, and a few days later the anemone's dainty cui)s were out in lull and were trembling on their sknder stems witli every breath of air. In jja^ture bogs and along the brooks were violets — mostly blue; but in i)laces grew yellow and white ones, ready to delight their finder. The higher and drier slopes of the pastures were some- times almost blue in spots with the coarse bird-foot violets, while the lower grazing ground was as white with the mul- titudes of innocents as if there had been a light snowfall. I ii \i 1(1 1 nnii'i I in \ Occasionall} the viok-ls were utilized to "fight roosters." To do this, two bovs would each take a \ iolel and hook 6o The Farmer's Boy them together and see wliich fellow's would pull the other's head olT — see which violet would stand the most strain. Along the roadways and fences tlie wild-cherry trees were clouded full of white ])etals, and in the woods were great dashes of white where the dogwoods had unfurled their blossoms. By the end of A Fay the meadows were like a night sky full of stars, so thick were the dandelions, and on the rocks of the hillsides the columbines swayed, full of their oddly shaped, pendulous bells. In some damp woodpath the boy was filled with rejoicing by the finding of one of the rare lady's-sli})j)ers where he had been gathering wakeroljin. Another spring flower that ])os- sessed a special interest to the bo}- was the Jack-in-the- Ijul]»it, but it hardl}- seemed a fiower to him, it was so (|ueer. S])ring had three days with an in(li\i(lualit_\- which made them stand out among the rest. Earliest of ihesi' came A])ril Fool's Day. The only idea the boy had about it was that the more things he could make the rest of the world belic-\e on llial (la\' which wiTe not so, tlie l)i'tter. Most of llu' tricks were not \'ery clever or comnK'ndable, and the bo\- himself fi'lt that he was sonu'tinn-s a|)i)nxiclv ing uncomforlabh' close to hing. 'Ihv common form of fooling was to get a ])erson to look at something that was not in ^ight. "See that crow out lluTe!" savs the bo\' to his fatlur. J >]->nni:; 6i It" «r«-«»- » •* - ,«"i»*r Car pel bialini; "WluTc?"' asks his fatlu-r, wluii In- l()()k> out. "A|)ril fool I" shouts thr hoy, and his pk'asurc owr thf "sh'ck" way lu- fooKd iii> pa, histi'd a hah" hour or more- until lu' (list oNi-n-d that lu- had hern walkini^ around for he didn't know how lonjj; with a slip t)f ])a|it.T on his 62 The Farmer's Boy back his sister had pinned there; and what he read on' it when he got it off was "April fool!" He did not feel so happy then, but he saved the paper to i)in on some one else. All da}' his Ijrain was full of schemes to get people looking at the imaginary oljjects to which he callerl tlieir attention, and at the same time he uas full of suspicions himself, and you had to be very sharp and sudden to fool him. When night came he rejoiced in the fact that he had got one or two ''fools" off on every member of the family, and there is no knowing what a nuisance he had made of liimself among the rest of his friends. It ga\'e him a grand good appetite, and lie was inclined to be ((uitc conversational. His remarks, however, assumed a milder tenor when he bit into a portly doughnut and found it made of cotton. He was afraid his mother was trying to fool him. He wouldn't ]ia\-e thouglil it of her! Soon after iliis day came I'^ast Day. School "let out," and lliere was meeting at the cinircli, but most folks did not pay much attention to lliat, and, it being a holiday, they ate rather more than on other (ki\s, if an\thing, and they joked about its being "fast" in the sense that it was not slow. Our Ijoy did what work hv had to do, and then asked tlie pri\ilege of going olT to see some other box- and have some fun. Howexi'r, tliat was a thing \\hi(h lia|)- pened on all sorts of davs. lie was alwaxs readx' willi lliat re([uest when he had leisure', and made it oftentimes, Spnnj 63 too, wiu'ii hv had no k-i>uri- in any one's opinion but liis own. The :;oth of Mav was Di'coration I)a\', and a ('om])any of sokhcTs alwa\s canic- with a hand and llai^s, to dccoralu «.;i.'*^" [hv i^ravi-s of the sokh'ers in the \ illage cemetery, and there was singing and other exercises, and everybody was present. The b(jy had his boii(|Uet, and he was on the spot j)romptly and c hattint^ with some of his com|)ani()ns. Lines of teams were hit( lied along the roadside, and two 64 The Farmer's Boy or three scores of peojjle had gathered near the cemetery entrance. The occasion had sometliing of the solemnity of a funeral, and even the boys lowered their voices as the\' talked. The sound of a drum and fife was presently heard around the turn of the road, and tlie soldiers, under their drooi)ing llag, ajjproached and filed into the cemetery. A song, an address, and a i)rayer followed — all verv impressive to the 1)oy, out tliere under tlie skies with the wide, blossoming landscape about. Finally he laid his flowers with the others on the graves, the soldiers formed in line, the life piped once more, the drum beat, and off they went down the road. Then the people began a more cheerful visiting, and there was a cram])ing of wheels as the teams turned to go homeward. The bo\', with his friends, ])oked about among some of the old stones, and then lingered along in the rear of tlie scalteri'd grouj)S that were taking the road leading to the \illage. Ill SUMMF.R THI-> l)()v felt that sumnur had really come about the time he got a new straw hat and began toj^o l)aref()()t. Maeh year when he first trod the earth without shoes and stoekinti;s, he was as fri>k\- as were the cows when, after the winter's sojourn in the barn, they were let out to _u;o to pasture for the first lime. The boy remembered wry well how he nearly ran liis legs off on that occasion, for the cows wanted to career all through the neighborhood, and they kicked and lapered and gallojK'd and hoisted their tails in the air, and were as bad as a circus broken loose. The bov would ha\e gone barefoot some wei-ks before the time when he actually did so, onl}- he could not get his mother to un(kT>tan(l how warm the tarlh really was. It was cooler now than he expected it would be, but he got into a glow running, and in a few days the exposure toughened his feet so that he could endure ahnost any- thing — anything but shoes and stockings. Hi- haled lo put those uncomfortable things on, and. when \\v did, was glad to kick them olT at the earlii'st o]»|)ortunity. <'5 66 The Farmer's Boy Even the first frosts of autumn did not at once bring the shoes into use. He woukl drive the cows up the whitened The barcjootcd liiihlrcn lane, and sli]) s!ii\tTin,t^ alon.g in tlic tracks brushed lialf clear of frost 1)\- the lurch certain that he would be entirely comfortable a little later when the sun was well up. Suninier 67 But the j()\- of bare feet was not altogether complete. About half the lime the boy went with a lim]). He had hurt his toe, cut his heel, or met with some like mishap. There were things always lying around for him to step on, and in the late summer certain wicked burs ripened in the meadow that had hooks to their ])rickles. These ])rickles hurt enough going in, l)ut were, oh. so much worse pulling out I The boy ne\er liked to walk on newly mown land on account of the stiff grass stubs. Yet he could manage pretty well by sliding his feet along and making the stub- ble lie flat when he stepped on it. The gains of bare feet certainly much more than offset tlie losses, to his mind; for he could tramp and wade almost everywhere and in all kinds of weather, with no fear of tearing his stockings, muddying his shoes, or "getting his feet wet." He a])preciated this going barefoot most, perhaps, after a rainstorm. The older peoj^le had no idea what fun it was to slide and s])atler througli the pools and puddles of the roadway. There was the boy's n^oiher. for in- stance — she failed to ha\e tlie mildest kind of ai)i)recia- tion of it. Sill' had e\en U-ss, if that is possible, when the boy came in to her after lie had astonished himself bv a sudden slip that seated him in the middle of one of the jniddles. Just after a storm, when the air was \ery >till. the boy was sometimes impressed by the a])parent de[)tli of those 68 The Farmer's Boy shallow pools. They seemed to go down miles and miles, and he could see the clouds and sky rellected in tluir calm deeps. He was half inclined to keep away from tlieir edges, lest he should fall o\"er the \mnk and go down and down till he was drowned among those far-off cloud re- flections. Another roarhva}- sentiment tlie boy sometimes enter- tained was connected with the ridges of dirt thrown up by the wagon-wheels. Their shadows made ])ictures to him as of a great line of jagged rocks and recalled to liis memory the wild coast of Norway illustrated in his geograi)hy. He felt like an ex])lorer as he followed the ever changing craggedness of their outlines. 'I mentioned lliat the 1)oy liad a new straw hat witli the beginning of summer, but the newness was not a])j)arenl two days afle'rward. it had b}- ihen lost its store as|X'ct and liad taken to itself an in(li\i(kial shape all its own. Presenllv the ribl)on began to ll}' loose on the l)reezes, and then llie (.oil look a l)ite out of the edge, and a general dissolution set in. Tlie boy used it to chase grasshoppers and butterflies witli, and ont' dav lie brought it home half full of strawberries lie had picked in a field. ( )n another occasion he utilized it to catch ])oll\wogs in when he was wading, arid lu- lia>tene(l it> ruin b\- using it as a l)all on summer i-\fning,s to throw in tlie air. lie thought, one night, he hail put it pa>t all u>efuhuss when, not thinking Suniiiier 69 where lie had phued it, lie WL-nt and sat down in the chair that it happ.-ned to oeciipN'. Vou would not ha\e known il t'oi" a hat \vhrn he picked it ii]), though he strai,i,ducncd il out after a fashion and concluded il would ser\e for a wiiile longer, anywaw l)Ui things presently got to that desperate pass where the brim was gone and there was a bristly hole in the toj). "The folks" saw the hat could not ])0ssiblv last the summer through, and the next time his father went to town he bout^ht the bov a new one. In the barn 70 The Farmer's Boy Of course, he told him to be more careful with this than with the old one, when he ga\-c it to him. I>i yici»!»iiiii^ The summer was not far advanced when tlie boy became anxious as to whether the water had warmed u]) enouji;h in the streams to make it allowal^le lo ti;o in swimminjj;. As for the ]\\[\v riwrs amoni^ tlie hills, \hvy nrMi" did i^v[ wai'ni and in llie lioiu-^l >])(.'lls of midsummer it made Summer 71 the ])oy's teeth chatter to juni]) into their cold j)Ools. Hut there was a glowini; reaction after the plunge, and if he (lid not stay in too lont^, he came out (|uite eniixened by his bath. The bathing jjlaces on these woodland streams were often (juite ])icturcsque. It might be a spot where the stream widened into a little pond hemmed in by walls of green foliage, whose branches in places drooix'd far out over the water. It might be in a rocky gorge stre\Mi with boulders, where the stream filled the air with a continual roar and murmur as it dashed down the rapids and plunged from pool to pool. On the large rivers of the valleys the swimming places had usually muddy shores and a willow-screened bank, and there were logs to tloal oti or an old boat to push about. In fuNorable wt'ather the boys would go in swimming every e\ening, and they made the air resound for half a mile about with their shouts and splashings. June opened with lots of work in the planting line. The b()\' had lo drop feriili/e'r and ])otaloes some da\s from morning till night, by which time he was readv to drop him>elf. In corn planting he had in's own bag of tarred com and his hoe, and took the row next to his father's. For a sj)ell he might kec]) u]), but as tin- day advanced he lagged l)t,-hind, and his father ])lanled a few hill> ot ( a>ionallv on the bov's row to eniourage him. ( )ne of the things a boy soon became an adej)t at was 72 The Farmer's Boy leaning on his hoc. He did this most when he was alone in the field and not liable to sudden interruptions in his meditations. .\t such times he got lonesome, and he felt more tired than when he had company. He wondered why the dinner horn didn't blow. You would not think a hoe an easy thing to lean on; but the boy would stand on one leg, with the lioc-handle hooked under his shoulder, for any length of time. -!>• II iitliiii!^ /(')' lln dtniur imrn Summer 73 One clay, when the boy stood tluis meditating, some Ijig ants erawled up his leg inside of his overalls. This was a ease of the ant going to the sluggard. The ininu'di- ale result was not industry on the part of tlu' l)o\-. At least, lie did not go to hoeing, hut ran and iuin])fd into the ri\er. H\- so small br()lher>an(l >isters wc-re sure the crows wouldn't "dast" to come around tlu'ix' anv more, and thev were kind of afraid of ihe >tai\'i row tlu'msi'hes. 74 The Farmer's Boy The days waxed hotter and hotter as the season advanced, and the boy presently got down to the simplest elements in the clothing line. Indeed, if his folks did not insist on something more elaborate, he went about entirely content in a shirt and a pair of o\cralls. Going soinnv'ncrc His hair was aj)l lo grow rallicr long l)t'l\\XTn llic cut- tings his mother gu\c it. He would not liaw' had it cut at all, if >1h- had not in>islc-(l, for Ik- did not enjoy the process. \'er\- likel_\' he was comfortably reading a ])aper when she disturbed his serenity by saying, "Conn', l''i-ank, now I'll tend to \()ur head." Summer 75 At the same time slie <^ot a comb and shears and ])Ut on her si)eetaeles. "Don't want m\- hair cut," said Frank, "It's all rit^ht. You're cutlin' it 'most every week." "I ain't cut it for two months," his mollier declared; "so come here." Frank reluctantly settled into the chair his mother had placed for him, and she took off her a])ron and pinned it bottom upward around his neck. "Stoj) jjokin' your fingers through that liole," says she, "and lean your head forward a little." She started cli])ping. " Ow I" exclaimed Frank, sud- denly crouching away from liis barljer. "What are you twitching like that for?" she asked somewhat irritably. "You pull." was F" rank's reply. "Well, Fm just as careful as I know how to be," she retorted. "I wouldn't care if xou onl\- would get hold of a wliole bunch and pull," e.\|)lained Frank; "but you just pull two or three hairs." "I guess the shears are kind o' dull," suggested his motiier. "I don't see what makes vour hair stand u]) so on top at the back. Must be \c)u don't brush it excej)! in front." "WCll, I can't see 'way back there," res])onded Frank. "1 think I'll ha\e to soap it," rc-marked his mother. 76 The Farmer's Boy "Oh, don't," begged Frank. "Why, yoii don'l want it standing up that way all your life," said his mother. "What'U the girls think of you?" "I don't care nothin' about the girls," Frank affirmed. "Well," said she, "I can't have you goin' round lookin' like a little Indian ready to ])c scalped." So the con\ersation ran on until the ordeal come to an end. In the course of time, as the boy grew older, he looked u\) an uncle or a cousin who was an adept in the hair-cutting line, and got a tight clip that left him as bald as the most ancient of liis li\ing ancestors. He felt de- lightfully cool, an}way, and looks didn't count mucli with him at tliat age. As soon as the first ])loughing was done in the spring, the onions were sowed. Their little green needles soon prickled up through the ground, and within a few days thev had tlie c()m])an\' of a mullilude of weeds, whicli must be hoed and pulled out. One tiling the boy ni'ver (|uit(.' got lo under>tand was the curious fact thai weeds, at first start, will grow twice as fast as an_\- ust'ful crop. He wished weeds had some \alue. All }()u would haw to do would be to k'l lliem grow. '\'hc\ would take cnw of themsel\-es. In the case of llu' onions tlu- hoeing out ])ai"t was not \X'ry bad, but when he got down ;)n his hands and knees to scralt h the weeds out of tlu' i-ow> with his lingers, his troubli- be^an. The bo\- said his bac k aihed. His fatlu'r SiimnuT 77 comforlcd him by telling him thai he •^ucssetl not thai he was too young to ha\e the backache - thai he'd belter wait lill he was fifty or sixty, and his joints got stiff and he had the rheuniati>in ; tiun he would ha\e sometliinj^ to talk about. 78 The Farmer's Boy But the boy knew very well that his back did ache, and the sun was as hot again as it was when he was standing up, and his head felt as if it were going to drop off. He rose once in a while to stretch, and to see if there were any signs of his mother's wanting him at the house, or hens around that ought to be chased off, or anything else going on that would give him a chance for a change. He bent to his work again presently, and tried various changes from the plain stoop, such as one knee down and the other raised to support his chest, or a sit-doA\Ti and an attempt to weed backwai'd. When lefl lo liimMlf he took long rests at the ends of the rows, l\ing in tlu' grass on his l)aek under the shadow of an ai>i)le li-ee, or lie got Siimnur 79 thirstv and wcnl into ihr house for a drink. \lv was afllirtc'd with thir>l a i^Mval deal wlu-n hv was wirdin^ onions, and hccanie cookydnin^n- rcmarkal)l\- often, too. His most agiveal)lr rr^pitr wliiU' wrech'ni,' onurfcd when he discovered iliat the nei,^hbor's Ijoy had eome out and was at work just over the fence. He threw a luni]) of dirt al liim to attract lii> attention, and then the}' exehanj^ed "helloes!" The boys' aches were not so severe afterward — at least, so long as he had the neighbor's boy over the fence to call at. Thev often >toi)ijed and leaned on the divid- ing fence and compari'd gardens, and h"kel\- enough got to boasting and perhaps (|uan"elled be'lore tlu'}' were tln-ougli. Once our boy ])ut an end to a (bspute b\- stand- ing W'd, the neighbor's boy, on his head in a muddy furrow. Ned, weeping and be(h"aggled, went oil to hnd our l)o\"s fatlier and c()ni])lain of what lie had suffered at the lad's hands. As for the latter, he was fearful his fate would be b}' no mean> ])lea>ant, and he did not dare go home till he had stuffed the rear pari of Ins trousers with grass. However, his father let him off this time with a few serious remarks on his misconduct, and the bo\- thought he was jjcrhaps amused by W-d's di--inal plight and >ome- whal gratilK'd that his son had \an(|ui>hed a bo\- larger than hiin>elf. 8o The Farmer's Bo y When the bo}-'s father went awa}' from home, to be gone all clav, he was apt to set the boy a "stent." "You put into il, now," hv sa\s, "and lioe ihoM' ti't^hU'i'n rows of corn, and ihrn \()U can ]>la\- the rest of tlie day." 'J"!u' h()\- was inclined lo \)c dul)ious wlicn lir con- leni])latcd lii< task. He didn't think lie could j^U't it done in tile whoK- da\'. Hut lie made a ^tart, and tonchKk'd Summer Si it was not so bad, after all. He kept at work with con- si(k'i"al)K' p(.i">(.\iTanr(.', and oid\- >t()]i]»cd to sit on the fence for a little whik' at the end of ewr\- other row, and once to go up the lane to pick a few ras])berrie> that had turned almost black. As the rows dwindled he became increasingly exuberant, and whistled all through the last one. When that was done, and he put the hoe o\er his shoulder and marched home, he had not a care in the workl . He had made up his mind early in the day tlial he would go fishing when he was free, and now he dug some worms back of the shop, brouglil out his pole, and hunted u]) his best friend. The best friend was watering tol)acco. . He could not lea\'e ju>t tlien, but if I-"rank would hel|) him for about fifteen minutes, he would ha\e that iob done and would go with him. The boys made the water lly, and it was not long before the\- and their poles and their tin bait-box were at the riverside. The water iu>l dimpled in the light I)ree/e. The warm afternoon sunliglil shorn.' in ihe bovs' faces and glittered on ihc ri])pk'>. Thi'\- comluded, after a while, that il wa> not a good afternoon for lishing, and thought wading would j)rove more profitable. As a result, they got their "])ants" wet and their jackets s|)at- tered, though whi-re all that wati-r came from tlu'\' couldn't make out. The\' ihoui/ht lhi'\- had been careful. Thev 82 The Farmer's Boy were afraid their mothers would make some unpleasant remarks when they reached home. It seemed best they should roll down their trousers and give them a chance to dry a little before they had to leave. ^Meanwhile they did not suffer for lack of amusement, for they found a lot of rubbish to throw into the water, and some flat stones to They wet then " pants " skip, and some hu k\-bu,t^s to catch, and laslly Chai'Hc Tiiompson's s])olled dot^ >h()\\ed liimsclf on the bank, Su miner 83 .ntir:' and ihcy enticed him down lo the shore and look lo wad- ing again, and had great fun, and got wetter than ever. As they walked home, Frank said, "Let's go llshing again, some (kiy," and Richard agrred wilhoul any hesi- tation. They caught not even a shiner this time, l)ut on some occasions they brought home a pereli or two and a bull- head and a sucker, strung on a willow twig. Rainy days were those on which they wen- freest to go llshing, and on such days the lish were sui)i)()>ed to bite best. The boy 84 The Farmer's Boy seemed perfectly willing at almost any time lo don an old coat and an old felt hat and spend a whole drizzling morning slopping along the muddy margin of the river. No one could accuse him of being overfastidious. One time that Frank and Richard went fishing they were accompanied by the latter's older brother Nathan who was at home from college for his summer vacation. Nathan had that day received a book he very much wanted to read, and it was only when the other two said they would do the fishing and leave him to peruse the book undis- turbed that he consented to go along. He sat do\\Ti under the willows a little back from the water's edge, and the boys tossed in their lines. "Frank," said Richard, "what kind of fish are you going to catch?" "I don't know," responded Frank. "What kind are you?" "Oh, some real l)ig kind," said Ricliard. "Sav, Nathan, wIkU kind of fish would you (.atih?" "I wouldn't worry al)out that," re])lied Natlian. "Catch anything that comes along." "Yes, but 1 want some real big kind," was Richard's resj)onse, and he was about to make a further a])])eal to Nathan when he noliu'd that the l)ait-can was o\er- turned. "There, I'Vank, see what \()u"\e done," said he. ".\11 the worms are S([uirmin' away." Siiiiinicr 85 The boys dropped their poles, got down on tlicir knees in the mud, and bet^an to |)ick iij) the stra\ini,f worms. ''How funii}- ilu'\- ciawl." mnarkrd Frank. "They strrlcli out so lonL,^ and ihin you can ahiiost see llirough 'em, and iluii tlir\ di-aw up iliick again." "I think wr might Ui ihi> h'ttlc fellow go," suggested Richard. "Throw him out to the fish," said Frank. "Xo, no, no!" exclaimed Richard. 'Tie's my nice little wormy." ■'Well, lei him go then," responded Frank. "Here, I'll make a path for him with m\ finger." ■'()h, k'rank, you"\e maaid Richard. "He don't want to go down there." "Perhaj)s he wants a drink," I-^-ank observed. "Worms li\e in the ground, and ihey don't drink noih- in'," declared Richani, wisely. "I'll make a path up this way for him. Now he's goin' it good. Oh, Xathan, he's comin' I He's comin' I" "What's that?" asked Xaihan, looking up. "Who's coming? I don'i see any one." "It's my wormy," explained Richaid. "He's crawlin' right toward \()u." Xathan resumed his reading, and ])resentlv the bovs tired of watching the worm and took up their poles. 86 The Farmer's Boy "Now, let's catch some fish," said Richard. "Ain't it hot, though? But just see how the cork on your hne is bobbing !" With a mighty jerk Frank Hung a httle fish at the end of his h'ne far back on the land, nearl}- liilling Nathan on 7' /.\7// //,!,' die head. The \()ung man started up in somi- ahiiMn, but hv soon uncU'rstood whal had h;i] )])rnrd, and I'rank exhibited in triumph the "puidsiu M'cd"" hr had i aught. As l""r;ink piej)ai\d to ri.>ume l"i>hing, \\v appealed to SumiiuT 87 Nathan with the remark ihai, "Will Ramcy says you've got to always sj)it on your bait if xou want to catth any fish. Do you think that's so?" But Nathan rej)lie(l that he did not know. The bovs for a while cm])loyed themselves in throwing in tlieir lines and j)ulling them out with no results. "The fish don't bile nuuh. Xalhan." >aid I-"rank. "No, they don't bite any," declared Richard. "You don't leave your hooks in long enough to give them a chance," Nathan responded. "I'm tired of holding this old pole," said I'lank after a pause. "See, right here near shore are some jjoUvwogs!" They laid down iheir poles and ga\e their entire atten- tion to the pollywogs whit h they told Nathan looked like "black o\'ercoat buttons with tails to 'em." Riihard caught one. "I'd take him home, if 1 had something to carry him in," he said. "^'ou might put him in your handkrnhief," suggested PVank. "That's so," said Richard, feeling in his jKxkets. "But I can't find it. Let me use vours." Frank, after making an unsuccessful search, resjjonded: "I tan't Imd mine, either. Ciet Nathan's. lie most always has two or three." "Nathan!" Riihard lalled, "can I use one of your handkerchiefs?" 88 The Farmer's Boy "Why, if it's very important, I suppose you can," was his reply. "Yes, it is," declared Richard. "I want to carry home a pollywog in it." "Well, I guess not," said Xathan. "You'd better keep track of your own handkerchief if you want to use it for such purposes." "We might empty the bait can and put him in that with water enough for him to swim in," said Frank. This was what they did, and Richard said he was going to call him "Polly." Then Frank caught one, and said: "Fm goin' to call mine Woggy. Let me put him in with yours." Richard was inclined to ol)jcct, until Frank explained that his comrade's ))ollywog would be lonesome. They were still playing with the |)()llywogs when Nathan called to them that it was time to go liome. "Oh, no, not yet," objected tlie boys; "we want to catch some more fish." But Nathan would not allow any lingering, and otT they marclied, carrying their shoes and stockings and poles and the ])umpkin seed and llic two poUywogs. They felt prcttv well satisfied after all. .\s for Natlian, he had read jusl ele\cn ])ages in luV l)()ok. At some i)eriod in liis career llie boy was pretty sure to bring home a li\e fish in his tin hmch-pail and turn him .uinnier 89 loose in the water lul) at the l)arn ; and he mit^ht cateh a (lo/.en or two minnows in a ])Ool left landlocked h\ a Sonir jitii in llir shop fall of the water, and put thoM' in. 1 h- would sei- them chasing around in tiuTi-, and tlu' old hii^^ fish luril with him in order to he on hand in the held with the rest of tlu' children at da\hreak. His eairer- Smiinier gi ness cooled olT in a few day>, and it was only with the greatest dilTiculty that the c'mi)loycT would get his youthful help to stick to the work through the season. They had eaten the berries till they were sick of them ; they were tired of stooping, and they had earned so much that their longings for wealth were satisfied. They were a])t to get to S(|uabbling aljout rows while ])icking, and to enliven the work on dull days b\- "sassing" one another. The proper position for picking is a stoo])ing posture, but when the boy came home you could see by the spotted pattern on the knees and seat of his trousers that he had made some sacrifices to comfort. The ])ro|)rietor of the berry fields, and all concerned, were glad when they got to the end of the season. The boy was uj) so early on those June mornings that he was in time to hear the air full of bird-songs as it would be at no other time through the day. What made the birds so madi}- happy as soon as the east caught the I'lrst tints of the coming sun? The village trees seemed fairly alive with the songsters, and every bird was doing its best to outdo the rest. Most boys had not a verv wide ac- (|uaintance with the ijird-. but there were certain of the feathered folk that never faik'd to interest them. The boy's faxorite was ])relty sure to be the bobolink —he is suih a ha])|)y fellow; lu- n-i-ls through the air in such delight over his singing and the sunnv weather. How his song 92 The Farmer's Boy gurgles and glitters ! How he swells out his throat ! How prettily he balances and sways on the woody stem of some tall meadow flower ! He has a beautiful coat of black and white, and the boy wondered at the rusty feathers of his mate, which looked like an entirely different bird. As the season advanced bobolink changed, and not for the better. His handsome coat grew dingy, and he lost his former gayety. He had forgotten almost altogether the notes of his earlier song of tumbling happiness, and croaked harshly as he stuffed himself on the seeds with which the helds now teemed. Ease and high living seemed to have spoiled his character, just as if he had been human. Before summer was done the bobolinks gathered in com- panies, and wheeled about the fields in little clouds pre- paratory to migrating. Sometimes the whole flock flew into a big tree, and from amid the foliage came scores of tinkling notes as of manv tiny bells jingling. The boy saw no more of the Ijoljoiinks till they returned in the spring to again pour forth their oNertlowing joy on the blossom-scented air of the meadows. One of the other birds that the boy was familiar with was the lark, a coarse, large bird with two or three white feathers in its tail: hut the lark was too sol)er to interest him much. Then there was the catbird, of sK'ek form and slat\- plumage. Hitting and mewing among the shad- ows of the a])ple-tree boughs. The brisk robin, who *. o Suninier 93 always had a scarcfl look and therefore was out of character as a robber, he knew very well. Robin built a rouj^h nest of straws and mud in the crotches of the fruit trees, and he had a habit of crying in sharp notes at sundown, as if he were afraid sorrow was coming to him in some shape. The robin had a carolling song, too, but that the boy was not so sure of sej)aniling from ihe music of the other birds. He recognized the woodpeckers by their long bills and the way they could trot uj) and down the tree trunks, wrong-side up, or anyhow. He knew the bluebird by its color and the pho?be by its song. The orioles were not numerous enough for him to have much accjuaintance with them, but he was familiar with the dainty nests they swung far out on the tips of the branches of the big shade trees. He saw numbers of little birds, when the cherries ripened and the peapods filled out, that were as bright as glints of golden sunlight. They varied in lluir tinting and size, but iu- called llu-m all yellow-birds, and had a ])Oor ojjinion of them, for he rarely saw them except when they were stealing. Along the water courses he now and then glim])sed a heavy-headed kingfisher sitting in solemn watchfulness on a limb or making a startling, headlong j)lunge into a pool. Along >h()re the san(i|)i])ers ran about in a nervous wa\" on liii-ir thin legs, alway^^ teetering and complaining, and taking fright and tlitiing awa\ at the Kast sound. 94 The Farmer's Boy On the borders of the ponds the boy sometimes came on a crane or a blue heron meditating on one leg up to its knee in water. Off it would go in awkward flight, trail- ing its long legs behind it. On the ponds, too, the wild ducks alighted in tlie fall and s])ring on their journeys south and north. There might be as many as twenty of the compact, glossy-backed creatures in a single flock, but a smaller number was more common. The swallows, on summer days, were to be found skimming over the waters of the streams and ponds, and they made flying dips and twittered and rose and fell and twisted and turned, and seemed very hajjjjy. Hiey had holes in a higli bank in the \icinity, and if the l:)oy thought he wanted to get a collection of birds' eggs, he armed himself with a trowel, some day, and climbed the steep djrt bank to dig them out. Tlie holes went in about an arnri's length, and at the end was a rude little nest, and some white eggs with such tender shell> that the boy broke many more tlian he succeeded in carrying away. He stored such eggs as he gathered from time to lime in small wooden or pasteboard bo.xes, with cotton in the l)ottoms, until too many of the eggs got broken, wlun hr ihrrw the whole thing away. His interest had \)vvn destructi\e and lemjjorarx', and hv would nnu h bclUT ha\'e studied in a differenl fashion, or turned lii> lalcnl to soiuctliing (.'Ise. Several other bird> are >till to be nuntioiud lluil irds that buzzed about among the blossoms, inserting their long bills, and they could poise on their misty wings with bodies won- derfully motionless. They had hues of the rainbow in their feathers, and they Hashed out of sight across the yard in no time when they saw the boy. The barn and chimney swallows he noticed most at twilight, darting in tangled Ihghts in upper air or skimming low over the fields in twittering alertness. How thev worried the old cat as she crouched in the havfield ! Again and again they almost touched her head in llieir circling, but they were so swift and changeful thai the cat had no chance of catching ihem. Then there was the kingbird which the bo\' \ery much admired — he was a vigorous, gooddooking fellow, with an admirable antij)athy for tyrants and bullies. Size made no difference with him. He put the crow to ungainly th'ght ; he followed the hawk, and the boy could see liim high in air darting down at the great bird's back again and again ; and he did not e\en fear the eagle. In corn-])lanting time the whip-poor-w\jl made the evening air ring with his lonely calls, and the boy sometimes saw his dusky form standing lengthwise' of a fence rail just as the bird was about to t1it far off across the fields and renew more distantly its whistling cry. The most distressing bird of all was the little screech- owl. Its tremulous and long-drawn wail suggested that 96 The Farmer's Boy some one human was in the orchard crying out in his last feeble agonies. The boy was scared when he heard the screech-owl. The great and only holiday of the summer was Fourth of July. The boy \ery likely did not know or especially care about the philosophic mean- ing of the day. As he under- stood it, the occasion was one whose first recjuirement was lots of noise. To furnish this in plenty, he was willing to begin the day by getting up at mid- night to parade the village street with the rest of the boys, and toot horns and set otf fire- crackers, and liven up the sleepy occupants of the liomes by making i)articular eiforts before each dwelling. The serenaders had a care in their operations to be on guard, that they miglit hasten to a safe distance if any one rushed out to lecture or chastise them; but when every- thing continued (juiet within doors, thi'y would hoot and howl for some time, and e\en blow up the mail-box with Fourth oj July Siiiiinier 97 a cannon cracker, or commit other mild depredations, to add to the glory of the occasion. When some particu- larly brilliant brain conceived the idea of getting all the Selling ojj a jirrrrack'er boys to take hold of an old mowing machine and gallop it through the dark street in full clatter, it may be sup- posed that the final touch was given to American inde- pendence and liberty. Not all tlu' boys went roaming around thus, and the older and rougher ones were the leaders. The smaller boys did not enter very heartily into some of the fun, though they dared not openly hang back ; and when the stars paled and the I'lrst gray apj)roach of dawn began 98 The Farmer's Boy to lighten the east, the little fellows felt very sleepy and lonely in spite of the company and noise. They were glad enough when, about this time, the band broke up and they could steal away home and to bed. The day itself was enlivened by much popj)ing of firecrackers and torpedoes in farm dooryards — and there was a village picnic, in the afternoon, and a grand setting-off in the evening of pin-wheels, Roman candles, a nigger- chaser, and a rocket. After the rocket had gone up into the sky with its wild whirr and its showering of sparks, and had toppled and burst and burned out into black- ness, the day was ended, and the boy retired with the happiness that comes from labor done and duty well performed. The work of all others that most filled the summer months was haying. In the hill towns where the land is stony and steep, much of it was cut over with scythes, but the majority of New England farmers did nearly all of their grass-cutting with mowing machines. A boy would hardly do much of the actual mowing in either case until he was in his teens; but long before that he was called on to turn the grindstone — an operation that preceded the mowing of each field. He became ])retty sick of that grindstone before the summer was through. He liked to follow after the mowing machine. There was something enlivening in its clatter, and he enjoyed Summer 99 seeing the grass tumble backwanl as the (hirting kni\es struck their stalks. \lv did not care so much about fol- lowing his father when lie mowed with a scythe; for then he was expected to carry a fork and spread the swath his father ])iled u]) behind him. ( )n the little farms The grindstone machines were lacking to a degree, and the boys had to do mu( h of the turning and raking by hand. Finally, they had to borrow a horse to get the hay in. The best- j)rovi(led farmer usually did ^-ome borrowing, and there were those who were running to borrow all the time — that is, they kept the bt Hew, and a cricket or some uncomfortable many-legged creature crawled down his back. It was hot and stifling, and the hay came up about twice as fast as he wanted it to. Before the load Un Ifii lhi\ tiii.ur J 02 The Farmer's Boy was quarter off, he began lo hsten for the welcome scratch of his father's fork on the wagon rack. That signalled the nearing the bottom of the load. Even after the last forkful was thro^^Tl up, he had to creep all around under the eaves to tread the hay more solidly. He was glad enough when he could crawl down the ladder and go into the house and give his head a soak under the pump, and get a drink of water. There was nothing tasted much better than water when he was dry that way, unless it was the sweetened water that they took in a jug right down to the hayficld with them. I do not wish to give the impression that haying was made u]) too much of sweat and toil, and that the boy found this ]x'riod ahogethera season of trial and tribulation. The work was not at all bad on cool days, and some boys liked the jumping about on load and mow. There was fun in the jolting, rattling ride on the springless wagon to the havfield, and when the haycocks in the orchard were rolled u]) for the night, the boys had great sjiort turning somersaults oxer them. 'J'hen there were ex- hilarating occasions when the sky blackened, and trom the distant hori/on came llie Hashing and muttering of an approaching tliunderslorm. Everybody did his l)est then; thev raced the horses to tlie lield and \hv liay was rolled up, and forkful after forkful went twinkling up on the lo'.id in no time. Hut the siorni was likely to come Summer 103 before they were done. There was a spattering of great drops, that gave warning, and a dash of cold wind, and everybody — teams and all — would race helter-skelter to the bams. The\' were in luck if they i^o[ there before tile wliole air was lilled with llie ll_\inLi; (lr()])s. It was a ])leasurable excitement. an\wa\', and the b{)\' fell \ery comfortable, in spite of his wet clothes, as he sat on the meal-chest talking with the others, listening to the rolling thunder and the rain rattling on the roof and s])lashing into the yard from the eaves-spout. He looked out of the big barn doors into the sheeted rain thai \eiled the fields with its hurrying mists, and saw its half-glooms lit up now and ilu-n ])\ the ])allid Hashes of the lightning. Presently came a Ijurst of sunlight, the rain ceased, and as the storm receded a rainbow arched its shredded tatters. All Nature glittered and dri])])ed and tinkh?d. The trees and fields had the freshness of s])ring, and the tips of every leaf and every blade of grass twinkled with diamond drops of water. The boy ran out with a shout to the roadside ])uddles. The chickens left the shelter of the sheds, and rejoiced in the number of worms ( rawl- ing about the har(l-j)acked earlh of the dooryanl, and all kinds of l)irds began singing in jubilee. But whate\er incidental pleasuri's then- might be in haying, it was generally considered a season of uncom- monlv hard work, and at its end the farm familv thoutrht 104 The Farmer's Boy itself entitled to a picnic and a season of milder labor. The picnic idea usually developed into a plan to go for a whole day to some resort of picnickers, where you had to pay twenty-five cents for admission — children half price. Of course, there were all sorts of ways that you Discussing the colt could spend a good deal more than that at these places, but il was mostly tlie x'oung men, wlio fell called on to demotislrate ihi'ir fondness for the girls thev had l)i-ought with them, who patroni/.ed the extras. The farm fainilv was economical. Tliev carried feed for their horses and a big lunch basket packed full for themseh'es, and Suiiiiiier 105 simply indulged in all the things that were free; though Johnny and Tommy were allowed to draw on their meagre supjjly of poekel-money to the extent of five cents each for candy. There were swings to swing in and tables to eat on in a grove, and, if ihe s])()l was by a lake or ri\er, there were boats to row in and fish to catch, only you couldn't calcli tliem. Meanwhile the horses were tied conveniently in the woods, and spent the day kicking and switching at the flies that happened around. Toward evening the wagon was backed about and loaded u]), the horses hitched into it, and exerybody ])iled in and noses were counted, and off they went homeward. The sun set, the bright skies faded, and the stars sparkled out one by one and looked down on them as the horses jogged along the glooms of the half-woofled, unfamiliar roadways. Some of the children got down under the seats and crooned in a shaking gurgle as the wagon jolted their voices; and they shut their eyes and fancied the vehicle was going backward — oh, so swiftly I Then they opened their eyes, and there were the tree lea\es fluttering overhead and the dee]) night sky above, and they saw they were going on, after all. When they neared home they all sat up on the seats once more and watched for faniih'ar objects along the road. At last the house was close at hand ; the horses turned into the yard; the family climbed out of the wagon, and in a few io6 The Farmer's Boy minutes a lamp was lighted in the kitchen, A neighbor had milked the cows. The children were so tired they could hardly keep their eyes open, but they must have a slice of bread and butter all around, and a piece of pie. Then, tired but happy, they bundled off to bed. Not every excursion of this kind was to a public pleasure resort. Sometimes the family went after huckleberries or blackberries, or for a day's visit to relatives who lived in a neighboring town, or to see a circus parade at the county seat. The family vehicle was apt to be the high, two-seated spring wagon. It was not particularly hand- some to look at, but I fancy it held more happiness than the gilded cars with their gaudy occupants that they saw pass in the parade. The strawberries were the first heralds of a summer full of good things to eat. The boy began sampling each fruit in turn as soon as it showed signs of ripening, and on farms where children were numerous and fruits were not, very few things ever got ripe. You would not have thought to look at him that a small boy could eat so much as he contri\t'd to stow away. He would be chewing on something all the morning, and ha\c just as good an ai)])clite for dinner as e\er. in llic afternoon he would eat se\enteen green apples, and he on hand for su])j)er as h'\'el\- as a cricket. Still, at limes he rt']ientel shorten its year and bum out thus early its meagre foliage; but as soon as these pale flames are seen among the greens, you know that the year has passed its ])rime. Grown people may experience a touch of melancholy with the aj)proach of autumn. The years fly fast — another of those allotted to them is almost gone; the brightening foliage is a ])resage of bare twigs, of frost and frozen earth, and the gales and snows of winter. This was not the boy's view. He was not rctrosy)ecti\"e; his interests were bound up in the present and the future. There was a good deal of unconscious wisdom in his mental attitude. He looked forward, whatever the time of year, with unflagging enthusiasm to the days approaching, and he rejoiced in all he saw and exi)eri- enced, and did not worry himself with allegories. The bright-leaved tree at the end of summer was a 109 no The Farmer's Boy- matter of interest both for its brightness and its unex- pectedness. The boy picked a branch and took it home to show to his mother, and the next day he carried it to school A mud turtle and gave it to the teacher. He would have been glad to share all the good thing- of life that camt' to him with his teacher. Next to hi> mother, she was the brst person he knew of. Ik- nrwr found anylhing in his wanderings about home or in the lields or woods that was curious or A Lit LI inn III beautiful or eatable but that the thought of the teacher flashed into his mind. His intentions were better than his abih'ty to carry them out, for he often forgot himself, and on ihc \\a\' home ate all the berries he had ])icked, or he got lired and ilirew away the treasures he had gathered. Hut wliat he did take to the teacher was sure of a welcome and an interest that made him ha])i)y, and more her faithful follower than ever. Summer merges so gently into autumn that it isdifticult to tell where to draw the line of sejjaration. Sejitember, as a rule, is a montli of mild days mingled with some that ha\e all ihe heat of midsummer; Ijul ihe nights are cooler, and at times the dew felt icy cold to the boy's bare feet on his morning trips to and from pasture. The meadows were now being clipped of their second crop of grass; the j)olalo toj)s had withered and lost themselves in the motley masses of green weeds that con- tinued to flourish after the potatoes themselves had ri])ened ; the loaded api)le trees drooped their branches and sprinkled the earth with early fallen fruit ; the coarse grasses and woody creej)crs along the fences turned russet and crimson, and the garden became increasingly ragged and forlorn. The garden reached its fulness and began to go to pieces in July. First among its summer treasures came lettuce and radishes, then peas and sweet com and string 112 The Farmer's Boy beans and early potatoes. The boy had a great deal more to do with these things than he liked, for the gather- Pick iiig hlackhcrrics ing of them was among those small jobs it was so handy to call on liim lo do. Howexer, lie got not a little con- solation out of il I)\' calinu: of tlie lhinu;s lu- trathercd. Autumn IT.^ Raw string beans were not at all bad, and a pod full of peas made a pleasant and juicy mouthful, while a small ear of sweet corn or a stalk of rhubarb or an onion, and even a cucumber, could be used to \ar)- the bill of fare. Along one side of the garden was a row of currant bushes. He was supposed to let those mostly alone, as his mother had warned him she wanted them for "jully.'' But he did not interpret her warning so literally but that he al- lowed himself to rejoice his palate with an occasional full cluster. It was when the tomatoes ripened that the garden reached the to}) notch in its offering of raw deli- cacies. Those red, full - skinned tro- phies fairly melted in the boy's mouth. He liked them bet- ter than green aj)- ples. The potatoes were the hardest things to manage of all tlie gardi-n vegetables which he was sent out to get for dinner. His folks had an idea that you could dig into the sitles l'ulalu-biti^\;^iiig 114 The Farmer's Boy of the hills and pull out the big potatoes, and then cover up and let the rest keep on growing ; but when the boy tried this and finished with a hill, he had to acknowledge that it did not look as if it would ever amount to much afterward. The sweet-corn stalks from which the ears were picked had to be cut from time to time and fed to the cows. It was this thinning out of the corn, as much as the withering of the pea and cucumber vines and irregular digging of the potatoes, that gave the garden its early forlomness. By August the pasture grass had been cropped short by the cows, and the drier slopes had withered into brown. Thenceforth it was deemed necessary to furnish the cows extra feed from other sources of su])i)ly. The farmer would mow with his scythe, on many evenings, in the nooks and corners about his buildings or along the road- side and in the lanes, and the results of these small mow- ings were left for the boy to bring in on his wheelbarrow. Another source of fodder supply was tlie ticld of Ind- ian corn. Around the bases of the hills there sprouted manv surplus shoots a foot or two in length kno^^'n as "suckers." These were of no earthly use where they were, and the boy on a small farm often had the privilege, toward evening, of cutting a load of the suckers lor the cows. Among them he galiiered a good many lull-grown stalks thai had no ears on ihem. Possil)ly there was A Lit LI nin "5 A voyage on a log a patch of fodder corn sown in rows on some ])iecc of late-ploughed ground, and a pan of ilu- time lie might gather from that. He had to bring in as heaw a load as he could wheel every night, and on Saturday an extra one to last o\"er Sunday. The cows had to ha\e special attention from the boy one wav or another the year through. They were most aggravating, ])erha])S, when in Sejitember the shortness Ii6 The Farmer's Boy of feed in the pasture made them covetous of the con- tents of the adjoining fields. Sometimes the boy would sight them in the corn. His first great anxiety was not about the corn, but as to whether they were his folks' cows or belonged to the neighbors. He would much rather warn some one else than undertake the cow-chasing himself. If his study of the color and spotting of the cows proved they were his, he went in and told his mother, then got his stick and took a bee-line across the fields. He was wrathfully inclined when he started, and he be- came still more so when he found how much disposed the cows were to keep tearing around in the corn or to race about the fields in as many different directions as there were animals. He and the rest of the school had lately become members of the Band of Mercy, and on ordinary occasions he had a kindly feeling for his cows; but now he was ready to throw all sentiment aside, and he would break his stick over the back of any one of the cows if she would give him the chance, which she \ery unkindly would not. He had lost In's temper, and jH'esently he lost liis l)reatli, and he just dripped with perspiration. He dragged himself a^ong at a ])anting walk, and he found, after all, that this did fully as well as all the racing and shouting he had bt'en indulging in. Indeed, he was not sure but the cows had "Tot the notion that he had come out to haw a little Autuiiin 117 caper over the farm with thum for his personal enjoy- ment. All lliinji;s haxe an end. and in linu' ihc boy made the last cow lea]) the ,u;ap in ihc broken frnce back into the pasture. Then c\erv one of them went to browsing as if nothing had happened, or looked at him mildl\- with an 4 A corner of the sheep yard inriiiiring forward lilt of the ears, as if thcv wanted to know what all this row was about, anywaw The boy replaced the kncu ked-down rails, staked things uj) as well as he knew how, picked some pci3|jerminl by the brook to ii8 The Farmer's Boy munch, and trudged off home. When he had drunk a quart or so of water and eaten three cookies, he Ijcgan to feel that he was himself again. Besides all the extra foddering mentioned, it was customary on the small farms to give the cows, late in the year, an hour or two's baiting each day. The cows were baited along the roadside at first, but after the rowen was cut, they were allowed to roam about the grass fields. Of course, it was the boy who had to watch them. There S /looting with a " slitti^" Autuiiin 119 were unfenced crops and the apples that lay thick under the trees to be guarded, not to mention the turnips in the newly seeded lot, and the cabbages on the hill that would spoil the milk if the cows ate any of llum. Then, too, tlie l)()un(lary line fences were out of rei)air, and the cows seemed to have a great anxiety to get over on the neighbors' ])remiscs, even if the grass was nnu h scantier than in tlie lield where lliey were feeding. The boy brought out a book, and settled himself with his back against a fence post and planned for an easy time. The cows seemed to understand die situation, and lliey went exploring round, as the boy said, "in tlie most insensible fashion he ever saw — -wouldn't kee]) nowhere, nor any- where else." He tried to make them slay widdn bounds by veiling at them while sitting still, but they did not appear to care the least bit about ids remarks un- less he was right beldnd tlu-m with a slick in his hand. The cows did not allow the boy to suffer for lack of ex- ercise, and the hero in ihe book he was reading had con- tinually to l)e deserted in the most desperate situations while he ran off to give those cows a training. There was one of the cow's relations that the boy had a particular fondness for — -1 mean the calf. ( )n small farms [hv lone >ummer calf was telherrd handily somewhere about tin- premises. Every day or two, when it had nibbled and trodden the circuit of grass 120 The Farmer's Boy within reach pretty thoroughly, it was moved to a fresh spot. The boy did this, and he fed the calf its milk each night and morning. If the calf was very }oung, it did not know enough to drink, and the boy had to dip his fin- gers in the milk and let the calf suck them while he enticed it, by gradually lower- ing his hand, to ])Ut its nose in the pail. When hv had his hand in the milk and the calf imagined it was getting lots of milk out of the 1)()\V fingers, lie would ge'nll}- witli- draw them. 'I'he calf was inclined to resent this by giv- ing a \igorous bum witii ils iuad. \\t\' likc-h' the Al the Ihini daur Aiir umn 121 bov got sloppcfl, but he knew what to expect well enough not to allow himself to be sent sprawling. He repealed the finger process until in time the calf would drink alone, but he never could gel it to stoj) bunting. In- deed, he did not try very hard, except occasionally, for Willi liiiii^ work 111 the sau'itiill he found it rather entertaining, and sometimes he did not object to butting his own head against the calf's. Things became most exciting when the calf got loose. It would go gallo])ing all about the j)remises, showing no regard for the garden, or the llower plants, or the towels laid out on the grass to dry. It made the chickens s(|uawk and scam])er, and tlie turkeys gobble and the geese gabble. 122 The Farmer's Boy Its heels went kicking through the air in all sorts of posi- tions, its tail was elevated like a flag pole, and there was a rattling chain hitched to its neck that was jerking along in its company. The calf was liable to step on this chain, and then it stood on its head with marvellous suddenness. The women and girls all came out to save their linen and "shoo" the calf off when it approached the flowers, but it was the boy who took on himself the task of capturing the crazy animal. The women folks seemed much distressed by the calf's performances, while the boy was so overcome with the funniness of his calf that lie was only halfway efl'ective in the chasing. At last the calf aj^parcntly saw something it never noted before ; for it stopped stock still and stretched its ears forward as if in great amazement. Now was the boy's chance. He stole u]) and grabbed the end of the chain ; but at that moment the calf concluded it saw nothing worlln- of aslonishnu-nl, and started off again fidl lilt, trailing a small boy behind, whose twinkling legs never went so fast before. It was a (juestion if things were not in a more desperate state than they were ])re- viously. By this time- the 1x)y's fatlur and a few of the neighbors' boys appeared on the seem, and betwei'n them all the calf got confused, and allowed itself to bi' tethered once more in the m()>t docile subjection. \'ou would not ha\e thought the gentle little creature, which Autumn 123 was so mildly niljbling off the clover loaves, was capable of such wild doings. On farms where oxen were used the boy was allowed to train a ])air of steers. While the training was going on, the bo}- could be heard shouting out his threats and commands from one end of the town to the other. Even old (irandjja Smith, who liad been deaf as a stone these ten years, asked what the noise was about when our boy began training steers. By dint of his shoutings and whackings it was no great time before the boy had the steers so that they were (|uite res])ectal)le. They would turn and twist according to his directions almost any way, and he could make them snake the clumsy 124 The Farmer's Boy old cart he hitched them into over any sort of country he pleased. He trained them so they would trot quite well, too. All together, he was proud of them, and be- lieved they would beat any other steers in the county clean out of sight. He was going to take them to the cattle-show some time and see if thev would not. Out with the stars Cattle-show camr in the autumn, usual!}' about ihc lime of the lirst frosts. There was some early rising among tlu' farmers on the morning of the great dav, for tliey must get tlieir llocks and herds under wav promptly or they would he late. Every kind of farm creature had its ])lace on llie grounds; and in \hv big hall were displayi-d (juanlities of fruits and \-egelables llial were the biggest and best ever seen, and sam])k's of cooking Ipplc juice Aiirunm 125 and sam])los of sc\vin<^, and a l)i'(l(|uill an old lady made afu-r she was ninrt\- \i'ars old, dial had ahoul a million jML'CL'S in it ; and another one made b\ Ann Maria Tolkins who was only len years old, and dial had ahoul nine hundred thousand j)ieces in it ; and a pieture in oils \h\> same Ann Maria Tolkins had painted: and some other paint inL!;s, and lots of fane\- things, and all sorts of re- markaljle work that women and j^irls eould do and a boy wasn't good for an\thing at. However, the bov admired all this handicraft, and he was astonished at the big s<|uash that grew in one sumnuT and weighed twice as much as he did. He sur\-e}t'd the fruits with watery mouth, and exclaimed when he got to the potatoes, any one of which would almost fill a (|uarl measure, "Jiminy! wouldn't those be the fellers to pick u]), though ? " " 1 don't think you use ver\- nice laiiguage." >aid the bo}''s older sistc-r, who was nearl\ through the high school. "Well, you don't know much al)out ])icking up pota- toes," was his retort. There were more chances to spend money on the cattle-show grounds than you could "shake a stick at." All sorts of men were walking around through the crowd with popcorn and candies, and gay little balloons and whistles and such things to sell, and there were ])ooihs where you could see how much \c)u could ]>ound, and 126 The Farmer's Boy how much you could hft, and how straight you could throw a ball at a "nigger's" head stuck through a sheet of canvas fastened to posts two rods away. There were shooting galleries, and there was a phonograph, where you tucked some little tubes into your ears and could hear the famous baritone, Augustus William de ]\Ionk, sing the latest songs, and the exj)erience was so funny you could not helj) laughing. Of course, the boy could not invest in all the things he saw at the fair; he had to stop when his pocket-money was exhausted. But there was lots of free fun, such as the chance to roam Tlic crowd at caldcslunv Auriimn 1^7 around and look on at e■\•c•r^"thin,<,^ and hv had (|uanlilics of liandbills and l)n\ii;hlly colored cards and pamphk-ts thrust on him, all of which he faithfully stowed away in his j:;radually bult^inu; pockets and took home to con- sider at leisure. For a number of davs afterward he made melod}' wherever he went with h\> whistles and jcw's-harps at'd other noise-makers jjurchased at the fair ; but these things were soon broken, and the i)amphlets and circulars he gathered got scattered, and the cattle- show may be said to have been brought to an end bv his finding, two Sundays later, a lone j)eanut in his jacket pocket. He was in church at the time, and he was at great j)ains to crack llu' peanut (|uietly, so that he could eat it at once. He succeeded, though he had to assume great innocence and a remarkably steadfast interest in the preacher when his mother glanced his way suspi- ciously as she heard llie shuck crush. Autumn was a season of har\-est. Tin- ])otato held had hrst attention. When the boy's father was oiluT- wise busied, he had to go out alone and do digging and all, unless he could persuade his smaller brothers and sisters to bring along their little express wagon and assist. In such a case he spent about half his time showing them how, and offering inducements to keej) them at work. Usually it was the men folks who dug, and the box- had to do most of the jiii king u]). After he had handled 128 The Farmer's Boy about five l)ushels of the (hrty things, he thought he had done enough; but he eould not desert. It was one of the great virtues of farm hfe that the l)oy must learn to do disagreeable tasks, and to stiek to them to the finish, however irksome they were. This gave the right kind Pariuii apples of bov a decided advantage in the battles of life that came later, whatever Ids field of industry. He had acciuired courage to undiTtake and ])crsisteniv to carry out plans thai l)<)ys of milder experience would never dare to cope with. Potato fields that liad been neglirted in the drive of other work in their ripening weeks, llourisiied often Autumn 1 2Q at digging time witli many wrcdy jungli'S. This made digging slow, but llu' cconomiial small farmiT saw some gain in the fact, for he could feed the wreds to the pigs. Afkr thr niiil(la\- digging, whiK' tin- l)o\-"s falluT was carrying the bags of potatoes down cellar, the bov wheeled in a few loads of the weeds. 'I'he |tigs were verv glad to come wallowing uj) from die barnyard mire to ilu' bars where the bo\' llinw the wirds over. TheA' grunted and crunched wiUi great satisfaction. W'hrn the bo\- brought in the last load, he had a little conxersation with the pig>. and he scratclud ihe fattest one's back with a j)iece of board, until the stout jjorker lav down on its side and curled uj) the corners of its mouth and grunted as if in the M'\cndi heaxcn of bliss. A little later in dir fall tlu' onion^ had to be lo])ped, the beets ])ulled, the carrots s])ade(l out, and the corn cut. Work al the corn, in one sha])e or another, hung on until >now llew. The men did mosl of \hv cutting and binding, though the bo\' often assisli'd; but what he was sure to do was to drop tlu' straw and to hand U]) the bundles wlu'U the}' whtc reach' for stacking, aiid galluT tin- >calli-ri'd ])um|)kins and piil diciu under ihr stacks to ])rolecl tluni from the frost. \\v liked to plav that these stacks were Indian tents, and lu' would i rowd himself in among duir slanting stalks till he was out of sight. He picked out two good-sized green ])umpkins 130 The Farmer's Boy Bringing in a Pumpkin thai ni,ti;hl from amon.u; those they had l)rought home to feed to llie cows, and hollowed them out and cut awhd faces on thini for Jaeko" lanterns. IK' fixed with con- siderable troubU' a place in the bottom for a candle, A uninin I ii and got the younj^er children to come out on tin- slc'j)S while he lighted uj). They were filled with delight and fear 1)\' the ghostl)- heads with their strangely glow- ing features and their grinning, saw-toothed mouths. The 1)()\' went running around ihe xard wilh llicm, and put them on fence posts and carried them u\) a ladder, and cut up all sorts of antics with tiiem. i-'inall}', the younger children were called in, and the hox got lone some and blew out his candles, and stowed the Jack- o'-lanterns away for another occasion. On davs following there was much corn husking in the fields, at which the boy assisted, though the break- Tlic boy helps Intsk iji The Farmer's Boy ing off of the tough cobs was often no easy matter, and it made his wrists and lingers ache. Toward sundown the farmer frecjuently brought home a load to husk in the evening, or for employment on the morrow, should the day chance to be rainy. During the autumn it was quite common to do an hour or two's work in the barn of an evening, though the boy did not fancy the arrange- ment much, and begged off when he could think of a good excuse. In October the apples had to be ])icked. The pickers went to the orcliard armed with baskets, ropes, and ladders, and the wagon brought out a load of barrels and scattered them among the trees. It looked dan- gerous the way the boy would worm about among the branches and ])ursue the apples out to llie lips of the smallest limbs. He never fell, thougli he many times came near doing so. The way he hung on seemed to confirm llie Irulli of the tlieor\' tiial he was descended from monkey ancestors. But llie bo}' was on the ground much of the time, em])tying llie baskets tlu' nn'U let down into the barrels and picking u]) the l)e>l of the wind- falls, and gathering the rest of the appk'S on the ground into iiea])s for cider. It was a treat to take the ci(KT a])i)K's lo milk There was sure to be something going on in ilu' mill \icinit\- alwavs other teams and other l)()\s, and llure were Lrri'al Autumn ^33 bins of wailing ap])les and creaking machinery, and an atmos])lu'rc full oi cidcry odors. The l)o^• !osi no time in hunlini; up a ^ood >lraw and fiudinL:; a ne\sl_\- filled barri'l with the hunij; out. lie (.■slablished ])roni])l eon- niHiions with die eider ])y means of the straw, and loaded A/l(hit himself u]) with sweetness. WhiTi he had drunk enough, and had wijjed his mouth with his slee\e, he ri'marked that 1k' guessed he had lowered that eider some. .\ftiT the\' brought their own ( idrr home and i)ro|>]>rd up the barrel in llu- \ard b\- liu' sho]). the boy kept a bunch of straws conveniently stored, and as long as iii- called the cider sweel he frequently drew on the barrels' con- 134 The Farmer's Boy tents. When the cider grew hard he took to visiting the apple bins more frequently, and, if you noticed him closely, you would nearly always see tlial lie had bunches in his pockets that showed he was well provided with these food stores. The great day of the fall for the bo}' was that on which he and several of the other fellows went chestnutting. Thev had b^en planning the expedition and talking it over for a week beforehand. The sun had not been long up when they started off across the frosty cjuiet of the ]jastures. Some had tin ])ails, some had bags, some had both. One boy's ho])es soared so higli that he carried tliree bags willi a ca])acity of a half busliel each. Most of them had salt bags that would contain two or three (juarts. Two of the lads carriefl clubs to knock off the chestnuts that still clung in the burs. They were all in eager chatter as lliey tram])e(l and ski])ped and climbed the fences and rolled stones down the hill- side and whirled their ])ails about their heads, and waiti'd for the smalk'st bo\', who was getting left behind, to cat(h u]), and did all those other things that boxs do wluii the\' are olT that wav. How thev raced to be hrst when the\' neared the chestnut trees I 'i'lieix' was a scat- tering, and a shouting o\er linds, and a rustling among 'he fallen lea\cs. The nuts weri' not so luimerous that it t(X)k them loni^ to clear the t/round. Tlun llu\- threw Aiiruinn 135 tlu'ir clubs, l)ul ihr linih- witl- too high for their strcnj^nh to hv vlivci'ww and ihry soon gaw tlial up and wrnt on to find more trees. Tlie chestnuts rattled on the bot- toms of their tin ])ails, and the l>()\s with baf^s twisted them u]) and exhibited to each other the knob of ntits within. As ihe sun rose hij^dier the ^rass became wet with melted frost, and the wind be<^an to blow in dashing little breezes that kv\)[ increasing in force till the whole wood was set to singing and lluttering. The bovs en- joyed the briskness of the- gale, and agreed, besides, that it would bring down the chestnuts. 'Yhv\ wandtTed on ()\er knolls and through hollows, sometimes in the ])rown ])astures, sometimes in the ragged, autumn forest patches. They clubbed and climbed and i)icked, and bruised their shins, and got chestnut-bur j)rickles into their lingers, and they s([uabbled some among them- selves, and the smallest boy tumbled and had the nose- bh'rd and >lu-d tears, and il took the whoK- compan\' to comfort him. ( )n the whole, though, the\' got on very well. Presently the biggest boy, who had a watch, told them il was twelve o'clock, and tlu\- slopped on the sunny side of a pine grove, where there was a brook that >lippe(l down o\er some rocks ni'ar b\ , and ale their dinner. The bree/e was swaying tin- ]iine t()])s, in 136 The Farmer's Boy a weird sighing melody, and now and then a tiny whirl- wind caught up the leaves beyond the brook and dashed them into a white-birch thicket. In the sheltered nook where the boys sat the wind barely touched them, and they ate, and drank from the brook, and lounged about afterward in great comfort. Later, they followed the little stream down a rough ravine, and the afternoon experiences were much the same as those of the morn- ing. They saw two gray scjuirrels, they heard a hound baying on the mountain, and there was a gun fired off somewhere in the woods. They found a crow's nest, only it was so high in a tree that they could not get it, and they jjicked up many pretty stones by the side of the brook and put tlu-m in with their chestnuts. They stojj])ed under one tree tliat was in sight of an orchard wliere a man was ])icking a])ples. The man hallooed to them to "get out of lliert' I" and after a lillle hesitation — for the spot was a i)romising one -the}' straggled off into the woods again. While they tra\(,'lle(l thev did a good deal of desuilory eating. Thi'\- madi' \\a\- with an occasional chestnut, and they found birth and mountain mint, and dug some sas- safras root, whiih they ale after getting mo>l of tlie dirt off. The biggest box's name was Va\ Cook, and he would eat almost anything. He would eal acorns, whiih tlu' rest found too biltiT, and he would chew ])ine and lu'ndock A iinimn ^.7 needles and sweet-fern leaves, and all such things. He took liis knife, as they were crossing a j)asture, and cut a plug of bark from a i)ine tree and scra])ed out the ])iteh and juiie next lo the wood, and said it was swecl. The others tried it, and it was sweet, though they did not care much for it. In the late afternoon the scjuad of boys came out on a precipice of rocks that o\erhung a pond. 'i"hc wind i)iit jtir a Iriunp had gone down and the sun was getting low, and it >ecmed best that they should start homeward. They were back among the scattered houses of ihe viUage just as the evening had begun to get duskx and fro>t\-. The smallest ■38 The Farmer's Boy boy had more than a i)inl of chestnuts, and the biggest boy had as many as three quarts, not counting stones and other rubbish. The day had been a great success, but they felt as if they had trudged a thousanrl miles, Laic lo supper and were almost too tired to cat su])])er. However, when the boy began lo tell liis ad\'entures, and set forth in glowing terms liis lrium|)]is and trials, and li>led the wonderful things lie had >een, Ids >|)irils re\i\ed, and in the e\"ening he was able to sui)erinten(l the boil- ing of a cu]) of llie chestnuts he had gathered, and to do his share of \\\v i^ating. When the cheslnul burs opened, aulumn \\a> at its Aiirunin 1 39 height. Xow il ])e'gan to decline. K\ery breeze set loose relays of the gaudy lea\es and sent iheni llutter- ing to the earth in a many tinted shower, and the bare twigs and the increasing sharpness of the morning frosts warned the farm dwellers that winter was fast approach- in<£. V COUNTRY CHILDREN IN GENERAL IN this final chapter I propose to gather up some of the loose threads of my narrative that for one rea- son or another have missed attention in the earher cliai)ters. In particular, I wish to tell something of the farmer's girls. The average boy had a somcwlial scornful ojjinion of them, un- til he arri\ed at the age of sixteen or sev- enteen. Then their importance became quite superlative, if one could judge from the amount of atten- tion he gave them. The small girl's likes and di>likes, her enthusiasms and pleasures, were lo a large degree idenlical wilh llie bov's. She could beal liiiu half llie lime in ihe race> thai lhe\- ran. If >he had rubber b()ol>, she was just a-> good a /////(■ lioiisckccptr 140 CoiintrA' Children in Cjciu-ral 141 wader. She could j)lay halKilinih tVntfs, slide down liill, skate — indeed, do almost anxlhinii; the bov could, with 'if •St- - v^ktVUvVIk i; s A game oj croqui't just the same interest and enjoyment. The girl was often a leader in roaming and adventure, and some girls made excellent outdoor workers, too. A lively and capable girl often wished that she was a boy, so that she might ha\c the boy's outdoor frt'edom ; and sometimes, too, she en\ied his opporiunitx' to (•()])(.■ with xigorous work and win a name and ])\:uc in ihc world. At any rate, shr longed to sli]) awa\- from the conl'ining hou>ew()rk and more sober demeanor whit h she was expected to ha\e. On farms where boys were lacking, the girls sometimes, of necessitN', did the bovs' work. TheN' dro\i' tlic cows 142 The Farmer's Boy to pasture, helped in hoeing and weeding, loaded the hay, and picked iij) ])Otatocs. But usually they only h()\ered around the edges of the outdoor work. They took care of a comer in the garden and a strip of t^ower-bed, fed the chickens, went on errands, and helped pick apples. The smallest girls, unless their folks were uncommonly particu- lar, ran around \ery much as they pleased, and dipped into as many different kinds of work as they chose, and they got just as smutty and dirty as any of the boys. When the girls were old enough to don long dresses, they became more and more particular as to what they were seen doing about the fields, and they avoided anything but the light- est muscular exertion, and not all of them e\-en dared to make a spectacle of themselves by riding around on the horse-rake and tedder. The girl was early taught to wash and wipe the dishes, to swec]), to mend rents and sew on Inittons. Tlie boy had to acknowledge that in these things his sister beat him. She could do every one of them (juicker and l)etter tlian iiccouid, though he claimed that tiie l)Uttons she sewed on would come off, and that, gi\'e him time enough, he could sew a l)Utton on so he could depend oil that button's slaying where it was ])Ut to his last da}s. It was I'ertain, too, tiiat the girl was apt to be (piicker with her mind than the l)o\-. She h;id Iut K'ssons moi'i' |)erft'ct in >(h()ol, and she was more d()( ile in her bi-ha\ior. ( )ften she was the C()inur\' Cliildrc-n in (itiu-ral 143 boy's hclj)c'r and athiscr in all sorts of (lillkulliL's and troubles. W'l' all cra\c a sympathetic underslanding and interest in our doings. It is the mothers and sisters who are most likely to respond in such ways, and it was to them that the boy went most freely with his woes and |)leasures. ,1 (//(;/ Willi i^riimlpa They were far safer confidants than the rest of ihi' woiid, and the boy was likely to ha\e reason for sorrow in later life because he did not follow their wishes and ad\ice more closely. All kind> of boxs were to l)e found on our Xew Kngland farms — good and bad, handsome and homeK', l)righl and 144 The Farmer's Boy dull, strong and weak, courageous and timid, generous and mean. I think the better qualities predominated. The typical boy was a sturdy, wholesome-looking little fellow, with chubby cheeks that were well tanned and freckled in summer, and that in the winter took a rosy glow from the keenness of the air. The same was more mildly true of the appearance of the little girls, and with some advantage^ in their fa\"or. You take a group of country girls some June morning, on their way to school, with their fresh faces and clean, starched aprons — they looked, as Arte- mus Ward has said, "nice enough to eat without sass or season in'." As the children grew u]) they were ai)t to lose much of their simplicity and attraction. They became self-con- scious and in many ways artificial, particularly in their manner and in their pleasures. This artilkiality was not especially apparent in their work, and there were those who continued to a large degree refreshingly earnest and natural in whate\er llii'\' did; and (ounlrv life all througli, willi its general hal)ils of laljoi- and economx- and its comjjarative seclusion, was less artificial llian that of the cities, ^'el there were the same tendencies 'n l)otli places. The girl became increasingl}' anxious aljoul the mode of her dress — she wanted to ha\e all the latest j)uckers of the world of fashion. Shi' twisted and cut off and curled and fri/./i'd hc^r hair, and she braided it and ^liidyuii; Ins ^unday-siiiool icaon C()iintr\- CliiKlnn in (iciKr:il 145 rolled it and m:u\v il >land on ^'n^} in Ikt clTorl to lind the adiuslmenl most becoming to her style of beauty. The re- sull sometimes was that she had the api)earanee of having t^onc crazy. She wore tooilipick-loed, highdieeled shoes, and declared imljlicly that they couldn't be more com- fortable, while ])rivately she complained of corns. For society use she cultivated a cultured tone of voice and some tosses of the head, rolling up of the eyeballs, shrugging of the shoulders, etc., calculated to be "killing." She had an idea that it was becoming in her to appear to take fright easily, and she screeched at sudden noises, and was in a panic at the ai)i)earance of the most scared and tmy of mice. A good deal of this sort of i)erforming was done for its effect on the bovs. It seemed to interest and entertain them, and keep them lianging around. The girls senti- mentalized a good deal about the boys when they got into their teens. Tliev ke])t track of who was going with who, and, in tliiir >liallow way, picked his looks and tliaracter- istics all to ravellings. What a fellow >aihful, and afiaid of the girls. C()unrr\- ChiKlnii in (itnc-ral 147 That mijjjht he a sutrKii-nt cxj)lanalion in some cases, but in others the troul)le was not a (h'slike of i^irls, hut some douhts as to this kind of i^irls. Most boys were not as senlinHnlal as were most i^irls. The boys were more worka(hi\- and ])ractical. Their hfe, in the matter of <^ettin_ij;a li\in_ with whom lie was thrown that the girl was ahnost ahos some of the bo\s IkkK Tlie\ tiied to e.\])ress a u;rown-u]) com])etence to take care of tliem>el\es b)" a rougli manner and rude sj)eech, and abiht\' to I'nter into \hv s])irit of the worst kind of conxer- salion and stories, not only without a ijlush, but with s}'nv pathetic gutTaws of laughter. They resented their ])arents' authorit\'; the\' liked to resort to the loaling ])laces when they had leisure. They asjiired to smoke and cliew and S])it, like the rest of the loafers there. Tliis may be an extreme j)icture, but there were a \ast number of boys it would fit to a degree. Most country boys admired the gentilitx' of smoking, and would be at great pains to ac- (|uire the habit after they got to be fifteen or sixteen _\ears old. I\r]iap> the average l)oy ne\er became a fre(|uent smoker, but when he started off for a ride, he liked the pleasurable feeling of inde])en(kn( e it ga\e him, to ha\c 148 The Farmer's Boy a cigar tilted neatly upward from the corner of his mouth. This stamped him a gentleman to all beholders, and the lookers-on were convinced from his manner and cicrar that Ajtrrnooii 011 the jroiit porch he was a ])ers()n of xigorous and stoulK- held opinions willi whi( h it would 1)C' \)v>\ not to altrmpi ;in\' fooling. W'iicn you saw a young man gayl}- riding by, sitting up ver}- straight, willi hi^ best (lothcs on and his fnc-cent C()iinrr\' Childrtn in (H-nt-ral 149 cigar scenting llir air with its gi-ntlr aroma, you migln know he was going to lake his girl to ride-. If iu- could b\- any manner of means hnd the mont'y at this timr of his carfrr, the young man bought a fa>t horse and a shin_\- to]) bugg\'. He fairlv dazzled tlu' beholders' eyes as he llitli'd swiftb" ])a>l. Somrtimes it took more tlian onr liorse to rini>h his courting, for tlu- lirsl one might die of old age before he got through. HiU whatever disappointments the young man suffered in his lo\e alTairs, and however his fancy or chance made him thange one girl for anotlier, you could not see, when he started on his journeys, that hi- had e\er lost aught of that tirst freslmess of denu-anor wliich cliaracteri/ed him, and the ]ierfume of his ligar had the same old l"i\e-cent fragrance. .After all, those young fellows who went skirmi>liing around in this fashion were mostly hearty and good- natured. When sui'h a one married, his horse went slower, the polisli wore off from Ids cari'iage, he neglected his cigar, and he and his wil"e settled down, as a rule, into a \ery staid and comfoHable sort of folks. They might ha\c been wi>er, the}' might ha\e gotten more from life; so could we- all of us. Shakespere >a\-s that "All the world lows a lo\er," and people are fond of rej)ealing this sa\ing; but Shake- spere wrote three- hundrc-d \'ears ago. I am \ery sure that New England lu-opk- do not lo\e a lo\-er. He is a 150 The Farmer's Boy butt for more poor jokes than any other character. The people our boy knew thought the lo\er was ridiculous. They called him off and set liim on, and scared him and encouraged him, and mixed him uj) generally. They at least made that other saying come true — "Faint heart ne'er won fair lady." As for the girl concerned, she got among her friends a rather gentler and more coddling treatment. Even the smallest children in some families had to en- dure a lot of talk from their elders about their "girls" and "fellows" that was the most sickly sort of sentimen- tality. If let alone, the cliildrcn's minds did not run much on these lines, though they occasional!}', in tlieir innocent wa\', built some \ery pretty castles in tlie air, that soon melted awa}' harmlessly into nothing in the warmth of their other interests. Boys, when they began to go to the larger schools of a town, were a])t to learn a \ariety of rough tricks, exclama- tions, and slang that sliocked the folks at liome when tluv got to showing off within iheii" elders' siglu and hear- ing. With ihe best of the bo\s ihis i-oughness presently woi'e off. ( )duTs cuhi\aled iheii" acc()m])lishments, and e\en UKuk' iheii- con\ I'rsalion eni])hatit- with certain of the swear words. Such boys were condemned by llie righteous of the communily as allogelhc'r bad, and \i't it sonuiinu's hai)i)ene(l that e\en llie\- had redeeminii: C()untr\' ChiKlrt-n in ( Icmral 151 trails. I do nol think lyinj^; was a loniinon fault of ihi' countr\- bovs, thouu;!'! most of thcni found iliLnisi-lvcs at linu's in ciivumslanccs wliiili made il dirik-ull to abstain from gi\ing llic truth a ])rt.'tty >c'\crc straining; and per- haps most had two or tiuxr lies on their (■onseience> thai were undoul)tedl\' blaek. l>ul the boy ])robably repented these in shame and sorrow, and hoped he newr would be tempted again to tell one of the untruths he so (les])ised. Reall}' bad and unblushing l}ing a bo\- was apt to learn, if e\er, after he got among the older and rougher boxs who hung around the ])Ost-ortK-e every exening at mail- time, or who attended the centre schools of the town. Kill Inn work 152 The Farmer's Boy The farm, more than most places, tends to give children habits of thrift and singleness of purpose in the pursuit of education. There is seclusion enough on the majority of farms, so that the children are not confused b\- a mul- tiplicity of amusements and too much going on. This seclusion may make some dull, Ijut to others it gives a concentrated energy that results in tlieir being all through life untiring workers and stout thinkers. Often from such a start they Ijecome the world's leaders in many widely scattered fields of usefulness. Because you are a farm-boy, it is not, however, certain that you have only to seek the city to win fame and fortune. The city is already crowded with workers and with ability. It is a lonely, homesick place, and man}- years must pass before a ])crson can win even a jxjsition of safety and comfort. The l)()ys with good habits and health and a strong will lia\e the best chance. Tlie boy with loose habits and lack of energy finds more tem])tations to a weak and purposeless career than in the country. Some boys and girls can li\e li\es of wider usefulness in the large towns tlian in the coun- lr\-, and it is bc-st for llu'in to go tluMX", but it is a serious question for mo^l whrlhe'i' thc\- will gain anxthing l)y llie change. It was m\- ])lan, in thi> book, to take the farmci'V l)ov straight througli tin' war. ThriTNtill rcmain>a final moniii that has not bi'cn treated. With 'l"hanksgi\'ing autunm Countr}' Chililrtn in General 153 ended and winter began. The trees had been bare for some time, the grasses withered brown, and the landscape was Encouraging the Tluuiksgiving turkey white with frost every morning. There had l^een high winds whistling about the farm buildings and S(urr\ing through the leaf litter of the fields. Snow s(|ualls had whitened the air, and the roadway pools had frequently been glazed with ice. Bui the solid freezing and snows of winter were not looked for until after Thanksgiving. The boy got out his old mittens, and his cloth ca]) that he tould pull down o\er his ears, and he kept his coal collar turned U]), and hugged himself and drevv- his body into a narrower compass as he did his outdoor work. ( )n some cold morning he brought forth his sled, and if he found a bank 154 The Farmer's Boy steep enough he shcl down on the frost very well. He tried such ice as was handy, and of course broke through and got his feet muddy. Then real winter came, and the world was all white, and sleighbells jingled along the road, and the ponds and rivers were bridged with solid ice. The boy, with some *Qti„. Going lip for a slide Other boys, and jjerhaps some of the girls, too, was often out with his sled. They did a good deal of sliding do^^^l the steepest kind of liills — indeed, that was the sort they searched out ; and if a hill had a few liwly humps in il, so much the l)elter. They dashed down tlu' deiline in the most reckless fashion; and tiien ke])t going up a little higher to make the descent still faster and moi-e e\i iting. One little fellow, who lav flat on his sled and >teered with 0)unrr\' Children in Cicncral 35 his toes, got slewed out of the irat k and went roHinjf owr and over with his sled in a iloud of llyins^ snow. You would think it would Ix- the end of him. He got up da/.cd, and j)ow(iered white from head to foot, and his lij) quivered, and some tears trickled from his eyes. In a shaky voice he said that he was going home. The other boys gathered rountl and brushed him off, and Willie Hooper lent him his handkerchief, when the boy couldn't find his o\\'n ; and they told him how he looked going over A sU'iI ride for the Utile sister and over, and what he ought to have done; and that he was all right, and to "come on, now; there ain'l no use of goin' indoors just for that ; we'll ha\e a lot of fun yet." 156 The Farmer's Boy The boy at length was comforted, and in a few minutes he was careering do\\Ti the hill with the others, as lively as ever. By the time a lad got to be six or seven years old he expected to tind a pair of skates in his Christmas stocking. For some time after that his head accumulated bumps of a kind that would be apt to puzzle a phrenologist. It was astonishing in what a sudden and unexpected manner the skates would slip from under him ! There was not even a chance for him to throw out his hands to save himself. He was in luck if he could manage to sit doAATi instead of going full length. His ankles wobbled unac- countably, and the moment he left off mincing along in a sort of awkward, short-stepped walk and tried to strike out, down he went. Resides, his skate-stra])S were always loosening, or getting under his skates and tripping him up, and his feet became cold and his mitlens got wet. But the boy kept at it willi a perseverance under dirficuhv and disaster that would ha\-e acc()m])lislie(l won- ders if applied to work. In lime he could skim around with anv of them, and play shinny and skate backward and in a circle, and cut a figure S in the ice, and almost do a number of other remarkable things. The bov who skated much had to e.\peri(.'nce a few break- ings through the ice. On the little ponds and near the shore this wan oftin fun, and tin- bo\ who dared go ne'arest C<)unrr\' Childnn in Gtn(.r:il 1 57 The experts to the weak places and slid longest on a bender was a hero in his mates' estimation, and, T might add, in his own. \Mien he did breai< in he \cx\ likely got only his krl wet, and he did not mind that very much; but whrn hr broke through in some dee]) ])lacc', and did not grip tlu- ici- until he was in up to his arms, it was no smiling matlrr. He usually scrambled out quickly enough, but the worst of it came in getting home in his freezing clothing, that con- ducted the chill of the frosty air clear to his bones. Vet it rarely happened that an\lhing serious resulted from these accidents. The Year went (jut with Christmas, the holiday that 158 The Farmer's Boy perhaps shone brightest of all the list in the bov's mind. A few days before its advent he and his folks visited the town, where all the stores were, to buy presents. They did much mysterious advising together, but never as a family group ; there always was at least one shut out. It took a great deal of consideration and calculation to make forty-nine cents go around among all your friends. But the members of the family were usually considerate, and when the boy fished for hints of their likes, they made it clear, in suggesting the thing they most wanted, that he would not have to spend such a great deal. Then, while he was in the store buying, the others who hap])encd lo be witli him were always good enough lo stand by the door and look the other way, so that, of course, their presents, when they received them, were a great surprise. Each of the children brought home various little pack- ages, which they were at great ])ains to liidc away from the olJKT members of the household, though lhe_\' could not forbear to talk about them darkl\-, and gel the others lo guess, until they were almost telling themselves. Some of them, particularly the girls, were apt to be " making things" about this time, and you had lo be careful how you noticed what was left lying around, or \()u (lisco\ered secrets, and there was likely to be a sudden hustling of things out of sight when you came into the room, and looks of such exaggerated innocence that you knew something c... ..<.,, / ■' — '■.■> Countr\' Cliildren in Cicncial 1 5Q was going on. If vou showed an inclination to stoj), your sister said, "Frank, do go along!" "What for?" asked Frank. ''Oh, you've been in the house long enough I" was the reply. "Well, I guess I want to gel warm," Frank continued. "It's pretty cold outdoors. Say, what is it you're sitting on, Nell, anyway?" "I didn't say I was sitting on anything," was Nellie's response. " You just go along out, or you sha'n't have it." Then Frank blew his nose and laughed, and pulled on his mittens and shuttled off. On Christmas eve the children hung u]) their stockings back of the stove, and were hopeful of presents, in spite of the disbelief they expressed in the possibility that Santa Claus could come down the stovepipe. Sure enough, in the morning the stockings were all bunchy with the things in them, and the children had a great celebration pulling them out and getting the wraps off the jmckages. They did all this without slopping to more than half dress, and breakfast had to wail for them. They were in no haste, for they had popcorn and landy thai they found in their stockings to munch on, and e\'er}- om- had to >how all his things to each of llie rest, and see all the others had, and spring the baby'> Jac k in-lhe-bo.\ about half a dozen times till ihev ml used to the fright of it. i6o The Farmer's Boy Thcv had better things to eat that day than usual, and more of them, and with the food and the sweetmeats and extras some of the children were nearly sick and wholly quarrelsome before the day was done. A Clirisliua.s puzzle In the e\ening there was, pcrha])s, a Cliristmas tree at the schoolhouse. There had been a turmoil of ])repara- tion in the neigh borliood for several fhn-s ])re\ious; for the children had to Ix' sul learning ])i(.'(.cs, and practising, and fixing u]) costumes; and cake and lookies and all the good things to eat had lo \)v made read}', and some one had to collect the dimes and niikels and (|uarters lo get (and\- and oranges and Christmas tree trimmings with. C(>iintr\' Chililixn in General i6l Then some two or three had to make a journey to the woods and chop a good branchy hemlock or s])ruce of the rit^ht size, and set it up in the corner of the schoolhouse. P'i- nally, the green curtains had to be hung to separate the audience from the stage, where the small people would do their acting and s])eak their ])ieces. The whole \illage turned out in tlie evening. They came on foot and the\' came in teams. Usually, each group carried a lantern to light its way, and the lanterns were left in the entry when their bearers went in. The school- house windows were aglow with light, and things within fairly glittered to the children's eyes. There were six lamps along the walls, in addition to those back of tlie curtains, and all the lamps were lighted and turned up nearly to the smoking point. Everybody was tliere, besides four boys from the next village, who sat on a front seat, and James Peterson's dog. Some of the big people got into some of tile small seats, and certain of the neighbors who didn't get along very well with certain others had to man- age carefully not to run across each other's courses. Chairs had been brought from the near homes and set in the aisles and wherever else there was s])ace for them at the back of the room. There were none too many, and the school- room was such a pocket of a place that by the time the last comers arrived e\en elbow-room was scarce. The air was full of the hum of talk, and the young people were 1 62 The Farmer's Boy running all about the open space and in and out the door, and there were consultations and gigglings and Hurries over things forgotten or lost or something else, without number. The curtain was drawn, but you could see the top of the gavly loaded tree over it, and the movement of feet under it, and you could see queer shadows on it of figures doing mysterious things. Sometimes a figure brushed against the curtain, and it came bulging away out into the room, and the four boys from the next town had the greatest work to keep from exploding over tlie funniness of this; and, as it was, one of them tumbled off from the narrow scat he occu])ied. Bv and bv there was a ([uieting in the tlurry up in front, and some one stood before the curtain with a paper in his hand and announced that the first exercise of the even- ing would be thus-and-so. There was no astonishing genius shown in what followed, but a person would have to be verv d\'s])eptic not to enjoy the sim])licily and earnest- ness of it all. Each child had liis or lier indixidual way, and some of the participants were so small ihey could onlv pipe and lis]) the words, and you didn't know what the\' said; bui when thi'v madr their link' bows and hur- ried off to find ihrir niolluTs, \()u and \hv rest of the au- dience were delighted, and ap])lau(led just the same. There was a mdodcon at ont- sidi- of the room, and the C'lirislDiiis inoniitig Counrrv Children in (KMural 163 school sang scve-ral songs, and one of the young ladies sang a solo all alone, and they had a dialogue with Santa Claus in it, who was so dressed up in a long beard and a fur coat and a deep voice that you wouldn't haw an}- idea it was only Hiram Taylor ! At length came the Christmas tree. How handsome it looked, with the numerous packages and bright things hung among its green twigs, and the strings of popcorn looped all about, and the oranges and candy bags dangling everywhere ! Three or four of the young jX'Ople took olf the presents and called out names, and kej)! everybody grovving hajjpier and ha])])ier. When the tree was bare, and even the po])corn and landy bags and oranges had been distributed, some of the women folks got lixelv in a corner where there was a table piled all over with baskets and boxes. Then })lates began to circulate, and it was found that there was a pot boiling on the stove and a smell of coffee in the air. About nineteen different kinds of cake started on tluir wanderings, and tlure were biscuits and nuts; and you had a chance to talk with everybody and show your ])resents, and altogether had so good a lime tliat you felt as if the ])leasure would last the whole year llirough. It would take many books to tell all there is to tell about the farmer's boy; and where can we better leave him than this Chri>tmas night, with the re>t of the family, snugged 164 The Farmer's Boy up among the robes of the sleigh, on the way home? The lantern on the dashboard flashes its light along the road ahead, the horses' hoofs strike crisply on the frozen snow, the bells jingle, and the sky overhead ghtters full of radiant stars. In the ghding sleigh are the children, holding their precious presents in their laps, and still in animated conversation reviewing the events of the evening. The sleigh moves on, they are lost to sight — the book is ended. A picture book SEP le 1907 014 042 637 4 # M 1