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diff --git a/old/54604-h/54604-h.htm b/old/54604-h/54604-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 83e9d3f..0000000 --- a/old/54604-h/54604-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6603 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Being a Boy, by Charles Dudley Warner. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body {margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%;} - -@media handheld {div.chapter {page-break-before: always;}} - -h1,h2 {text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both;} - -.small {font-size: 75%;} -.large {font-size: 120%;} -.xlarge {font-size: 150%;} -.xxlarge {font-size: 175%;} - -p {margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em;} - -.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin: 3em 17.5%;} -hr.full {width: 95%; margin: 3em 2.5%;} -hr.r15 {width: 15%; margin: 1em 42.5%;} - -table {margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto;} - -.tdl {text-align: left;} -.tdr {text-align: right;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right;} - -.center {text-align: center;} -.left {text-align: left;} -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter {padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em; - margin: auto; text-align: center;} - -img {border: none; max-width: 100%;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold; - padding-top: 0.5em; - font-size:smaller;} - -.poetry-container - {text-align: center;} - -.poetry - {display: inline-block; - text-align: left;} - -.poetry .stanza - {margin: 1em auto;} - -.poetry .verse - {text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em;} - -.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} -.poetry .indent5 {text-indent: -0.5em;} -.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0em;} -.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: 1em;} - -@media handheld - {.poetry {display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em;}} - -.topspace2 {margin-top:2em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif;} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Being a Boy, by Charles Dudley Warner - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Being a Boy - -Author: Charles Dudley Warner - -Illustrator: Clifton Johnson - -Release Date: April 27, 2017 [EBook #54604] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEING A BOY *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, Brian Wilsden and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="FRONTIS"></a> -<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">FISHING ON THE SWIMMING ROCK (page <a href="#Page_169">169</a>)</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="TITLE_PAGE"></a> -<img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="Title Page" /> -</div> - -<h1>Being a Boy</h1> - -<div class="center"><span class="xlarge">by</span><br /> - -<span class="xxlarge">Charles Dudley Warner</span> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_flower.jpg" alt="Decoration" /> -</div> - -<div class="center"><span class="large"><i>With Illustrations<br /> -from Photographs<br /> -by Clifton Johnson</i></span> - -<div class="topspace2"></div> - -Boston and New York<br /> -Houghton, Mifflin and Company<br /> -The Riverside Press, Cambridge<br /> -Mdcccxcvii<br /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"> -<span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1877, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD AND CO.<br /> -1897, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND CO.<br /> -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</span><br /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="contents"> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr"></td> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr"></td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Preface to the Illustrated Edition</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_vii">vii</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">I.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Being a Boy</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#I">1</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">II.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Boy as a Farmer</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#II">8</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">III.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Delights of Farming</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#III">15</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">No Farming without a Boy</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#IV">22</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">V.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Boy's Sunday</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#V">30</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Grindstone of Life</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#VI">38</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fiction and Sentiment</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#VII">47</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">VIII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Coming of Thanksgiving</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#VIII">56</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">IX.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Season of Pumpkin-Pie</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#IX">65</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">X.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">First Experience of the World</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#X">73</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XI.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Home Inventions</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XI">82</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Lonely Farm-House</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XII">92</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John's First Party</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XIII">101</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Sugar Camp</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XIV">113</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XV.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Heart of New England</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XV">123</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVI.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">John's Revival</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XVI">134</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">War</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XVII">150</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Country Scenes</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XVIII">164</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr">XIX.</td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Contrast to the New England Boy</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#XIX">179</a></td> -</tr> - -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v, vi]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table summary="Illustrations"> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"></td> -<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Fishing on the Swimming Rock</span> (see page <a href="#Page_169">169</a>) </td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#FRONTIS">Frontispiece.</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Being a Boy</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#BEING_BOY">2</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Farm Oxen</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_FARM_OXEN">4</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">At the Pasture Bars</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#AT_THE_PASTURE_BARS">8</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In the Cattle Pasture</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#IN_THE_CATTLE_PASTURE">10</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">After a Crow's Nest</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#AFTER_A_CROWS_NEST">16</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A String of Speckled Trout</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_STRING_OF_SPECKLED_TROUT">20</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Watching for Sunset</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#WATCHING_FOR_SUNSET">28</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Riding Bareback</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#RIDING_BAREBACK">32</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Turning the Grindstone</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#TURNING_THE_GRINDSTONE">36</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Snaring Suckers</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#SNARING_SUCKERS">45</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Picking up Potatoes</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#PICKING_UP_POTATOES">48</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Leap-frog at Recess</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#LEAP_FROG_AT_RECESS">50</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Pounding off Shucks</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#POUNDING_OFF_SHUCKS">58</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Running on the Stone Wall</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#RUNNING_ON_THE_STONE_WALL">75</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Coasting</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#COASTING">83</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">In School</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#IN_SCHOOL">89</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Remote Farm-House</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_REMOTE_FARMHOUSE">93</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Going Home with Cynthia</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#GOING_HOME_WITH_CYNTHIA">111</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Young Sugar Maker</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#A_YOUNG_SUGARMAKER">119</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Watching the Kettles</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#WATCHING_THE_KETTLES">121</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Village from the Hill</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_VILLAGE_FROM_THE_HILL">127</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Treeing a Woodchuck</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#TREEING_A_WOODCHUCK">131</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Looking for Frogs</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#LOOKING_FOR_FROGS">136</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Trout Fishing</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#TROUT_FISHING">140</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Forced to go to Bed</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#FORCED_TO_GO_TO_BED">148</a> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Slippery Work</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#SLIPPERY_WORK">165</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Rigging up the Fishing-Tackle</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#RIGGING_UP_THE_FISHINGTACKLE">169</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Watching the Fishes</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#WATCHING_THE_FISHES">170</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Entering the Old Bridge</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#ENTERING_THE_OLD_BRIDGE">178</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Old Watering Trough</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_OLD_WATERING_TROUGH">180</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The New England Boy</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#THE_NEW_ENGLAND_BOY">184</a></td> -</tr> - -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="PREFACE_TO_THE_ILLUSTRATED" id="PREFACE_TO_THE_ILLUSTRATED"></a>PREFACE TO THE ILLUSTRATED -EDITION</h2> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">This</span> volume was first published over -twenty years ago. If any of the boys described -in it were real, they have long since -grown up, got married, gone West, become -selectmen or sheriffs, gone to Congress, -invented an electric churn, become editors -or preachers or commercial travelers, written -a book, served a term as consul to a -country the language of which they did not -know, or plodded along on a farm, cultivating -rheumatism and acquiring invaluable -knowledge of the most fickle weather -known in a region which has all the fascination -and all the power of being disagreeable -belonging to the most accomplished -coquette in the world.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></p> - -<p>The rural life described is that of New -England between 1830 and 1850, in a -period of darkness, before the use of lucifer -matches; but when, although religion had a -touch of gloom and all pleasure was heightened -by a timorous apprehension that it -was sin, the sun shone, the woods were full -of pungent scents, nature was strong in its -invitations to cheerfulness, and girls were -as sweet and winsome as they are in the -old ballads.</p> - -<p>The object of the papers composing the -volume—though "object" is a strong -word to use about their waywardness—was -to recall scenes in the boy-life of New -England, or the impressions that a boy had -of that life. There was no attempt at the -biography of any particular boy; the experiences -given were common to the boyhood -of the time and place. While the book, -therefore, was not consciously biographical, -it was of necessity written out of a personal - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> - -knowledge. And I may be permitted to -say that, as soon as I became conscious -that I was dealing with a young life of the -past, I tried to be faithful to it, strictly so, -and to import into it nothing of later experience, -either in feeling or performance. I -invented nothing,—not an adventure, not -a scene, not an emotion. I know from -observation how difficult it is for an adult -to write about childhood. Invention is apt -to supply details that memory does not -carry. The knowledge of the man insensibly -inflates the boyhood limitations. The -temptation is to make a psychological analysis -of the boy's life and aspirations, and -to interpret them according to the man's -view of life. It seems comparatively easy -to write stories about boys, and even biographies; -but it is not easy to resist the -temptation of inventing scenes to make -them interesting, indulging in exaggerations -both of adventure and of feeling - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> - -which are not true to experience, inventing -details impossible to be recalled by -the best memory, and states of mind which -are psychologically untrue to the boy's consciousness.</p> - -<p>How far I succeeded in keeping the man -out of the boy's life, my readers can judge -better than the writer. The volume originally -made no sensation—how could it, -pitched in such a key?—but it has gone -on peacefully, and, I am glad to acknowledge, -has made many valuable friends. It -started a brook, and a brook it has continued. -In sending out this new edition -with Mr. Clifton Johnson's pictures, lovingly -taken from the real life and heart of -New England, I may express the hope -that the boy of the remote generation will -lose no friends.</p> - -<p class="right">C. D. W. </p> - -<p class="left"> <span class="smcap">Hartford</span>, May 8, 1897.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="BEING_A_BOY" id="BEING_A_BOY"></a>BEING A BOY</h2> -</div> - -<hr class="r15" /> - -<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> - -<p class="center">BEING A BOY</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">One</span> of the best things in the world to be -is a boy; it requires no experience, though -it needs some practice to be a good one. -The disadvantage of the position is that it -does not last long enough; it is soon over; -just as you get used to being a boy, you -have to be something else, with a good deal -more work to do and not half so much fun. -And yet every boy is anxious to be a man, -and is very uneasy with the restrictions that -are put upon him as a boy. Good fun as it -is to yoke up the calves and play work, there -is not a boy on a farm but would rather drive -a yoke of oxen at real work. What a glorious -feeling it is, indeed, when a boy is for - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> - -the first time given the long whip and permitted -to drive the oxen, walking by their -side, swinging the long lash, and shouting -"Gee, Buck!" "Haw, Golden!" "Whoa, -Bright!" and all the rest of that remarkable -language, until he is red in the face, -and all the neighbors for half a mile are -aware that something unusual is going on. -If I were a boy, I am not sure but I would -rather drive the oxen than have a birthday.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="BEING_BOY"></a> -<img src="images/i_001.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">BEING A BOY</div> -</div> - -<p>The proudest day of my life was one day -when I rode on the neap of the cart, and -drove the oxen, all alone, with a load of -apples to the cider-mill. I was so little, -that it was a wonder that I didn't fall off, -and get under the broad wheels. Nothing -could make a boy, who cared anything for -his appearance, feel flatter than to be run -over by the broad tire of a cart-wheel. But -I never heard of one who was, and I don't -believe one ever will be. As I said, it was -a great day for me, but I don't remember -that the oxen cared much about it. They -sagged along in their great clumsy way, -switching their tails in my face occasionally, -and now and then giving a lurch to this or -that side of the road, attracted by a choice - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> - -tuft of grass. And then I "came the Julius -Cæsar" over them, if you will allow me -to use such a slang expression, a liberty -I never should permit you. I don't know -that Julius Cæsar ever drove cattle, though -he must often have seen the peasants from -the Campagna "haw" and "gee" them -round the Forum (of course in Latin, a language -that those cattle understood as well -as ours do English); but what I mean is, -that I stood up and "hollered" with all my -might, as everybody does with oxen, as if -they were born deaf, and whacked them -with the long lash over the head, just as -the big folks did when they drove. I think -now that it was a cowardly thing to crack -the patient old fellows over the face and -eyes, and make them wink in their meek -manner. If I am ever a boy again on a -farm, I shall speak gently to the oxen, and -not go screaming round the farm like a -crazy man; and I shall not hit them a -cruel cut with the lash every few minutes, -because it looks big to do so and I cannot -think of anything else to do. I never liked -lickings myself, and I don't know why an - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> - -ox should like them, especially as he cannot -reason about the moral improvement he is -to get out of them.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="THE_FARM_OXEN"></a> -<img src="images/i_002.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">THE FARM OXEN</div> -</div> - -<p>Speaking of Latin reminds me that I -once taught my cows Latin. I don't mean -that I taught them to read it, for it is very -difficult to teach a cow to read Latin or any -of the dead languages,—a cow cares more -for her cud than she does for all the classics -put together. But if you begin early you -can teach a cow, or a calf (if you can teach -a calf anything, which I doubt), Latin as -well as English. There were ten cows, -which I had to escort to and from pasture -night and morning. To these cows I gave -the names of the Roman numerals, beginning -with Unus and Duo, and going up to -Decem. Decem was of course the biggest -cow of the party, or at least she was the -ruler of the others, and had the place of -honor in the stable and everywhere else. -I admire cows, and especially the exactness -with which they define their social position. -In this case, Decem could "lick" Novem, -and Novem could "lick" Octo, and so on -down to Unus, who couldn't lick anybody, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> - -except her own calf. I suppose I ought to -have called the weakest cow Una instead -of Unus, considering her sex; but I didn't -care much to teach the cows the declensions -of adjectives, in which I was not very -well up myself; and besides it would be -of little use to a cow. People who devote -themselves too severely to study of the -classics are apt to become dried up; and -you should never do anything to dry up -a cow. Well, these ten cows knew their -names after a while, at least they appeared -to, and would take their places as I called -them. At least, if Octo attempted to get -before Novem in going through the bars (I -have heard people speak of a "pair of bars" -when there were six or eight of them), or -into the stable, the matter of precedence -was settled then and there, and once settled -there was no dispute about it afterwards. -Novem either put her horns into Octo's -ribs, and Octo shambled to one side, or -else the two locked horns and tried the -game of push and gore until one gave up. -Nothing is stricter than the etiquette of a -party of cows. There is nothing in royal - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> - -courts equal to it; rank is exactly settled, -and the same individuals always have the -precedence. You know that at Windsor -Castle, if the Royal Three-Ply Silver Stick -should happen to get in front of the Most -Royal Double-and-Twisted Golden Rod, -when the court is going in to dinner, something -so dreadful would happen that we -don't dare to think of it. It is certain that -the soup would get cold while the Golden -Rod was pitching the Silver Stick out of -the castle window into the moat, and perhaps -the island of Great Britain itself would -split in two. But the people are very careful -that it never shall happen, so we shall -probably never know what the effect would -be. Among cows, as I say, the question is -settled in short order, and in a different -manner from what it sometimes is in other -society. It is said that in other society -there is sometimes a great scramble for the -first place, for the leadership as it is called, -and that women, and men too, fight for -what is called position; and in order to be -first they will injure their neighbors by telling -stories about them and by backbiting, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> - -which is the meanest kind of biting there -is, not excepting the bite of fleas. But in -cow society there is nothing of this detraction -in order to get the first place at the -crib, or the farther stall in the stable. If -the question arises, the cows turn in, horns -and all, and settle it with one square fight, -and that ends it. I have often admired this -trait in cows.</p> - -<p>Besides Latin, I used to try to teach the -cows a little poetry, and it is a very good -plan. It does not benefit the cows much, -but it is excellent exercise for a boy farmer. -I used to commit to memory as many short -poems as I could find (the cows liked to -listen to Thanatopsis about as well as anything), -and repeat them when I went to the -pasture, and as I drove the cows home -through the sweet ferns and down the rocky -slopes. It improves a boy's elocution a -great deal more than driving oxen.</p> - -<p>It is a fact, also, that if a boy repeats -Thanatopsis while he is milking, that operation -acquires a certain dignity.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE BOY AS A FARMER</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="AT_THE_PASTURE_BARS"></a> -<img src="images/i_003.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">AT THE PASTURE BARS</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Boys</span> in general would be very good -farmers if the current notions about farming -were not so very different from those -they entertain. What passes for laziness -is very often an unwillingness to farm in a -particular way. For instance, some morning -in early summer John is told to catch -the sorrel mare, harness her into the spring -wagon, and put in the buffalo and the best -whip, for father is obliged to drive over to the -"Corners, to see a man" about some cattle, -or talk with the road commissioner, or go -to the store for the "women folks," and to -attend to other important business; and -very likely he will not be back till sundown. -It must be very pressing business, for the -old gentleman drives off in this way somewhere -almost every pleasant day, and appears -to have a great deal on his mind. - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> - -Meantime, he tells John that he can play -ball after he has done up the chores. As -if the chores could ever be "done up" on a -farm. He is first to clean out the horse-stable; -then to take a bill-hook and cut -down the thistles and weeds from the fence-corners -in the home mowing-lot and along -the road towards the village; to dig up the -docks round the garden patch; to weed out -the beet-bed; to hoe the early potatoes; to -rake the sticks and leaves out of the front -yard; in short, there is work enough laid -out for John to keep him busy, it seems to -him, till he comes of age; and at half an -hour to sundown he is to go for the cows, -and, mind he don't run 'em!</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," says John, "is that all?"</p> - -<p>"Well, if you get through in good season, -you might pick over those potatoes in -the cellar: they are sprouting; they ain't -fit to eat."</p> - -<p>John is obliged to his father, for if there -is any sort of chore more cheerful to a boy -than another, on a pleasant day, it is rubbing -the sprouts off potatoes in a dark -cellar. And the old gentleman mounts his - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> - -wagon and drives away down the enticing -road, with the dog bounding along beside -the wagon, and refusing to come back at -John's call. John half wishes he were the -dog. The dog knows the part of farming -that suits him. He likes to run along the -road and see all the dogs and other people, -and he likes best of all to lie on the store -steps at the Corners—while his master's -horse is dozing at the post and his master -is talking politics in the store—with the -other dogs of his acquaintance, snapping -at mutually annoying flies and indulging -in that delightful dog gossip which is expressed -by a wag of the tail and a sniff of -the nose. Nobody knows how many dogs' -characters are destroyed in this gossip; or -how a dog may be able to insinuate suspicion -by a wag of the tail as a man can by a shrug -of the shoulders, or sniff a slander as a -man can suggest one by raising his eyebrows.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="IN_THE_CATTLE_PASTURE"></a> -<img src="images/i_004.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">IN THE CATTLE PASTURE</div> -</div> - -<p>John looks after the old gentleman driving -off in state, with the odorous buffalo-robe -and the new whip, and he thinks that -is the sort of farming he would like to - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> - -do. And he cries after his departing parent,—</p> - -<p>"Say, father, can't I go over to the farther -pasture and salt the cattle?" John knows -that he could spend half a day very pleasantly -in going over to that pasture, looking -for bird's-nests and shying at red squirrels -on the way, and who knows but he might -"see" a sucker in the meadow brook, and -perhaps get a "jab" at him with a sharp -stick. He knows a hole where there is a -whopper; and one of his plans in life is to -go some day and snare him, and bring him -home in triumph. It therefore is strongly -impressed upon his mind that the cattle -want salting. But his father, without turning -his head, replies,—</p> - -<p>"No, they don't need salting any more'n -you do!" And the old equipage goes rattling -down the road, and John whistles his -disappointment. When I was a boy on a -farm, and I suppose it is so now, cattle were -never salted half enough.</p> - -<p>John goes to his chores, and gets through -the stable as soon as he can, for that must -be done; but when it comes to the outdoor - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> - -work, that rather drags. There are -so many things to distract the attention,—a -chipmunk in the fence, a bird on a near -tree, and a hen-hawk circling high in the air -over the barn-yard. John loses a little time -in stoning the chipmunk, which rather likes -the sport, and in watching the bird to find -where its nest is; and he convinces himself -that he ought to watch the hawk, lest -it pounce upon the chickens, and, therefore, -with an easy conscience, he spends fifteen -minutes in hallooing to that distant -bird, and follows it away out of sight over -the woods, and then wishes it would come -back again. And then a carriage with -two horses, and a trunk on behind, goes -along the road; and there is a girl in the -carriage who looks out at John, who is suddenly -aware that his trousers are patched -on each knee and in two places behind; -and he wonders if she is rich, and whose -name is on the trunk, and how much the -horses cost, and whether that nice-looking -man is the girl's father, and if that boy on -the seat with the driver is her brother, and -if he has to do chores; and as the gay sight - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> - -disappears John falls to thinking about the -great world beyond the farm, of cities, and -people who are always dressed up, and a -great many other things of which he has a -very dim notion. And then a boy, whom -John knows, rides by in a wagon with his -father, and the boy makes a face at John, -and John returns the greeting with a twist -of his own visage and some symbolic gestures. -All these things take time. The -work of cutting down the big weeds gets on -slowly, although it is not very disagreeable, -or would not be if it were play. John imagines -that yonder big thistle is some whiskered -villain, of whom he has read in a fairy -book, and he advances on him with "Die, -ruffian!" and slashes off his head with the -bill-hook; or he charges upon the rows of -mullein-stalks as if they were rebels in regimental -ranks, and hews them down without -mercy. What fun it might be if there were -only another boy there to help. But even -war, single-handed, gets to be tiresome. -It is dinner-time before John finishes the -weeds, and it is cow-time before John has -made much impression on the garden.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<p>This garden John has no fondness for. -He would rather hoe corn all day than work -in it. Father seems to think that it is easy -work that John can do, because it is near -the house! John's continual plan in this -life is to go fishing. When there comes a -rainy day, he attempts to carry it out. But -ten chances to one his father has different -views. As it rains so that work cannot be -done outdoors, it is a good time to work in -the garden. He can run into the house -during the heavy showers. John accordingly -detests the garden; and the only -time he works briskly in it is when he has a -stent set, to do so much weeding before the -Fourth of July. If he is spry he can make -an extra holiday the Fourth and the day -after. Two days of gunpowder and ballplaying! -When I was a boy, I supposed -there was some connection between such -and such an amount of work done on the -farm and our national freedom. I doubted -if there could be any Fourth of July if my -stent was not done. I, at least, worked for -my Independence.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE DELIGHTS OF FARMING</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">There</span> are so many bright spots in the -life of a farm-boy, that I sometimes think -I should like to live the life over again; -I should almost be willing to be a girl if it -were not for the chores. There is a great -comfort to a boy in the amount of work -he can get rid of doing. It is sometimes -astonishing how slow he can go on an -errand, he who leads the school in a race. -The world is new and interesting to him, -and there is so much to take his attention -off, when he is sent to do anything. Perhaps -he couldn't explain, himself, why, -when he is sent to the neighbor's after -yeast, he stops to stone the frogs; he is -not exactly cruel, but he wants to see if he -can hit 'em. No other living thing can go -so slow as a boy sent on an errand. His -legs seem to be lead, unless he happens to - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> - -espy a woodchuck in an adjoining lot, when -he gives chase to it like a deer; and it is -a curious fact about boys, that two will be -a great deal slower in doing anything than -one, and that the more you have to help on -a piece of work the less is accomplished. -Boys have a great power of helping each -other to do nothing; and they are so innocent -about it, and unconscious. "I went -as quick as ever I could," says the boy: -his father asks him why he didn't stay all -night, when he has been absent three hours -on a ten-minute errand. The sarcasm has -no effect on the boy.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="AFTER_A_CROWS_NEST"></a> -<img src="images/i_005.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">AFTER A CROW'S NEST</div> -</div> - -<p>Going after the cows was a serious thing -in my day. I had to climb a hill, which was -covered with wild strawberries in the season. -Could any boy pass by those ripe berries? -And then in the fragrant hill pasture -there were beds of wintergreen with red -berries, tufts of columbine, roots of sassafras -to be dug, and dozens of things good -to eat or to smell, that I could not resist. -It sometimes even lay in my way to climb -a tree to look for a crow's nest, or to swing -in the top, and to try if I could see the - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> - -steeple of the village church. It became -very important sometimes for me to see -that steeple; and in the midst of my investigations -the tin horn would blow a great -blast from the farm-house, which would -send a cold chill down my back in the hottest -days. I knew what it meant. It had -a frightfully impatient quaver in it, not at -all like the sweet note that called us to dinner -from the hayfield. It said, "Why on -earth doesn't that boy come home? It is -almost dark, and the cows ain't milked!" -And that was the time the cows had to -start into a brisk pace and make up for -lost time. I wonder if any boy ever drove -the cows home late, who did not say that -the cows were at the very farther end of the -pasture, and that "Old Brindle" was hidden -in the woods, and he couldn't find her for -ever so long! The brindle cow is the boy's -scapegoat, many a time.</p> - -<p>No other boy knows how to appreciate a -holiday as the farm-boy does; and his best -ones are of a peculiar kind. Going fishing -is of course one sort. The excitement of -rigging up the tackle, digging the bait, and - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> - -the anticipation of great luck,—these are -pure pleasures, enjoyed because they are -rare. Boys who can go a-fishing any time -care but little for it. Tramping all day -through bush and brier, fighting flies and -mosquitoes, and branches that tangle the -line, and snags that break the hook, and returning -home late and hungry, with wet feet -and a string of speckled trout on a willow -twig, and having the family crowd out at -the kitchen door to look at 'em, and say, -"Pretty well done for you, bub; did you -catch that big one yourself?"—this is also -pure happiness, the like of which the boy -will never have again, not if he comes to be -selectman and deacon and to "keep store."</p> - -<p>But the holidays I recall with delight -were the two days in spring and fall, when -we went to the distant pasture-land, in a -neighboring town, may be, to drive thither -the young cattle and colts, and to bring -them back again. It was a wild and rocky -upland where our great pasture was, many -miles from home, the road to it running by -a brawling river, and up a dashing brookside -among great hills. What a day's adventure - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> - -it was! It was like a journey to -Europe. The night before, I could scarcely -sleep for thinking of it, and there was no -trouble about getting me up at sunrise that -morning. The breakfast was eaten, the -luncheon was packed in a large basket, with -bottles of root beer and a jug of switchel, -which packing I superintended with the -greatest interest; and then the cattle were -to be collected for the march, and the -horses hitched up. Did I shirk any duty? -Was I slow? I think not. I was willing -to run my legs off after the frisky steers, -who seemed to have an idea they were going -on a lark, and frolicked about, dashing -into all gates, and through all bars except -the right ones; and how cheerfully I did -yell at them; it was a glorious chance to -"holler," and I have never since heard any -public speaker on the stump or at camp-meeting -who could make more noise. I -have often thought it fortunate that the -amount of noise in a boy does not increase -in proportion to his size; if it did the world -could not contain it.</p> - -<p>The whole day was full of excitement - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> - -and of freedom. We were away from the -farm, which to a boy is one of the best -parts of farming; we saw other farms and -other people at work; I had the pleasure -of marching along, and swinging my whip, -past boys whom I knew, who were picking -up stones. Every turn of the road, every -bend and rapid of the river, the great -boulders by the wayside, the watering-troughs, -the giant pine that had been -struck by lightning, the mysterious covered -bridge over the river where it was most -swift and rocky and foamy, the chance eagle -in the blue sky, the sense of going somewhere,—why, -as I recall all these things -I feel that even the Prince Imperial, as he -used to dash on horseback through the -Bois de Boulogne, with fifty mounted hussars -clattering at his heels, and crowds of -people cheering, could not have been as -happy as was I, a boy in short jacket and -shorter pantaloons, trudging in the dust -that day behind the steers and colts, cracking -my black-stock whip.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="A_STRING_OF_SPECKLED_TROUT"></a> -<img src="images/i_006.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">A STRING OF SPECKLED TROUT</div> -</div> - -<p>I wish the journey would never end; but -at last, by noon, we reach the pastures and - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> - -turn in the herd; and, after making the tour -of the lots to make sure there are no breaks -in the fences, we take our luncheon from -the wagon and eat it under the trees by the -spring. This is the supreme moment of the -day. This is the way to live; this is like -the Swiss Family Robinson, and all the rest -of my delightful acquaintances in romance. -Baked beans, rye-and-indian bread (moist, -remember), doughnuts and cheese, pie, and -root beer. What richness! You may live -to dine at Delmonico's, or, if those Frenchmen -do not eat each other up, at Philippe's, -in the Rue Montorgueil in Paris, where the -dear old Thackeray used to eat as good a -dinner as anybody; but you will get there -neither doughnuts, nor pie, nor root beer, -nor anything so good as that luncheon at -noon in the old pasture, high among the -Massachusetts hills! Nor will you ever, -if you live to be the oldest boy in the world, -have any holiday equal to the one I have -described. But I always regretted that I -did not take along a fish-line, just to "throw -in" the brook we passed. I know there -were trout there.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">NO FARMING WITHOUT A BOY</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Say</span> what you will -about the general usefulness -of boys, it is my impression that a -farm without a boy would very soon come -to grief. What the boy does is the life -of the farm. He is the factotum, always -in demand, always expected to do the -thousand indispensable things that nobody -else will do. Upon him fall all the odds -and ends, the most difficult things. After -everybody else is through, he has to finish -up. His work is like a woman's,—perpetual -waiting on others. Everybody knows -how much easier it is to eat a good dinner -than it is to wash the dishes afterwards. -Consider what a boy on a farm is required -to do; things that must be done, or life -would actually stop.</p> - -<p>It is understood, in the first place, that -he is to do all the errands, to go to the - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> - -store, to the post-office, and to carry all -sorts of messages. If he had as many legs -as a centipede, they would tire before night. -His two short limbs seem to him entirely -inadequate to the task. He would like to -have as many legs as a wheel has spokes, -and rotate about in the same way. This -he sometimes tries to do; and people who -have seen him "turning cart-wheels" along -the side of the road have supposed that he -was amusing himself, and idling his time; -he was only trying to invent a new mode of -locomotion, so that he could economize his -legs and do his errands with greater dispatch. -He practices standing on his head, -in order to accustom himself to any position. -Leap-frog is one of his methods of -getting over the ground quickly. He would -willingly go an errand any distance if he -could leap-frog it with a few other boys. -He has a natural genius for combining -pleasure with business. This is the reason -why, when he is sent to the spring for a -pitcher of water, and the family are waiting -at the dinner-table, he is absent so long; -for he stops to poke the frog that sits on - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> - -the stone, or, if there is a penstock, to put -his hand over the spout and squirt the -water a little while. He is the one who -spreads the grass when the men have cut -it; he mows it away in the barn; he rides -the horse to cultivate the corn, up and -down the hot, weary rows; he picks up the -potatoes when they are dug; he drives the -cows night and morning; he brings wood -and water and splits kindling; he gets up -the horse and puts out the horse; whether -he is in the house or out of it, there is always -something for him to do. Just before -school in winter he shovels paths; in summer -he turns the grindstone. He knows -where there are lots of wintergreen and -sweet flag root, but instead of going for -them he is to stay indoors and pare apples -and stone raisins and pound something in -a mortar. And yet, with his mind full of -schemes of what he would like to do, and -his hands full of occupations, he is an idle -boy who has nothing to busy himself with -but school and chores! He would gladly -do all the work if somebody else would do -the chores, he thinks, and yet I doubt if - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> - -any boy ever amounted to anything in the -world, or was of much use as a man, who -did not enjoy the advantages of a liberal -education in the way of chores.</p> - -<p>A boy on a farm is nothing without his -pets; at least a dog, and probably rabbits, -chickens, ducks, and guinea hens. A guinea -hen suits a boy. It is entirely useless, and -makes a more disagreeable noise than a -Chinese gong. I once domesticated a young -fox which a neighbor had caught. It is a -mistake to suppose the fox cannot be tamed. -Jacko was a very clever little animal, and -behaved, in all respects, with propriety. He -kept Sunday as well as any day, and all the -ten commandments that he could understand. -He was a very graceful playfellow, -and seemed to have an affection for me. -He lived in a woodpile, in the dooryard, -and when I lay down at the entrance to -his house and called him, he would come -out and sit on his tail and lick my face just -like a grown person. I taught him a great -many tricks and all the virtues. That year -I had a large number of hens, and Jacko -went about among them with the most perfect - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> - -indifference, never looking on them to -lust after them, as I could see, and never -touching an egg or a feather. So excellent -was his reputation that I would have trusted -him in the hen-roost in the dark without -counting the hens. In short, he was domesticated, -and I was fond of him and very -proud of him, exhibiting him to all our visitors -as an example of what affectionate -treatment would do in subduing the brute -instincts. I preferred him to my dog, -whom I had, with much patience, taught to -go up a long hill alone and surround the -cows, and drive them home from the remote -pasture. He liked the fun of it at -first, but by and by he seemed to get the -notion that it was a "chore," and when I -whistled for him to go for the cows, he -would turn tail and run the other way, and -the more I whistled and threw stones at -him the faster he would run. His name -was Turk, and I should have sold him if he -had not been the kind of dog that nobody -will buy. I suppose he was not a cow-dog, -but what they call a sheep-dog. At least, -when he got big enough, he used to get - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> - -into the pasture and chase the sheep to -death. That was the way he got into trouble, -and lost his valuable life. A dog is of -great use on a farm, and that is the reason -a boy likes him. He is good to bite peddlers -and small children, and run out and -yelp at wagons that pass by, and to howl -all night when the moon shines. And yet, -if I were a boy again, the first thing I -would have should be a dog; for dogs are -great companions, and as active and spry -as a boy at doing nothing. They are also -good to bark at woodchuck holes.</p> - -<p>A good dog will bark at a woodchuck -hole long after the animal has retired to a -remote part of his residence, and escaped -by another hole. This deceives the woodchuck. -Some of the most delightful hours -of my life have been spent in hiding and -watching the hole where the dog was not. -What an exquisite thrill ran through my -frame when the timid nose appeared, was -withdrawn, poked out again, and finally followed -by the entire animal, who looked cautiously -about, and then hopped away to feed -on the clover. At that moment I rushed - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> - -in, occupied the "home base," yelled to -Turk and then danced with delight at the -combat between the spunky woodchuck and -the dog. They were about the same size, -but science and civilization won the day. I -did not reflect then that it would have been -more in the interest of civilization if the -woodchuck had killed the dog. I do not -know why it is that boys so like to hunt -and kill animals; but the excuse that I -gave in this case for the murder was, that -the woodchuck ate the clover and trod it -down; and, in fact, was a woodchuck. It -was not till long after that I learned with -surprise that he is a rodent mammal, of the -species <i>Arctomys monax</i>, is called at the -West a ground-hog, and is eaten by people -of color with great relish.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="WATCHING_FOR_SUNSET"></a> -<img src="images/i_007.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">WATCHING FOR SUNSET</div> -</div> - -<p>But I have forgotten my beautiful fox. -Jacko continued to deport himself well until -the young chickens came; he was actually -cured of the fox vice of chicken-stealing. -He used to go with me about the coops, -pricking up his ears in an intelligent manner, -and with a demure eye and the most -virtuous droop of the tail. Charming fox! - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> - -If he had held out a little while longer, I -should have put him into a Sunday-school -book. But I began to miss chickens. They -disappeared mysteriously in the night. I -would not suspect Jacko at first, for he -looked so honest, and in the daytime he -seemed to be as much interested in the -chickens as I was. But one morning, when -I went to call him, I found feathers at the -entrance of his hole,—chicken feathers. -He couldn't deny it. He was a thief. -His fox nature had come out under severe -temptation. And he died an unnatural -death. He had a thousand virtues and one -crime. But that crime struck at the foundation -of society. He deceived and stole; -he was a liar and a thief, and no pretty -ways could hide the fact. His intelligent, -bright face couldn't save him. If he had -been honest, he might have grown up to be -a large, ornamental fox.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE BOY'S SUNDAY</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Sunday</span> in the New England hill towns -used to begin Saturday night at sundown; -and the sun is lost to sight behind the hills -there before it has set by the almanac. I -remember that we used to go by the almanac -Saturday night and by the visible disappearance -Sunday night. On Saturday -night we very slowly yielded to the influences -of the holy time, which were settling -down upon us, and submitted to the ablutions -which were as inevitable as Sunday; -but when the sun (and it never moved so -slow) slid behind the hills Sunday night, -the effect upon the watching boy was like a -shock from a galvanic battery; something -flashed through all his limbs and set them -in motion, and no "play" ever seemed so -sweet to him as that between sundown -and dark Sunday night. This, however, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> - -was on the supposition that he had conscientiously -kept Sunday, and had not gone -in swimming and got drowned. This keeping -of Saturday night instead of Sunday -night we did not very well understand; -but it seemed, on the whole, a good thing -that we should rest Saturday night when -we were tired, and play Sunday night when -we were rested. I supposed, however, that -it was an arrangement made to suit the -big boys who wanted to go "courting" Sunday -night. Certainly they were not to -be blamed, for Sunday was the day when -pretty girls were most fascinating, and I -have never since seen any so lovely as those -who used to sit in the gallery and in the -singers' seats in the bare old meeting-houses.</p> - -<p>Sunday to the country farmer-boy was -hardly the relief that it was to the other -members of the family; for the same -chores must be done that day as on others, -and he could not divert his mind with whistling, -hand-springs, or sending the dog into -the river after sticks. He had to submit, -in the first place, to the restraint of shoes - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> - -and stockings. He read in the Old Testament -that when Moses came to holy ground -he put off his shoes; but the boy was -obliged to put his on, upon the holy day, -not only to go to meeting, but while he sat -at home. Only the emancipated country-boy, -who is as agile on his bare feet as a -young kid, and rejoices in the pressure of -the warm soft earth, knows what a hardship -it is to tie on stiff shoes. The monks -who put peas in their shoes as a penance -do not suffer more than the country-boy in -his penitential Sunday shoes. I recall the -celerity with which he used to kick them off -at sundown.</p> - -<p>Sunday morning was not an idle one for -the farmer-boy. He must rise tolerably -early, for the cows were to be milked and -driven to pasture; family prayers were a -little longer than on other days; there were -the Sunday-school verses to be re-learned, -for they did not stay in mind over night; -perhaps the wagon was to be greased before -the neighbors began to drive by; and the -horse was to be caught out of the pasture, -ridden home bareback, and harnessed.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="RIDING_BAREBACK"></a> -<img src="images/i_008.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">RIDING BAREBACK</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - -<p>This catching the horse, perhaps two of -them, was very good fun usually, and would -have broken the Sunday if the horse had -not been wanted for taking the family to -meeting. It was so peaceful and still in the -pasture on Sunday morning; but the horses -were never so playful, the colts never so -frisky. Round and round the lot the boy -went, calling, in an entreating Sunday -voice, "Jock, jock, jock, jock," and shaking -his salt-dish, while the horses, with heads -erect, and shaking tails and flashing heels, -dashed from corner to corner, and gave the -boy a pretty good race before he could coax -the nose of one of them into his dish. The -boy got angry, and came very near saying -"dum it," but he rather enjoyed the fun, -after all.</p> - -<p>The boy remembers how his mother's -anxiety was divided between the set of his -turn-over collar, the parting of his hair, and -his memory of the Sunday-school verses; -and what a wild confusion there was -through the house in getting off for meeting, -and how he was kept running hither -and thither, to get the hymn-book, or a - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> - -palm-leaf fan, or the best whip, or to pick -from the Sunday part of the garden the -bunch of caraway seed. Already the deacon's -mare, with a wagon load of the deacon's -folks, had gone shambling past, head -and tail drooping, clumsy hoofs kicking up -clouds of dust, while the good deacon sat -jerking the reins in an automatic way, and -the "women-folks" patiently saw the dust -settle upon their best summer finery. -Wagon after wagon went along the sandy -road, and when our boy's family started, -they became part of a long procession, -which sent up a mile of dust and a pungent -if not pious smell of buffalo-robes. -There were fiery horses in the train which -had to be held in, for it was neither etiquette -nor decent to pass anybody on Sunday. -It was a great delight to the farmer-boy -to see all this procession of horses, and -to exchange sly winks with the other boys, -who leaned over the wagon-seats for that -purpose. Occasionally a boy rode behind, -with his back to the family, and his pantomime -was always something wonderful to see, -and was considered very daring and wicked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> - -<p>The meeting-house which our boy remembers -was a high, square building, without -a steeple. Within, it had a lofty pulpit, -with doors underneath and closets -where sacred things were kept, and where -the tithing-men were supposed to imprison -bad boys. The pews were square, with -seats facing each other, those on one side -low for the children, and all with hinges, so -that they could be raised when the congregation -stood up for prayers and leaned over -the backs of the pews, as horses meet each -other across a pasture fence. After prayers -these seats used to be slammed down with -a long-continued clatter, which seemed to -the boys about the best part of the exercises. -The galleries were very high, and -the singers' seats, where the pretty girls -sat, were the most conspicuous of all. To -sit in the gallery, away from the family, was -a privilege not often granted to the boy. -The tithing-man, who carried a long rod -and kept order in the house, and outdoors -at noontime, sat in the gallery, and visited -any boy who whispered or found curious -passages in the Bible and showed them - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> - -to another boy. It was an awful moment -when the bushy-headed tithing-man approached -a boy in sermon-time. The eyes -of the whole congregation were on him, -and he could feel the guilt ooze out of his -burning face.</p> - -<p>At noon was Sunday-school, and after -that, before the afternoon service, in summer, -the boys had a little time to eat their -luncheon together at the watering-trough, -where some of the elders were likely to be -gathered, talking very solemnly about cattle; -or they went over to a neighboring barn -to see the calves; or they slipped off down -the roadside to a place where they could -dig sassafras or the root of the sweet flag,—roots -very fragrant in the mind of many -a boy with religious associations to this day. -There was often an odor of sassafras in the -afternoon service. It used to stand in my -mind as a substitute for the Old Testament -incense of the Jews. Something in the -same way the big bass-viol in the choir -took the place of "David's harp of solemn -sound."</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="TURNING_THE_GRINDSTONE"></a> -<img src="images/i_009.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">TURNING THE GRINDSTONE</div> -</div> - -<p>The going home from meeting was more - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> - -cheerful and lively than the coming to it. -There was all the bustle of getting the -horses out of the sheds and bringing them -round to the meeting-house steps. At noon -the boys sometimes sat in the wagons and -swung the whips without cracking them: -now it was permitted to give them a little -snap in order to bring the horses up in good -style; and the boy was rather proud of the -horse if it pranced a little while the timid -"women-folks" were trying to get in. The -boy had an eye for whatever life and stir -there was in a New England Sunday. He -liked to drive home fast. The old house -and the farm looked pleasant to him. -There was an extra dinner when they -reached home, and a cheerful consciousness -of duty performed made it a pleasant -dinner. Long before sundown the Sunday-school -book had been read, and the boy sat -waiting in the house with great impatience -the signal that the "day of rest" was over. -A boy may not be very wicked, and yet not -see the need of "rest." Neither his idea of -rest nor work is that of older farmers.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE GRINDSTONE OF LIFE</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">If</span> there is one thing more than another -that hardens the lot of the farmer-boy it -is the grindstone. Turning grindstones to -grind scythes is one of those heroic but unobtrusive -occupations for which one gets no -credit. It is a hopeless kind of task, and, -however faithfully the crank is turned, it is -one that brings little reputation. There is a -great deal of poetry about haying—I mean -for those not engaged in it. One likes to -hear the whetting of the scythes on a fresh -morning and the response of the noisy -bobolink, who always sits upon the fence -and superintends the cutting of the dew-laden -grass. There is a sort of music in -the "swish" and a rhythm in the swing of -the scythes in concert. The boy has not -much time to attend to it, for it is lively -business "spreading" after half a dozen - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> - -men who have only to walk along and lay -the grass low, while the boy has the whole -hayfield on his hands. He has little time -for the poetry of haying, as he struggles -along, filling the air with the wet mass -which he shakes over his head, and picking -his way with short legs and bare feet amid -the short and freshly cut stubble.</p> - -<p>But if the scythes cut well and swing -merrily it is due to the boy who turned the -grindstone. Oh, it was nothing to do, just -turn the grindstone a few minutes for this -and that one before breakfast; any "hired -man" was authorized to order the boy to -turn the grindstone. How they did bear on, -those great strapping fellows! Turn, turn, -turn, what a weary go it was. For my -part, I used to like a grindstone that "wabbled" -a good deal on its axis, for when I -turned it fast, it put the grinder on a lively -lookout for cutting his hands, and entirely -satisfied his desire that I should "turn -faster." It was some sport to make the water -fly and wet the grinder, suddenly starting -up quickly and surprising him when I was -turning very slowly. I used to wish sometimes - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> - -that I could turn fast enough to make -the stone fly into a dozen pieces. Steady -turning is what the grinders like, and any -boy who turns steadily, so as to give an -even motion to the stone, will be much -praised, and will be in demand. I advise -any boy who desires to do this sort of work -to turn steadily. If he does it by jerks and -in a fitful manner, the "hired men" will be -very apt to dispense with his services and -turn the grindstone for each other.</p> - -<p>This is one of the most disagreeable tasks -of the boy farmer, and, hard as it is, I do -not know why it is supposed to belong especially -to childhood. But it is, and one -of the certain marks that second childhood -has come to a man on a farm is that he is -asked to turn the grindstone as if he were -a boy again. When the old man is good for -nothing else, when he can neither mow nor -pitch, and scarcely "rake after," he can -turn grindstone, and it is in this way that -he renews his youth. "Ain't you ashamed -to have your granther turn the grindstone?" -asks the hired man of the boy. So -the boy takes hold and turns himself, till - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> - -his little back aches. When he gets older -he wishes he had replied, "Ain't you -ashamed to make either an old man or a -little boy do such hard grinding work?"</p> - -<p>Doing the regular work of this world is -not much, the boy thinks, but the wearisome -part is the waiting on the people who do -the work. And the boy is not far wrong. -This is what women and boys have to do -on a farm,—wait upon everybody who -"works." The trouble with the boy's life -is that he has no time that he can call his -own. He is, like a barrel of beer, always on -draught. The men-folks, having worked in -the regular hours, lie down and rest, stretch -themselves idly in the shade at noon, or -lounge about after supper. Then the boy, -who has done nothing all day but turn -grindstone, and spread hay, and rake after, -and run his little legs off at everybody's -beck and call, is sent on some errand or -some household chore, in order that time -shall not hang heavy on his hands. The -boy comes nearer to perpetual motion than -anything else in nature, only it is not altogether -a voluntary motion. The time that - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> - -the farm-boy gets for his own is usually at -the end of a stent. We used to be given -a certain piece of corn to hoe, or a certain -quantity of corn to husk in so many days. -If we finished the task before the time set, -we had the remainder to ourselves. In my -day it used to take very sharp work to gain -anything, but we were always anxious to -take the chance. I think we enjoyed the -holiday in anticipation quite as much as we -did when we had won it. Unless it was -training-day, or Fourth of July, or the circus -was coming, it was a little difficult to -find anything big enough to fill our anticipations -of the fun we would have in the -day or the two or three days we had earned. -We did not want to waste the time on any -common thing. Even going fishing in one -of the wild mountain brooks was hardly up -to the mark, for we could sometimes do -that on a rainy day. Going down to the -village store was not very exciting, and -was on the whole a waste of our precious -time. Unless we could get out our military -company, life was apt to be a little -blank, even on the holidays for which we - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> - -had worked so hard. If you went to see -another boy, he was probably at work in -the hayfield or the potato-patch, and his -father looked at you askance. You sometimes -took hold and helped him, so that -he could go and play with you; but it was -usually time to go for the cows before the -task was done. There has been a change, -but the amusements of a boy in the country -were few then. Snaring "suckers" out -of the deep meadow brook used to be about -as good as any that I had. The North -American sucker is not an engaging animal -in all respects; his body is comely enough, -but his mouth is puckered up like that of a -purse. The mouth is not formed for the -gentle angle-worm nor the delusive fly of -the fishermen. It is necessary therefore to -snare the fish if you want him. In the -sunny days he lies in the deep pools, by -some big stone or near the bank, poising -himself quite still, or only stirring his fins -a little now and then, as an elephant moves -his ears. He will lie so for hours,—or -rather float,—in perfect idleness and apparent -bliss.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> - -<p>The boy who also has a holiday, but cannot -keep still, comes along and peeps over -the bank. "Golly, ain't he a big one!" Perhaps -he is eighteen inches long, and weighs -two or three pounds. He lies there among -his friends, little fish and big ones, quite a -school of them, perhaps a district school, -that only keeps in warm days in the summer. -The pupils seem to have little to learn, except -to balance themselves and to turn -gracefully with a flirt of the tail. Not much -is taught but "deportment," and some of -the old suckers are perfect Turveydrops in -that. The boy is armed with a pole and a -stout line, and on the end of it a brass wire -bent into a hoop, which is a slipnoose, and -slides together when anything is caught in -it. The boy approaches the bank and looks -over. There he lies, calm as a whale. -The boy devours him with his eyes. He is -almost too much excited to drop the snare -into the water without making a noise. A -puff of wind comes and ruffles the surface, -so that he cannot see the fish. It is calm -again, and there he still is, moving his fins -in peaceful security. The boy lowers his - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> - -snare behind the fish and slips it along. -He intends to get it around him just back -of the gills and then elevate him with a -sudden jerk. It is a delicate operation, -for the snare will turn a little, and if it -hits the fish he is off. However, it goes -well, the wire is almost in place, when suddenly -the fish, as if he had a warning in a -dream, for he appears to see nothing, moves -his tail just a little, glides out of the loop, -and, with no seeming appearance of frustrating -any one's plans, lounges over to the -other side of the pool; and there he reposes -just as if he was not spoiling the -boy's holiday.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="SNARING_SUCKERS"></a> -<img src="images/i_010.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">SNARING SUCKERS</div> -</div> - -<p>This slight change of base on the part of -the fish requires the boy to reorganize his -whole campaign, get a new position on the -bank, a new line of approach, and patiently -wait for the wind and sun before he can -lower his line. This time, cunning and patience -are rewarded. The hoop encircles -the unsuspecting fish. The boy's eyes -almost start from his head as he gives a tremendous -jerk, and feels by the dead-weight -that he has got him fast. Out he comes, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> - -up he goes in the air, and the boy runs to -look at him. In this transaction, however, -no one can be more surprised than the -sucker.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">FICTION AND SENTIMENT</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">The</span> boy farmer does not appreciate -school vacations as highly as his city cousin. -When school keeps he has only to "do -chores and go to school,"—but between -terms there are a thousand things on the -farm that have been left for the boy to do. -Picking up stones in the pastures and piling -them in heaps used to be one of them. -Some lots appeared to grow stones, or else -the sun every year drew them to the surface, -as it coaxes the round cantelopes out -of the soft garden soil; it is certain that -there were fields that always gave the boys -this sort of fall work. And very lively -work it was on frosty mornings for the -barefooted boys, who were continually turning -up the larger stones in order to stand -for a moment in the warm place that had -been covered from the frost. A boy can - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> - -stand on one leg as well as a Holland stork; -and the boy who found a warm spot for the -sole of his foot was likely to stand in it -until the words, "Come, stir your stumps," -broke in discordantly upon his meditations. -For the boy is very much given to meditations. -If he had his way he would do nothing -in a hurry; he likes to stop and think -about things, and enjoy his work as he goes -along. He picks up potatoes as if each one -was a lump of gold just turned out of the -dirt, and requiring careful examination.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="PICKING_UP_POTATOES"></a> -<img src="images/i_011.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">PICKING UP POTATOES</div> -</div> - -<p>Although the country boy feels a little -joy when school breaks up (as he does -when anything breaks up, or any change -takes place), since he is released from the -discipline and restraint of it, yet the school -is his opening into the world,—his romance. -Its opportunities for enjoyment are -numberless. He does not exactly know -what he is set at books for; he takes spelling -rather as an exercise for his lungs, -standing up and shouting out the words -with entire recklessness of consequences; -he grapples doggedly with arithmetic and -geography as something that must be - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> - -cleared out of his way before recess, but -not at all with the zest he would dig a -woodchuck out of his hole. But recess! -Was ever any enjoyment so keen as that -with which a boy rushes out of the school-house -door for the ten minutes of recess? -He is like to burst with animal spirits; he -runs like a deer; he can nearly fly; and -he throws himself into play with entire -self-forgetfulness, and an energy that would -overturn the world if his strength were proportioned -to it. For ten minutes the world -is absolutely his; the weights are taken -off, restraints are loosed, and he is his own -master for that brief time,—as he never -again will be if he lives to be as old as the -king of Thule, and nobody knows how old -he was. And there is the nooning, a solid -hour, in which vast projects can be carried -out which have been slyly matured during -the school-hours; expeditions are undertaken, -wars are begun between the Indians -on one side and the settlers on the other, -the military company is drilled (without -uniforms or arms), or games are carried on -which involve miles of running, and an - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> - -expenditure of wind sufficient to spell the -spelling-book through at the highest pitch.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="LEAP_FROG_AT_RECESS"></a> -<img src="images/i_012.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">LEAP FROG AT RECESS</div> -</div> - -<p>Friendships are formed, too, which are -fervent if not enduring, and enmities contracted -which are frequently "taken out" -on the spot, after a rough fashion boys -have of settling as they go along; cases of -long credit, either in words or trade, are -not frequent with boys; boot on jack-knives -must be paid on the nail; and it is considered -much more honorable to out with a -personal grievance at once, even if the explanation -is made with the fists, than to -pretend fair, and then take a sneaking revenge -on some concealed opportunity. The -country boy at the district school is introduced -into a wider world than he knew at -home, in many ways. Some big boy brings -to school a copy of the Arabian Nights, a -dog-eared copy, with cover, title-page, and -the last leaves missing, which is passed -around, and slyly read under the desk, and -perhaps comes to the little boy whose parents -disapprove of novel-reading, and have -no work of fiction in the house except a -pious fraud called "Six Months in a Convent," - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> - -and the latest comic almanac. The -boy's eyes dilate as he steals some of the -treasures out of the wondrous pages, and -he longs to lose himself in the land of -enchantment open before him. He tells -at home that he has seen the most wonderful -book that ever was, and a big boy has -promised to lend it to him. "Is it a true -book, John?" asks the grandmother; "because -if it isn't true, it is the worst thing -that a boy can read." (This happened -years ago.) John cannot answer as to the -truth of the book, and so does not bring it -home; but he borrows it, nevertheless, and -conceals it in the barn, and lying in the -hay-mow is lost in its enchantments many -an odd hour when he is supposed to be -doing chores. There were no chores in -the Arabian Nights; the boy there had but -to rub the ring and summon a genius, who -would feed the calves and pick up chips -and bring in wood in a minute. It was -through this emblazoned portal that the -boy walked into the world of books, which -he soon found was larger than his own, and -filled with people he longed to know.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>And the farmer-boy is not without his -sentiment and his secrets, though he has -never been at a children's party in his life, -and, in fact, never has heard that children -go into society when they are seven, and -give regular wine-parties when they reach -the ripe age of nine. But one of his regrets -at having the summer school close is -dimly connected with a little girl, whom he -does not care much for,—would a great -deal rather play with a boy than with her at -recess,—but whom he will not see again -for some time,—a sweet little thing, who -is very friendly with John, and with whom -he has been known to exchange bits of -candy wrapped up in paper, and for whom -he cut in two his lead-pencil, and gave her -half. At the last day of school she goes -part way with John, and then he turns and -goes a longer distance towards her home, -so that it is late when he reaches his own. -Is he late? He didn't know he was late, -he came straight home when school was -dismissed, only going a little way home with -Alice Linton to help her carry her books. -In a box in his chamber, which he has lately - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> - -put a padlock on, among fish-hooks and -lines and bait-boxes, odd pieces of brass, -twine, early sweet apples, popcorn, beech-nuts, -and other articles of value, are some -little billets-doux, fancifully folded, three-cornered -or otherwise, and written, I will -warrant, in red or beautifully blue ink. -These little notes are parting gifts at the -close of school, and John, no doubt, gave -his own in exchange for them, though the -writing was an immense labor, and the folding -was a secret bought of another boy -for a big piece of sweet flag-root baked in -sugar, a delicacy which John used to carry -in his pantaloons pocket until his pocket -was in such a state that putting his fingers -into them was about as good as dipping -them into the sugar-bowl at home. Each -precious note contained a lock or curl of -girl's hair,—a rare collection of all colors, -after John had been in school many terms, -and had passed through a great many parting -scenes,— black, brown, red, tow-color, -and some that looked like spun gold and -felt like silk. The sentiment contained in -the notes was that which was common in - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> - -the school, and expressed a melancholy -foreboding of early death, and a touching -desire to leave hair enough this side the -grave to constitute a sort of strand of -remembrance. With little variation, the -poetry that made the hair precious was in -the words, and, as a Cockney would say, -set to the hair, following:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="indent5">"This lock of hair,</div> - <div class="indent6">Which I did wear,</div> - <div class="indent2">Was taken from my head;</div> - <div class="indent6">When this you see,</div> - <div class="indent6">Remember me,</div> - <div class="indent2">Long after I am dead."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>John liked to read these verses, which -always made a new and fresh impression -with each lock of hair, and he was not -critical; they were for him vehicles of true -sentiment, and indeed they were what he -used when he inclosed a clip of his own -sandy hair to a friend. And it did not -occur to him until he was a great deal -older and less innocent to smile at them. -John felt that he would sacredly keep every -lock of hair intrusted to him, though death -should come on the wings of cholera and - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> - -take away every one of these sad, red-ink -correspondents. When John's big brother -one day caught sight of these treasures, -and brutally told him that he "had hair -enough to stuff a horse-collar," John was -so outraged and shocked, as he should have -been, at this rude invasion of his heart, this -coarse suggestion, this profanation of his -most delicate feeling, that he was only kept -from crying by the resolution to "lick" -his brother as soon as ever he got big -enough.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE COMING OF THANKSGIVING</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">One</span> of the best things in farming is -gathering the chestnuts, hickory-nuts, butternuts, -and even beech-nuts, in the late -fall, after the frosts have cracked the husks -and the high winds have shaken them, and -the colored leaves have strewn the ground. -On a bright October day, when the air is -full of golden sunshine, there is nothing -quite so exhilarating as going nutting. Nor -is the pleasure of it altogether destroyed -for the boy by the consideration that he is -making himself useful in obtaining supplies -for the winter household. The getting-in -of potatoes and corn is a different thing; -that is the prose, but nutting is the poetry, -of farm life. I am not sure but the boy -would find it very irksome, though, if he -were obliged to work at nut-gathering in -order to procure food for the family. He is - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> - -willing to make himself useful in his own -way. The Italian boy, who works day after -day at a huge pile of pine-cones, pounding -and cracking them and taking out the long -seeds, which are sold and eaten as we eat -nuts (and which are almost as good as -pumpkin-seeds, another favorite with the -Italians), probably does not see the fun of -nutting. Indeed, if the farmer-boy here -were set at pounding off the walnut-shucks -and opening the prickly chestnut-burs as -a task, he would think himself an ill-used -boy. What a hardship the prickles in his -fingers would be! But now he digs them -out with his jack-knife, and he enjoys the -process, on the whole. The boy is willing -to do any amount of work if it is called -play.</p> - -<p>In nutting, the squirrel is not more nimble -and industrious than the boy. I like to -see a crowd of boys swarm over a chestnut-grove; -they leave a desert behind them -like the seventeen-years locusts. To climb -a tree and shake it, to club it, to strip it of -its fruit and pass to the next, is the sport of -a brief time. I have seen a legion of boys - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> -scamper over our grassplot under the chestnut-trees, -each one as active as if he were a -new patent picking-machine, sweeping the -ground clean of nuts, and disappear over -the hill before I could go to the door and -speak to them about it. Indeed, I have -noticed that boys don't care much for conversation -with the owners of fruit-trees. -They could speedily make their fortunes if -they would work as rapidly in cotton-fields. -I have never seen anything like it except a -flock of turkeys removing the grasshoppers -from a piece of pasture.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="POUNDING_OFF_SHUCKS"></a> -<img src="images/i_013.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">POUNDING OFF SHUCKS</div> -</div> - -<p>Perhaps it is not generally known that we -get the idea of some of our best military -manoeuvres from the turkey. The deploying -of the skirmish-line in advance of an -army is one of them. The drum-major of -our holiday militia companies is copied exactly -from the turkey gobbler; he has the -same splendid appearance, the same proud -step, and the same martial aspect. The -gobbler does not lead his forces in the field, -but goes behind them, like the colonel of a -regiment, so that he can see every part of -the line and direct its movements. This - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> - -resemblance is one of the most singular -things in natural history. I like to watch -the gobbler manoeuvring his forces in a -grasshopper-field. He throws out his company -of two dozen turkeys in a crescent-shaped -skirmish-line, the number disposed -at equal distances, while he walks majestically -in the rear. They advance rapidly, -picking right and left, with military precision, -killing the foe and disposing of the -dead bodies with the same peck. Nobody -has yet discovered how many grasshoppers -a turkey will hold; but he is very much -like a boy at a Thanksgiving dinner,—he -keeps on eating as long as the supplies -last.</p> - -<p>The gobbler, in one of these raids, does -not condescend to grab a single grasshopper,—at -least, not while anybody is watching -him. But I suppose he makes up for it -when his dignity cannot be injured by having -spectators of his voracity; perhaps he -falls upon the grasshoppers when they are -driven into a corner of the field. But he is -only fattening himself for destruction; like -all greedy persons, he comes to a bad end. - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> - -And if the turkeys had any Sunday-school, -they would be taught this.</p> - -<p>The New England boy used to look forward -to Thanksgiving as the great event of -the year. He was apt to get stents set him,—so -much corn to husk, for instance, before -that day, so that he could have an extra -play-spell; and in order to gain a day -or two, he would work at his task with -the rapidity of half a dozen boys. He had -the day after Thanksgiving always as a holiday, -and this was the day he counted on. -Thanksgiving itself was rather an awful festival,—very -much like Sunday, except for -the enormous dinner, which filled his imagination -for months before as completely as -it did his stomach for that day and a week -after. There was an impression in the -house that that dinner was the most important -event since the landing from the Mayflower. -Heliogabalus, who did not resemble -a Pilgrim Father at all, but who had -prepared for himself in his day some very -sumptuous banquets in Rome, and ate a -great deal of the best he could get (and -liked peacocks stuffed with asafoetida, for - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> - -one thing), never had anything like a -Thanksgiving dinner; for do you suppose -that he, or Sardanapalus either, ever had -twenty-four different kinds of pie at one -dinner? Therein many a New England boy -is greater than the Roman emperor or the -Assyrian king, and these were among the -most luxurious eaters of their day and generation. -But something more is necessary -to make good men than plenty to eat, as -Heliogabalus no doubt found when his head -was cut off. Cutting off the head was a -mode the people had of expressing disapproval -of their conspicuous men. Nowadays -they elect them to a higher office, or give -them a mission to some foreign country, if -they do not do well where they are.</p> - -<p>For days and days before Thanksgiving -the boy was kept at work evenings, pounding -and paring and cutting up and mixing -(not being allowed to taste much), until the -world seemed to him to be made of fragrant -spices, green fruit, raisins, and pastry,—a -world that he was only yet allowed to -enjoy through his nose. How filled the -house was with the most delicious smells! - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> - -The mince-pies that were made! If John -had been shut in solid walls with them -piled about him, he couldn't have eaten his -way out in four weeks. There were dainties -enough cooked in those two weeks to -have made the entire year luscious with -good living, if they had been scattered -along in it. But people were probably all -the better for scrimping themselves a little -in order to make this a great feast. And -it was not by any means over in a day. -There were weeks deep of chicken-pie and -other pastry. The cold buttery was a cave -of Aladdin, and it took a long time to excavate -all its riches.</p> - -<p>Thanksgiving Day itself was a heavy day, -the hilarity of it being so subdued by going -to meeting, and the universal wearing of -the Sunday clothes, that the boy couldn't -see it. But if he felt little exhilaration, he -ate a great deal. The next day was the -real holiday. Then were the merry-making -parties, and perhaps the skatings and sleighrides, -for the freezing weather came before -the governor's proclamation in many parts -of New England. The night after Thanksgiving - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> - -occurred, perhaps, the first real party -that the boy had ever attended, with live -girls in it, dressed so bewitchingly. And -there he heard those philandering songs, -and played those sweet games of forfeits, -which put him quite beside himself, and -kept him awake that night till the rooster -crowed at the end of his first chicken-nap. -What a new world did that party open to -him! I think it likely that he saw there, -and probably did not dare say ten words to, -some tall, graceful girl, much older than -himself, who seemed to him like a new -order of being. He could see her face just -as plainly in the darkness of his chamber. -He wondered if she noticed how awkward -he was, and how short his trousers-legs -were. He blushed as he thought of his -rather ill-fitting shoes; and determined, -then and there, that he wouldn't be put off -with a ribbon any longer, but would have -a young man's necktie. It was somewhat -painful thinking the party over, but it was -delicious too. He did not think, probably, -that he would die for that tall, handsome -girl; he did not put it exactly in that way. - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> - -But he rather resolved to live for her,—which -might in the end amount to the -same thing. At least, he thought that nobody -would live to speak twice disrespectfully -of her in his presence.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE SEASON OF PUMPKIN-PIE</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">What</span> John said was, that he didn't care -much for pumpkin-pie; but that was after -he had eaten a whole one. It seemed to -him then that mince would be better.</p> - -<p>The feeling of a boy towards pumpkin-pie -has never been properly considered. There -is an air of festivity about its approach in -the fall. The boy is willing to help pare -and cut up the pumpkin, and he watches -with the greatest interest the stirring-up -process and the pouring into the scalloped -crust. When the sweet savor of the baking -reaches his nostrils, he is filled with the -most delightful anticipations. Why should -he not be? He knows that for months to -come the buttery will contain golden treasures, -and that it will require only a slight -ingenuity to get at them.</p> - -<p>The fact is, that the boy is as good in - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> - -the buttery as in any part of farming. His -elders say that the boy is always hungry; -but that is a very coarse way to put it. He -has only recently come into a world that is -full of good things to eat, and there is on -the whole a very short time in which to eat -them; at least he is told, among the first -information he receives, that life is short. -Life being brief, and pie and the like fleeting, -he very soon decides upon an active -campaign. It may be an old story to people -who have been eating for forty or fifty -years, but it is different with a beginner. -He takes the thick and thin as it comes, as -to pie, for instance. Some people do make -them very thin. I knew a place where -they were not thicker than the poor man's -plaster; they were spread so thin upon the -crust that they were better fitted to draw -out hunger than to satisfy it. They used -to be made up by the great oven-full and -kept in the dry cellar, where they hardened -and dried to a toughness you would hardly -believe. This was a long time ago, and -they make the pumpkin-pie in the country -better now, or the race of boys would have - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> - -been so discouraged that I think they would -have stopped coming into the world.</p> - -<p>The truth is, that boys have always been -so plenty that they are not half appreciated. -We have shown that a farm could not get -along without them, and yet their rights -are seldom recognized. One of the most -amusing things is their effort to acquire -personal property. The boy has the care -of the calves; they always need feeding or -shutting up or letting out; when the boy -wants to play, there are those calves to be -looked after,—until he gets to hate the -name of calf. But in consideration of his -faithfulness, two of them are given to him. -There is no doubt that they are his; he has -the entire charge of them. When they get -to be steers, he spends all his holidays in -breaking them in to a yoke. He gets them -so broken in that they will run like a pair -of deer all over the farm, turning the yoke, -and kicking their heels, while he follows in -full chase, shouting the ox language till he -is red in the face. When the steers grow -up to be cattle, a drover one day comes -along and takes them away, and the boy is - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> - -told that he can have another pair of -calves; and so, with undiminished faith, he -goes back and begins over again to make -his fortune. He owns lambs and young -colts in the same way, and makes just as -much out of them.</p> - -<p>There are ways in which the farmer-boy -can earn money, as by gathering the early -chestnuts and taking them to the Corner -store, or by finding turkeys' eggs and selling -them to his mother; and another way is -to go without butter at the table,—but the -money thus made is for the heathen. John -read in Dr. Livingstone that some of the -tribes in Central Africa (which is represented -by a blank spot in the atlas) use -the butter to grease their hair, putting on -pounds of it at a time; and he said he had -rather eat his butter than have it put to -that use, especially as it melted away so -fast in that hot climate.</p> - -<p>Of course it was explained to John that -the missionaries do not actually carry butter -to Africa, and that they must usually go -without it themselves there, it being almost -impossible to make it good from the milk - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> - -in the cocoanuts. And it was further -explained to him that, even if the heathen -never received his butter or the money for -it, it was an excellent thing for a boy to cultivate -the habit of self-denial and of benevolence, -and if the heathen never heard of -him he would be blessed for his generosity. -This was all true.</p> - -<p>But John said that he was tired of supporting -the heathen out of his butter, and -he wished the rest of the family would also -stop eating butter and save the money for -missions; and he wanted to know where -the other members of the family got their -money to send to the heathen; and his -mother said that he was about half right, -and that self-denial was just as good for -grown people as it was for little boys and -girls.</p> - -<p>The boy is not always slow to take what -he considers his rights. Speaking of those -thin pumpkin-pies kept in the cellar cupboard, -I used to know a boy who afterwards -grew to be a selectman, and brushed -his hair straight up like General Jackson, -and went to the legislature, where he always - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> - -voted against every measure that was -proposed, in the most honest manner, and -got the reputation of being the "watch-dog -of the treasury." Rats in the cellar were -nothing to be compared to this boy for destructiveness -in pies. He used to go down, -whenever he could make an excuse, to get -apples for the family, or draw a mug of -cider for his dear old grandfather (who was -a famous story-teller about the Revolutionary -War, and would no doubt have been -wounded in battle if he had not been as -prudent as he was patriotic), and come up -stairs with a tallow candle in one hand and -the apples or cider in the other, looking as -innocent and as unconscious as if he had -never done anything in his life except deny -himself butter for the sake of the heathen. -And yet this boy would have buttoned -under his jacket an entire round pumpkin-pie. -And the pie was so well made and so -dry that it was not injured in the least, and -it never hurt the boy's clothes a bit more -than if it had been inside of him instead -of outside; and this boy would retire to a -secluded place and eat it with another boy, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> - -being never suspected, because he was not -in the cellar long enough to eat a pie, and he -never appeared to have one about him. But -he did something worse than this. When -his mother saw that pie after pie departed, -she told the family that she suspected -the hired man; and the boy never said a -word, which was the meanest kind of lying. -That hired man was probably regarded with -suspicion by the family to the end of his -days, and if he had been accused of robbing -they would have believed him guilty.</p> - -<p>I shouldn't wonder if that selectman -occasionally has remorse now about that -pie; dreams, perhaps, that it is buttoned up -under his jacket and sticking to him like a -breastplate; that it lies upon his stomach like -a round and red-hot nightmare, eating into -his vitals. Perhaps not. It is difficult to -say exactly what was the sin of stealing -that kind of pie, especially if the one who -stole it ate it. It could have been used for -the game of pitching quoits, and a pair of -them would have made very fair wheels for -the dog-cart. And yet it is probably as -wrong to steal a thin pie as a thick one; - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> - -and it made no difference because it was -easy to steal this sort. Easy stealing is no -better than easy lying, where detection of -the lie is difficult. The boy who steals his -mother's pies has no right to be surprised -when some other boy steals his watermelons. -Stealing is like charity in one respect,—it -is apt to begin at home.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">FIRST EXPERIENCE OF THE WORLD</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">If</span> I were forced to be a boy, and a boy -in the country,—the best kind of boy to -be in the summer,—I would be about -ten years of age. As soon as I got any -older, I would quit it. The trouble with -a boy is that just as he begins to enjoy -himself he is too old, and has to be set to -doing something else. If a country boy -were wise he would stay at just that age -when he could enjoy himself most, and -have the least expected of him in the way -of work.</p> - -<p>Of course the perfectly good boy will -always prefer to work, and to do "chores" -for his father and errands for his mother -and sisters, rather than enjoy himself in his -own way. I never saw but one such boy. -He lived in the town of Goshen,—not the -place where the butter is made, but a much - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> - -better Goshen than that. And I never saw -<i>him</i>, but I heard of him; and being about -the same age, as I supposed, I was taken -once from Zoar, where I lived, to Goshen -to see him. But he was dead. He had -been dead almost a year, so that it was impossible -to see him. He died of the most -singular disease: it was from <i>not</i> eating -green apples in the season of them. This -boy, whose name was Solomon, before he -died would rather split up kindling-wood -for his mother than go a-fishing: the consequence -was, that he was kept at splitting -kindling-wood and such work most of the -time, and grew a better and more useful -boy day by day. Solomon would not disobey -his parents and eat green apples,—not -even when they were ripe enough to -knock off with a stick,—but he had such -a longing for them that he pined and -passed away. If he had eaten the green -apples he would have died of them, probably; -so that his example is a difficult one -to follow. In fact, a boy is a hard subject -to get a moral from. All his little playmates -who ate green apples came to Solomon's - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> - -funeral, and were very sorry for -what they had done.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="RUNNING_ON_THE_STONE_WALL"></a> -<img src="images/i_014.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">RUNNING ON THE STONE WALL</div> -</div> - -<p>John was a very different boy from Solomon, -not half so good, nor half so dead. -He was a farmer's boy, as Solomon was, but -he did not take so much interest in the -farm. If John could have had his way he -would have discovered a cave full of diamonds, -and lots of nail-kegs full of gold-pieces -and Spanish dollars, with a pretty -little girl living in the cave, and two beautifully -caparisoned horses, upon which, taking -the jewels and money, they would have -ridden off together, he did not know where. -John had got thus far in his studies, which -were apparently arithmetic and geography, -but were in reality the Arabian Nights, and -other books of high and mighty adventure. -He was a simple country boy, and did not -know much about the world as it is, but he -had one of his own imagination, in which -he lived a good deal. I dare say he found -out soon enough what the world is, and he -had a lesson or two when he was quite -young, in two incidents, which I may as -well relate.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> - -<p>If you had seen John at this time, you -might have thought he was only a shabbily -dressed country lad, and you never would -have guessed what beautiful thoughts he -sometimes had as he went stubbing his -toes along the dusty road, nor what a chivalrous -little fellow he was. You would -have seen a short boy, barefooted, with -trousers at once too big and too short, held -up, perhaps, by one suspender only; a -checked cotton shirt; and a hat of braided -palm-leaf, frayed at the edges and bulged up -in the crown. It is impossible to keep a -hat neat if you use it to catch bumble-bees -and whisk 'em; to bail the water from -a leaky boat; to catch minnows in; to -put over honey-bees' nests; and to transport -pebbles, strawberries, and hens' eggs. -John usually carried a sling in his hand, or -a bow, or a limber stick sharp at one end, -from which he could sling apples a great -distance. If he walked in the road, he -walked in the middle of it, shuffling up the -dust; or, if he went elsewhere, he was likely -to be running on the top of the fence or -the stone-wall, and chasing chipmunks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - -<p>John knew the best place to dig sweet-flag -in all the farm; it was in a meadow by -the river, where the bobolinks sang so -gayly. He never liked to hear the bobolink -sing, however, for he said it always -reminded him of the whetting of a scythe, -and <i>that</i> reminded him of spreading hay; -and if there was anything he hated it was -spreading hay after the mowers. "I guess -you wouldn't like it yourself," said John, -"with the stubs getting into your feet, and -the hot sun, and the men getting ahead of -you, all you could do."</p> - -<p>Towards evening once, John was coming -along the road home with some stalks of -the sweet-flag in his hand; there is a succulent -pith in the end of the stalk which is -very good to eat, tender, and not so strong -as the root; and John liked to pull it, and -carry home what he did not eat on the way. -As he was walking along he met a carriage, -which stopped opposite to him; he also -stopped and bowed, as country boys used -to bow in John's day. A lady leaned from -the carriage and said,—</p> - -<p>"What have you got, little boy?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<p>She seemed to be the most beautiful woman -John had ever seen; with light hair, -dark, tender eyes, and the sweetest smile. -There was that in her gracious mien and in -her dress which reminded John of the beautiful -castle ladies, with whom he was well -acquainted in books. He felt that he knew -her at once, and he also seemed to be a sort -of young prince himself. I fancy he didn't -look much like one. But of his own appearance -he thought not at all, as he replied -to the lady's question, without the least -embarrassment,—</p> - -<p>"It's sweet-flag stalk; would you like -some?"</p> - -<p>"Indeed, I should like to taste it," said -the lady, with a most winning smile. "I -used to be very fond of it when I was a little -girl."</p> - -<p>John was delighted that the lady should -like sweet-flag, and that she was pleased to -accept it from him. He thought himself -that it was about the best thing to eat he -knew. He handed up a large bunch of it. -The lady took two or three stalks, and was -about to return the rest, when John said,—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Please keep it all, ma'am. I can get -lots more. I know where it's ever so -thick."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, thank you," said the lady; -and as the carriage started she reached out -her hand to John. He did not understand -the motion, until he saw a cent drop in the -road at his feet. Instantly all his illusion -and his pleasure vanished. Something like -tears were in his eyes as he shouted,—</p> - -<p>"I don't want your cent. I don't sell -flag!"</p> - -<p>John was intensely mortified. "I suppose," -he said, "she thought I was a sort of -beggar-boy. To think of selling flag!"</p> - -<p>At any rate, he walked away and left the -cent in the road, a humiliated boy. The -next day he told Jim Gates about it. Jim -said he was green not to take the money; -he'd go and look for it now, if he would -tell him about where it dropped. And Jim -did spend an hour poking about in the dirt, -but he did not find the cent. Jim, however, -had an idea: he said he was going to -dig sweet-flag, and see if another carriage -wouldn't come along.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>John's next rebuff and knowledge of the -world was of another sort. He was again -walking the road at twilight, when he was -overtaken by a wagon with one seat, upon -which were two pretty girls, and a young -gentleman sat between them driving. It -was a merry party, and John could hear -them laughing and singing as they approached -him. The wagon stopped when -it overtook him, and one of the sweet-faced -girls leaned from the seat and said, quite -seriously and pleasantly,—</p> - -<p>"Little boy, how's your mar?"</p> - -<p>John was surprised and puzzled for a moment. -He had never seen the young lady, -but he thought that she perhaps knew his -mother; at any rate his instinct of politeness -made him say,—</p> - -<p>"She's pretty well, I thank you."</p> - -<p>"Does she know you are out?"</p> - -<p>And thereupon all three in the wagon -burst into a roar of laughter and dashed on.</p> - -<p>It flashed upon John in a moment that -he had been imposed on, and it hurt him -dreadfully. His self-respect was injured -somehow, and he felt as if his lovely, gentle - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> - -mother had been insulted. He would like -to have thrown a stone at the wagon, and -in a rage he cried,—</p> - -<p>"You're a nice"—But he couldn't -think of any hard, bitter words quick -enough.</p> - -<p>Probably the young lady, who might have -been almost any young lady, never knew -what a cruel thing she had done.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">HOME INVENTIONS</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">The</span> winter season is not all sliding down -hill for the farmer-boy by any means; yet -he contrives to get as much fun out of it as -from any part of the year. There is a difference -in boys: some are always jolly, and -some go scowling always through life as if -they had a stone-bruise on each heel. I -like a jolly boy.</p> - -<p>I used to know one who came round -every morning to sell molasses candy, offering -two sticks for a cent apiece; it was -worth fifty cents a day to see his cheery -face. That boy rose in the world. He is -now the owner of a large town at the West. -To be sure, there are no houses in it except -his own; but there is a map of it and roads -and streets are laid out on it, with dwellings -and churches and academies and a -college and an opera-house, and you could - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> - -scarcely tell it from Springfield or Hartford, -on paper. He and all his family have -the fever and ague, and shake worse than -the people at Lebanon: but they do not -mind it; it makes them lively, in fact. Ed -May is just as jolly as he used to be. He -calls his town Mayopolis, and expects to be -mayor of it; his wife, however, calls the -town Maybe.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="COASTING"></a> -<img src="images/i_015.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">COASTING</div> -</div> - -<p>The farmer-boy likes to have winter -come, for one thing, because it freezes up -the ground so that he can't dig in it; and -it is covered with snow, so that there is no -picking up stones, nor driving the cows to -pasture. He would have a very easy time -if it were not for the getting up before daylight -to build the fires and do the "chores." -Nature intended the long winter nights for -the farmer-boy to sleep; but in my day he -was expected to open his sleepy eyes when -the cock crew, get out of the warm bed and -light a candle, struggle into his cold pantaloons, -and pull on boots in which the thermometer -would have gone down to zero, -rake open the coals on the hearth and start -the morning fire, and then go to the barn - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> - -to "fodder." The frost was thick on the -kitchen windows; the snow was drifted -against the door; and the journey to the -barn, in the pale light of dawn, over the -creaking snow, was like an exile's trip to -Siberia. The boy was not half awake when -he stumbled into the cold barn, and was -greeted by the lowing and bleating and -neighing of cattle waiting for their breakfast. -How their breath steamed up from -the mangers, and hung in frosty spears -from their noses! Through the great lofts -above the hay, where the swallows nested, -the winter wind whistled and the snow -sifted. Those old barns were well ventilated.</p> - -<p>I used to spend much valuable time in -planning a barn that should be tight and -warm, with a fire in it if necessary in order -to keep the temperature somewhere near -the freezing point. I couldn't see how the -cattle could live in a place where a lively -boy, full of young blood, would freeze to -death in a short time if he did not swing -his arms and slap his hands, and jump -about like a goat. I thought I would have - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> - -a sort of perpetual manger that should -shake down the hay when it was wanted, -and a self-acting machine that should cut -up the turnips and pass them into the -mangers, and water always flowing for the -cattle and horses to drink. With these -simple arrangements I could lie in bed, and -know that the "chores" were doing themselves. -It would also be necessary, in order -that I should not be disturbed, that the -crow should be taken out of the roosters, -but I could think of no process to do it. -It seems to me that the hen-breeders, if -they know as much as they say they do, -might raise a breed of crowless roosters, -for the benefit of boys, quiet neighborhoods, -and sleepy families.</p> - -<p>There was another notion that I had, -about kindling the kitchen fire, that I never -carried out. It was, to have a spring at the -head of my bed, connecting with a wire, -which should run to a torpedo which I -would plant overnight in the ashes of the -fireplace. By touching the spring I could -explode the torpedo, which would scatter -the ashes and uncover the live coals, and at - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> - -the same time shake down the sticks of -wood which were standing by the side of -the ashes in the chimney, and the fire -would kindle itself. This ingenious plan -was frowned on by the whole family, who -said they did not want to be waked up -every morning by an explosion. And yet -they expected me to wake up without an -explosion. A boy's plans for making life -agreeable are hardly ever heeded.</p> - -<p>I never knew a boy farmer who was not -eager to go to the district school in the -winter. There is such a chance for learning, -that he must be a dull boy who does -not come out in the spring a fair skater, an -accurate snowballer, and an accomplished -slider downhill, with or without a board, on -his seat, on his stomach, or on his feet. -Take a moderate hill, with a foot-slide -down it worn to icy smoothness, and a -"go-round" of boys on it, and there is nothing -like it for whittling away boot-leather. -The boy is the shoemaker's friend. An -active lad can wear down a pair of cowhide -soles in a week so that the ice will scrape -his toes. Sledding or coasting is also slow - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> - -fun compared to the "bareback" sliding -down a steep hill over a hard, glistening -crust. It is not only dangerous, but it is -destructive to jacket and pantaloons to a -degree to make a tailor laugh. If any other -animal wore out his skin as fast as a schoolboy -wears out his clothes in winter, it would -need a new one once a month. In a country -district-school, patches were not by any -means a sign of poverty, but of the boy's -courage and adventurous disposition. Our -elders used to threaten to dress us in -leather and put sheet-iron seats in our -trousers. The boy <i>said</i> that he wore out -his trousers on the hard seats in the -school-house ciphering hard sums. For -that extraordinary statement he received -two castigations,—one at home, that was -mild, and one from the schoolmaster, who -was careful to lay the rod upon the boy's -sliding-place, punishing him, as he jocosely -called it, on a sliding scale, according to -the thinness of his pantaloons.</p> - -<p>What I liked best at school, however, -was the study of history, early history, the -Indian wars. We studied it mostly at - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> - -noontime, and we had it illustrated as the -children nowadays have "object-lessons,"—though -our object was not so much to -have lessons as it was to revive real history.</p> - -<p>Back of the school-house rose a round -hill, upon which tradition said had stood in -colonial times a block-house, built by the -settlers for defense against the Indians. -For the Indians had the idea that the -whites were not settled enough, and used -to come nights to settle them with a tomahawk. -It was called Fort Hill. It was -very steep on each side, and the river ran -close by. It was a charming place in summer, -where one could find laurel, and -checkerberries, and sassafras roots, and sit -in the cool breeze, looking at the mountains -across the river, and listening to the -murmur of the Deerfield. The Methodists -built a meeting-house there afterwards, but -the hill was so slippery in winter that the -aged could not climb it, and the wind raged -so fiercely that it blew nearly all the young -Methodists away (many of whom were afterwards -heard of in the West), and finally -the meeting-house itself came down into - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> - -the valley and grew a steeple, and enjoyed -itself ever afterwards. It used to be a notion -in New England that a meeting-house -ought to stand as near heaven as possible.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="IN_SCHOOL"></a> -<img src="images/i_016.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">IN SCHOOL</div> -</div> - -<p>The boys at our school divided themselves -into two parties; one was the Early -Settlers and the other the Pequots, the -latter the most numerous. The Early Settlers -built a snow fort on the hill, and a -strong fortress it was, constructed of snowballs -rolled up to a vast size (larger than -the Cyclopean blocks of stone which form -the ancient Etruscan walls in Italy), piled -one upon another, and the whole cemented -by pouring on water which froze and made -the walls solid. The Pequots helped the -whites build it. It had a covered way -under the snow, through which only could -it be entered, and it had bastions and towers -and openings to fire from, and a great many -other things for which there are no names -in military books. And it had a glacis and -a ditch outside.</p> - -<p>When it was completed, the Early Settlers, -leaving the women in the school-house, -a prey to the Indians, used to retire - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> - -into it, and await the attack of the Pequots. -There was only a handful of the garrison, -while the Indians were many, and also barbarous. -It was agreed that they should be -barbarous. And it was in this light that -the great question was settled whether a -boy might snowball with balls that he had -soaked over night in water and let freeze. -They were as hard as cobblestones, and if -a boy should be hit in the head by one of -them he could not tell whether he was a -Pequot or an Early Settler. It was considered -as unfair to use these ice-balls in -an open fight, as it is to use poisoned ammunition -in real war. But as the whites -were protected by the fort, and the Indians -were treacherous by nature, it was decided -that the latter might use the hard missiles.</p> - -<p>The Pequots used to come swarming up -the hill, with hideous war-whoops, attacking -the fort on all sides with great noise and a -shower of balls. The garrison replied with -yells of defiance and well-directed shots, -hurling back the invaders when they attempted -to scale the walls. The Settlers -had the advantage of position, but they - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> - -were sometimes overpowered by numbers, -and would often have had to surrender -but for the ringing of the school-bell. The -Pequots were in great fear of the school-bell.</p> - -<p>I do not remember that the whites ever -hauled down their flag and surrendered voluntarily; -but once or twice the fort was -carried by storm and the garrison were massacred -to a boy, and thrown out of the fortress, -having been first scalped. To take a -boy's cap was to scalp him, and after that -he was dead, if he played fair. There were -a great many hard hits given and taken, but -always cheerfully, for it was in the cause of -our early history. The history of Greece -and Rome was stuff compared to this. And -we had many boys in our school who could -imitate the Indian war-whoop enough better -than they could scan <i>arma, virumque cano</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE LONELY FARM-HOUSE</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">The</span> winter evenings of the farmer-boy -in New England used not to be so gay as -to tire him of the pleasures of life before -he became of age. A remote farm-house, -standing a little off the road, banked up -with sawdust and earth to keep the frost -out of the cellar, blockaded with snow, and -flying a blue flag of smoke from its chimney, -looks like a besieged fort. On cold -and stormy winter nights, to the traveler -wearily dragging along in his creaking -sleigh, the light from its windows suggests -a house of refuge and the cheer of a blazing -fire. But it is no less a fort, into which -the family retire when the New England -winter on the hills really sets in.</p> - -<p>The boy is an important part of the garrison. -He is not only one of the best -means of communicating with the outer - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> - -world, but he furnishes half the entertainment -and takes two thirds of the scolding -of the family circle. A farm would come -to grief without a boy on it, but it is impossible -to think of a farm-house without a -boy in it.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="A_REMOTE_FARMHOUSE"></a> -<img src="images/i_017.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">A REMOTE FARM-HOUSE</div> -</div> - -<p>"That boy" brings life into the house; -his tracks are to be seen everywhere, he -leaves all the doors open, he hasn't half -filled the wood-box, he makes noise enough -to wake the dead; or he is in a brown-study -by the fire and cannot be stirred, or he -has fastened a grip upon some Crusoe book -which cannot easily be shaken off. I suppose -that the farmer-boy's evenings are not -now what they used to be; that he has -more books, and less to do, and is not half -so good a boy as formerly, when he used to -think the almanac was pretty lively reading, -and the comic almanac, if he could get hold -of that, was a supreme delight.</p> - -<p>Of course he had the evenings to himself -after he had done the "chores" at the -barn, brought in the wood and piled it high -in the box, ready to be heaped upon the -great open fire. It was nearly dark when - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> - -he came from school (with its continuation -of snowballing and sliding), and he always -had an agreeable time stumbling and fumbling -around in barn and woodhouse in the -waning light.</p> - -<p>John used to say that he supposed nobody -would do his "chores" if he did not -get home till midnight; and he was never -contradicted. Whatever happened to him, -and whatever length of days or sort of -weather was produced by the almanac, the -cardinal rule was that he should be at home -before dark.</p> - -<p>John used to imagine what people did -in the dark ages, and wonder sometimes -whether he wasn't still in them.</p> - -<p>Of course, John had nothing to do all -the evening, after his "chores,"—except -little things. While he drew his chair up -to the table in order to get the full radiance -of the tallow candle on his slate or his book, -the women of the house also sat by the -table knitting and sewing. The head of -the house sat in his chair, tipped back -against the chimney; the hired man was -in danger of burning his boots in the fire. - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> - -John might be deep in the excitement of a -bear story, or be hard at writing a "composition" -on his greasy slate; but, whatever -he was doing, he was the only one who -could always be interrupted. It was he -who must snuff the candles, and put on a -stick of wood, and toast the cheese, and -turn the apples, and crack the nuts. He -knew where the fox-and-geese board was, -and he could find the twelve-men-Morris. -Considering that he was expected to go to -bed at eight o'clock, one would say that -the opportunity for study was not great, -and that his reading was rather interrupted. -There seemed to be always something for -him to do, even when all the rest of the -family came as near being idle as is ever -possible in a New England household.</p> - -<p>No wonder that John was not sleepy at -eight o'clock: he had been flying about -while the others had been yawning before -the fire. He would like to sit up just to -see how much more solemn and stupid it -would become as the night went on; he -wanted to tinker his skates, to mend his -sled, to finish that chapter. Why should - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> - -he go away from that bright blaze, and the -company that sat in its radiance, to the cold -and solitude of his chamber? Why didn't -the people who were sleepy go to bed?</p> - -<p>How lonesome the old house was; how -cold it was, away from that great central -fire in the heart of it; how its timbers -creaked as if in the contracting pinch of -the frost; what a rattling there was of windows, -what a concerted attack upon the -clapboards; how the floors squeaked, and -what gusts from round corners came to -snatch the feeble flame of the candle from -the boy's hand! How he shivered, as he -paused at the staircase window to look out -upon the great fields of snow, upon the -stripped forest, through which he could -hear the wind raving in a kind of fury, and -up at the black flying clouds, amid which -the young moon was dashing and driven on -like a frail shallop at sea! And his teeth -chattered more than ever when he got into -the icy sheets, and drew himself up into a -ball in his flannel nightgown, like a fox in -his hole.</p> - -<p>For a little time he could hear the noises - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> - -downstairs, and an occasional laugh; he -could guess that now they were having -cider, and now apples were going round; -and he could feel the wind tugging at the -house, even sometimes shaking the bed. -But this did not last long. He soon went -away into a country he always delighted to -be in; a calm place where the wind never -blew, and no one dictated the time of going -to bed to any one else. I like to think of -him sleeping there, in such rude surroundings, -ingenuous, innocent, mischievous, with -no thought of the buffeting he is to get -from a world that has a good many worse -places for a boy than the hearth of an old -farm-house, and the sweet though undemonstrative -affection of its family life.</p> - -<p>But there were other evenings in the -boy's life that were different from these at -home, and one of them he will never forget. -It opened a new world to John, and set him -into a great flutter. It produced a revolution -in his mind in regard to neckties; it -made him wonder if greased boots were -quite the thing compared with blacked -boots; and he wished he had a long looking-glass, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> - -so that he could see, as he walked -away from it, what was the effect of round -patches on the portion of his trousers he -could not see except in a mirror; and if -patches were quite stylish, even on everyday -trousers. And he began to be very -much troubled about the parting of his -hair, and how to find out on which side was -the natural part.</p> - -<p>The evening to which I refer was that of -John's first party. He knew the girls at -school, and he was interested in some of -them with a different interest from that he -took in the boys. He never wanted to -"take it out" with one of them, for an insult, -in a stand-up fight, and he instinctively -softened a boy's natural rudeness when he -was with them. He would help a timid -little girl to stand erect and slide; he would -draw her on his sled, till his hands were -stiff with cold, without a murmur; he would -generously give her red apples into which -he longed to set his own sharp teeth; and -he would cut in two his lead-pencil for a -girl, when he would not for a boy. Had he -not some of the beautiful auburn tresses of - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> - -Cynthia Rudd in his skate, spruce-gum, and -wintergreen box at home? And yet the -grand sentiment of life was little awakened -in John. He liked best to be with boys, -and their rough play suited him better than -the amusements of the shrinking, fluttering, -timid, and sensitive little girls. John -had not learned then that a spider-web is -stronger than a cable; or that a pretty little -girl could turn him round her finger a great -deal easier than a big bully of a boy could -make him cry "enough."</p> - -<p>John had indeed been at spelling-schools, -and had accomplished the feat of "going -home with a girl" afterwards; and he had -been growing into the habit of looking -around in meeting on Sunday, and noticing -how Cynthia was dressed, and not enjoying -the service quite as much if Cynthia was -absent as when she was present. But there -was very little sentiment in all this, and nothing -whatever to make John blush at hearing -her name.</p> - -<p>But now John was invited to a regular -party. There was the invitation, in a three-cornered -billet, sealed with a transparent - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> - -wafer: "Miss C. Rudd requests the pleasure -of the company of," etc., all in blue -ink, and the finest kind of pin-scratching -writing. What a precious document it was -to John! It even exhaled a faint sort of -perfume, whether of lavender or caraway-seed -he could not tell. He read it over a -hundred times, and showed it confidentially -to his favorite cousin, who had beaux of -her own, and had even "sat up" with them -in the parlor. And from this sympathetic -cousin John got advice as to what he should -wear and how he should conduct himself at -the party.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">JOHN'S FIRST PARTY</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">It</span> turned out that John did not go after -all to Cynthia Rudd's party, having broken -through the ice on the river when he was -skating that day, and, as the boy who pulled -him out said, "come within an inch of his -life." But he took care not to tumble into -anything that should keep him from the -next party, which was given with due formality -by Melinda Mayhew.</p> - -<p>John had been many a time to the house -of Deacon Mayhew, and never with any -hesitation, even if he knew that both the -deacon's daughters—Melinda and Sophronia—were -at home. The only fear he had -felt was of the deacon's big dog, who always -surlily watched him as he came up the tanbark -walk, and made a rush at him if he -showed the least sign of wavering. But -upon the night of the party his courage - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> - -vanished, and he thought he would rather -face all the dogs in town than knock at the -front door.</p> - -<p>The parlor was lighted up, and as John -stood on the broad flagging before the -front door, by the lilac-bush, he could hear -the sound of voices—girls' voices—which -set his heart in a flutter. He could face -the whole district school of girls without -flinching,—he didn't mind 'em in the -meeting-house in their Sunday best; but -he began to be conscious that now he was -passing to a new sphere, where the girls are -supreme and superior, and he began to feel -for the first time that he was an awkward -boy. The girl takes to society as naturally -as a duckling does to the placid pond, but -with a semblance of sly timidity; the boy -plunges in with a great splash, and hides -his shy awkwardness in noise and commotion.</p> - -<p>When John entered, the company had -nearly all come. He knew them every one, -and yet there was something about them -strange and unfamiliar. They were all a -little afraid of each other, as people are apt - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> - -to be when they are well dressed and met -together for social purposes in the country. -To be at a real party was a novel thing for -most of them, and put a constraint upon -them which they could not at once overcome. -Perhaps it was because they were -in the awful parlor, that carpeted room of -haircloth furniture, which was so seldom -opened. Upon the wall hung two certificates -framed in black,—one certifying -that, by the payment of fifty dollars, Deacon -Mayhew was a life member of the -American Tract Society; and the other -that, by a like outlay of bread cast upon -the waters, his wife was a life member of -the A. B. C. F. M., a portion of the alphabet -which has an awful significance to all -New England childhood. These certificates -are a sort of receipt in full for charity, and -are a constant and consoling reminder to -the farmer that he has discharged his religious -duties.</p> - -<p>There was a fire on the broad hearth, -and that, with the tallow candles on the -mantelpiece, made quite an illumination in -the room, and enabled the boys, who were - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> - -mostly on one side of the room, to see the -girls, who were on the other, quite plainly. -How sweet and demure the girls looked, to -be sure! Every boy was thinking if his -hair was slick, and feeling the full embarrassment -of his entrance into fashionable -life. It was queer that these children, who -were so free everywhere else, should be so -constrained now, and not know what to do -with themselves. The shooting of a spark -out upon the carpet was a great relief, and -was accompanied by a deal of scrambling -to throw it back into the fire, and caused -much giggling. It was only gradually that -the formality was at all broken, and the -young people got together and found their -tongues.</p> - -<p>John at length found himself with Cynthia -Rudd, to his great delight and considerable -embarrassment, for Cynthia, who -was older than John, never looked so -pretty. To his surprise he had nothing to -say to her. They had always found plenty -to talk about before, but now nothing that -he could think of seemed worth saying at a -party.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It is a pleasant evening," said John.</p> - -<p>"It is quite so," replied Cynthia.</p> - -<p>"Did you come in a cutter?" asked -John, anxiously.</p> - -<p>"No; I walked on the crust, and it was -perfectly lovely walking," said Cynthia, in -a burst of confidence.</p> - -<p>"Was it slippery?" continued John.</p> - -<p>"Not very."</p> - -<p>John hoped it would be slippery—very—when -he walked home with Cynthia, as -he determined to do, but he did not dare to -say so, and the conversation ran aground -again. John thought about his dog and his -sled and his yoke of steers, but he didn't -see any way to bring them into conversation. -Had she read the "Swiss Family -Robinson"? Only a little ways. John said -it was splendid, and he would lend it to her, -for which she thanked him, and said, with -such a sweet expression, she should be so -glad to have it from him. That was encouraging.</p> - -<p>And then John asked Cynthia if she had -seen Sally Hawkes since the husking at -their house, when Sally found so many red - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> - -ears; and didn't she think she was a real -pretty girl?</p> - -<p>"Yes, she was right pretty;" and Cynthia -guessed that Sally knew it pretty well. -But did John like the color of her eyes?</p> - -<p>No; John didn't like the color of her -eyes exactly.</p> - -<p>"Her mouth would be well enough if -she didn't laugh so much and show her -teeth."</p> - -<p>John said her mouth was her worst feature.</p> - -<p>"Oh no," said Cynthia, warmly; "her -mouth is better than her nose."</p> - -<p>John didn't know but it was better than -her nose, and he should like her looks better -if her hair wasn't so dreadful black.</p> - -<p>But Cynthia, who could afford to be generous -now, said she liked black hair, and -she wished hers was dark. Whereupon -John protested that he liked light hair—auburn -hair—of all things.</p> - -<p>And Cynthia said that Sally was a dear, -good girl, and she didn't believe one word -of the story that she only really found one -red ear at the husking that night, and hid - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> - -that and kept pulling it out as if it were a -new one.</p> - -<p>And so the conversation, once started, -went on as briskly as possible about the -paring-bee and the spelling-school, and the -new singing-master who was coming, and -how Jack Thompson had gone to Northampton -to be a clerk in a store, and how -Elvira Reddington, in the geography class -at school, was asked what was the capital of -Massachusetts, and had answered "Northampton," -and all the school laughed. John -enjoyed the conversation amazingly, and he -half wished that he and Cynthia were the -whole of the party.</p> - -<p>But the party had meantime got into -operation, and the formality was broken up -when the boys and girls had ventured out -of the parlor into the more comfortable living-room, -with its easy-chairs and everyday -things, and even gone so far as to penetrate -the kitchen in their frolic. As soon as -they forgot they were a party, they began -to enjoy themselves.</p> - -<p>But the real pleasure only began with -the games. The party was nothing without - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> - -the games, and indeed it was made for -the games. Very likely it was one of the -timid girls who proposed to play something, -and when the ice was once broken, the -whole company went into the business enthusiastically. -There was no dancing. We -should hope not. Not in the deacon's -house; not with the deacon's daughters, -nor anywhere in this good Puritanic society. -Dancing was a sin in itself, and no -one could tell what it would lead to. But -there was no reason why the boys and girls -shouldn't come together and kiss each -other during a whole evening occasionally. -Kissing was a sign of peace, and was not at -all like taking hold of hands and skipping -about to the scraping of a wicked fiddle.</p> - -<p>In the games there was a great deal of -clasping hands, of going round in a circle, -of passing under each other's elevated -arms, of singing about my true love, and -the end was kisses distributed with more -or less partiality according to the rules of -the play; but, thank Heaven, there was no -fiddler. John liked it all, and was quite -brave about paying all the forfeits imposed - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> - -on him, even to the kissing all the girls in -the room; but he thought he could have -amended that by kissing a few of them a -good many times instead of kissing them -all once.</p> - -<p>But John was destined to have a damper -put upon his enjoyment. They were playing -a most fascinating game, in which they -all stand in a circle and sing a philandering -song, except one who is in the centre of -the ring and holds a cushion. At a certain -word in the song, the one in the centre -throws the cushion at the feet of some one -in the ring, indicating thereby the choice -of a mate, and then the two sweetly kneel -upon the cushion, like two meek angels, -and—and so forth. Then the chosen one -takes the cushion and the delightful play -goes on. It is very easy, as it will be seen, -to learn how to play it. Cynthia was holding -the cushion, and at the fatal word she -threw it down,—not before John, but in -front of Ephraim Leggett. And they two -kneeled, and so forth. John was astounded. -He had never conceived of such perfidy in -the female heart. He felt like wiping - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> - -Ephraim off the face of the earth, only -Ephraim was older and bigger than he. -When it came his turn at length—thanks -to a plain little girl for whose admiration he -didn't care a straw—he threw the cushion -down before Melinda Mayhew with all the -devotion he could muster, and a dagger -look at Cynthia. And Cynthia's perfidious -smile only enraged him the more. John -felt wronged, and worked himself up to -pass a wretched evening.</p> - -<p>When supper came he never went near -Cynthia, and busied himself in carrying different -kinds of pie and cake, and red apples -and cider, to the girls he liked the least. -He shunned Cynthia, and when he was accidentally -near her, and she asked him if -he would get her a glass of cider, he rudely -told her—like a goose as he was—that -she had better ask Ephraim. That seemed -to him very smart; but he got more and -more miserable, and began to feel that he -was making himself ridiculous.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>Girls have a great deal more good sense -in such matters than boys. Cynthia went -to John, at length, and asked him simply -what the matter was. John blushed, and -said that nothing was the matter. Cynthia -said that it wouldn't do for two people -always to be together at a party; and so -they made up, and John obtained permission -to "see" Cynthia home.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="GOING_HOME_WITH_CYNTHIA"></a> -<img src="images/i_018.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">GOING HOME WITH CYNTHIA</div> -</div> - -<p>It was after half past nine when the -great festivities at the Deacon's broke up, -and John walked home with Cynthia over -the shining crust and under the stars. It -was mostly a silent walk, for this was also -an occasion when it is difficult to find anything -fit to say. And John was thinking -all the way how he should bid Cynthia goodnight; -whether it would do and whether it -wouldn't do, this not being a game, and no -forfeits attaching to it. When they reached -the gate there was an awkward little pause. -John said the stars were uncommonly bright. -Cynthia did not deny it, but waited a minute -and then turned abruptly away, with -"Good-night, John!"</p> - -<p>"Good-night, Cynthia!"</p> - -<p>And the party was over, and Cynthia -was gone, and John went home in a kind -of dissatisfaction with himself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was long before he could go to sleep -for thinking of the new world opened to -him, and imagining how he would act under -a hundred different circumstances, and what -he would say, and what Cynthia would say; -but a dream at length came, and led him -away to a great city and a brilliant house; -and while he was there he heard a loud -rapping on the under floor, and saw that it -was daylight.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE SUGAR CAMP</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">I think</span> there is no part of farming the -boy enjoys more than the making of maple -sugar; it is better than "blackberrying," -and nearly as good as fishing. And one -reason he likes this work is that somebody -else does the most of it. It is a sort of -work in which he can appear to be very -active and yet not do much.</p> - -<p>And it exactly suits the temperament of -a real boy to be very busy about nothing. -If the power, for instance, that is expended -in play by a boy between the ages of eight -and fourteen could be applied to some industry, -we should see wonderful results. -But a boy is like a galvanic battery that is -not in connection with anything: he generates -electricity and plays it off into the air -with the most reckless prodigality. And I, -for one, wouldn't have it otherwise. It is - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> - -as much a boy's business to play off his -energies into space as it is for a flower to -blow, or a catbird to sing snatches of the -tunes of all the other birds.</p> - -<p>In my day, maple-sugar making used to be -something between picnicking and being -shipwrecked on a fertile island where one -should save from the wreck tubs and augers, -and great kettles and pork, and hen's-eggs -and rye-and-indian bread, and begin at once -to lead the sweetest life in the world. I am -told that it is something different nowadays, -and that there is more desire to save the -sap, and make good, pure sugar, and sell it -for a large price, than there used to be, and -that the old fun and picturesqueness of the -business are pretty much gone. I am told -that it is the custom to carefully collect the -sap and bring it to the house, where there -are built brick arches, over which it is -evaporated in shallow pans; and that pains -is taken to keep the leaves, sticks, and -ashes and coals out of it; and that the -sugar is clarified; and that, in short, it is -a money-making business, in which there -is very little fun, and that the boy is not - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> - -allowed to dip his paddle into the kettle -of boiling sugar and lick off the delicious -sirup. The prohibition may improve the -sugar, but it is cruel to the boy.</p> - -<p>As I remember the New England boy -(and I am very intimate with one), he used -to be on the <i>qui vive</i> in the spring for the -sap to begin running. I think he discovered -it as soon as anybody. Perhaps he -knew it by a feeling of something starting -in his own veins,—a sort of spring stir in -his legs and arms, which tempted him to -stand on his head, or throw a handspring, -if he could find a spot of ground from which -the snow had melted. The sap stirs early -in the legs of a country boy, and shows -itself in uneasiness in the toes, which get -tired of boots, and want to come out and -touch the soil just as soon as the sun has -warmed it a little. The country boy goes -barefoot just as naturally as the trees burst -their buds, which were packed and varnished -over in the fall to keep the water and the -frost out. Perhaps the boy has been out -digging into the maple-trees with his jack-knife; -at any rate, he is pretty sure to announce - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> - -the discovery as he comes running -into the house in a great state of excitement—as -if he had heard a hen cackle in the -barn—with, "Sap's runnin'!"</p> - -<p>And then, indeed, the stir and excitement -begin. The sap-buckets, which have been -stored in the garret over the woodhouse, -and which the boy has occasionally climbed -up to look at with another boy, for they -are full of sweet suggestions of the annual -spring frolic,—the sap-buckets are brought -down and set out on the south side of the -house and scalded. The snow is still a foot -or two feet deep in the woods, and the -ox-sled is got out to make a road to the -sugar camp, and the campaign begins. The -boy is everywhere present, superintending -everything, asking questions, and filled with -a desire to help the excitement.</p> - -<p>It is a great day when the cart is loaded -with the buckets and the procession starts -into the woods. The sun shines almost -unobstructedly into the forest, for there -are only naked branches to bar it; the snow -is soft and beginning to sink down, leaving -the young bushes spindling up everywhere; - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -the snow-birds are twittering about, and -the noise of shouting and of the blows of -the axe echoes far and wide. This is -spring, and the boy can scarcely contain -his delight that his outdoor life is about to -begin again.</p> - -<p>In the first place the men go about and -tap the trees, drive in the spouts, and hang -the buckets under. The boy watches all -these operations with the greatest interest. -He wishes that some time when a hole is -bored in a tree that the sap would spout -out in a stream as it does when a cider-barrel -is tapped; but it never does, it only -drops, sometimes almost in a stream, but -on the whole slowly, and the boy learns -that the sweet things of the world have to -be patiently waited for, and do not usually -come otherwise than drop by drop.</p> - -<p>Then the camp is to be cleared of snow. -The shanty is re-covered with boughs. In -front of it two enormous logs are rolled -nearly together, and a fire is built between -them. Forked sticks are set at each end, -and a long pole is laid on them, and on this -are hung the great caldron kettles. The - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> - -huge hogsheads are turned right side up, -and cleaned out to receive the sap that is -gathered. And now, if there is a good -"sap run," the establishment is under full -headway.</p> - -<p>The great fire that is kindled up is never -let out, night or day, as long as the season -lasts. Somebody is always cutting wood -to feed it; somebody is busy most of the -time gathering in the sap; somebody is required -to watch the kettles that they do -not boil over, and to fill them. It is not -the boy, however; he is too busy with -things in general to be of any use in details. -He has his own little sap-yoke and small -pails, with which he gathers the sweet -liquid. He has a little boiling-place of his -own, with small logs and a tiny kettle. In -the great kettles the boiling goes on slowly, -and the liquid, as it thickens, is dipped from -one to another, until in the end kettle it -is reduced to sirup, and is taken out to -cool and settle, until enough is made to -"sugar off." To "sugar off" is to boil the -sirup until it is thick enough to crystallize -into sugar. This is the grand event, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> - -and it is only done once in two or three -days.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="A_YOUNG_SUGARMAKER"></a> -<img src="images/i_019.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">A YOUNG SUGAR-MAKER</div> -</div> - -<p>But the boy's desire is to "sugar off" -perpetually. He boils his kettle down as -rapidly as possible; he is not particular -about chips, scum, or ashes; he is apt to -burn his sugar; but if he can get enough -to make a little wax on the snow, or to -scrape from the bottom of the kettle with -his wooden paddle, he is happy. A good -deal is wasted on his hands and the outside -of his face and on his clothes, but he does -not care; he is not stingy.</p> - -<p>To watch the operations of the big fire -gives him constant pleasure. Sometimes -he is left to watch the boiling kettles, with -a piece of pork tied on the end of a stick, -which he dips into the boiling mass when -it threatens to go over. He is constantly -tasting of it, however, to see if it is not -almost sirup. He has a long round stick, -whittled smooth at one end, which he uses -for this purpose, at the constant risk of -burning his tongue. The smoke blows in -his face; he is grimy with ashes; he is -altogether such a mass of dirt, stickiness, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> - -and sweetness, that his own mother -wouldn't know him.</p> - -<p>He likes to boil eggs with the hired man -in the hot sap; he likes to roast potatoes -in the ashes, and he would live in the camp -day and night if he were permitted. Some -of the hired men sleep in the bough shanty -and keep the fire blazing all night. To -sleep there with them, and awake in the -night and hear the wind in the trees, and -see the sparks fly up to the sky, is a perfect -realization of all the stories of adventures -he has ever read. He tells the other boys -afterwards that he heard something in the -night that sounded very much like a bear. -The hired man says that he was very much -scared by the hooting of an owl.</p> - -<p>The great occasions for the boy, though, -are the times of "sugaring off." Sometimes -this used to be done in the evening, and -it was made the excuse for a frolic in the -camp. The neighbors were invited; sometimes -even the pretty girls from the village, -who filled all the woods with their sweet -voices and merry laughter and little affectations -of fright. The white snow still lies - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> - -on all the ground except the warm spot -about the camp. The tree branches all -show distinctly in the light of the fire, -which sends its ruddy glare far into the -darkness, and lights up the bough shanty, -the hogsheads, the buckets on the trees, -and the group about the boiling kettles, -until the scene is like something taken out -of a fairy play. If Rembrandt could have -seen a sugar party in a New England wood, -he would have made out of its strong contrasts -of light and shade one of the finest -pictures in the world. But Rembrandt was -not born in Massachusetts; people hardly -ever do know where to be born until it is -too late. Being born in the right place is a -thing that has been very much neglected.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="WATCHING_THE_KETTLES"></a> -<img src="images/i_020.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">WATCHING THE KETTLES</div> -</div> - -<p>At these sugar parties every one was -expected to eat as much sugar as possible; -and those who are practiced in it can eat a -great deal. It is a peculiarity about eating -warm maple-sugar that, though you may eat -so much of it one day as to be sick and -loathe the thought of it, you will want it the -next day more than ever. At the "sugaring -off" they used to pour the hot sugar - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> - -upon the snow, where it congealed, without -crystallizing, into a sort of wax, which I do -suppose is the most delicious substance -that was ever invented. And it takes a -great while to eat it. If one should close -his teeth firmly on a ball of it, he would be -unable to open his mouth until it dissolved. -The sensation while it is melting is very -pleasant, but one cannot converse.</p> - -<p>The boy used to make a big lump of it -and give it to the dog, who seized it with -great avidity, and closed his jaws on it, as -dogs will on anything. It was funny the -next moment to see the expression of perfect -surprise on the dog's face when he -found that he could not open his jaws. He -shook his head; he sat down in despair; he -ran round in a circle; he dashed into the -woods and back again. He did everything -except climb a tree and howl. It would -have been such a relief to him if he could -have howled! But that was the one thing -he could not do.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE HEART OF NEW ENGLAND</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">It</span> is a wonder that every New England -boy does not turn out a poet, or a missionary, -or a peddler. Most of them used to. -There is everything in the heart of the New -England hills to feed the imagination of -the boy, and excite his longing for strange -countries. I scarcely know what the subtle -influence is that forms him and attracts -him in the most fascinating and aromatic of -all lands, and yet urges him away from all -the sweet delights of his home to become a -roamer in literature and in the world,—a -poet and a wanderer. There is something -in the soil and the pure air, I suspect, that -promises more romance than is forthcoming, -that excites the imagination without satisfying -it, and begets the desire of adventure. -And the prosaic life of the sweet home does -not at all correspond to the boy's dreams of - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> - -the world. In the good old days, I am told, -the boys on the coast ran away and became -sailors; the country boys waited till they -grew big enough to be missionaries, and -then they sailed away, and met the coast -boys in foreign ports.</p> - -<p>John used to spend hours in the top of a -slender hickory-tree that a little detached -itself from the forest which crowned the -brow of the steep and lofty pasture behind -his house. He was sent to make war on -the bushes that constantly encroached upon -the pasture land; but John had no hostility -to any growing thing, and a very little -bushwhacking satisfied him. When he had -grubbed up a few laurels and young treesprouts, -he was wont to retire into his favorite -post of observation and meditation. -Perhaps he fancied that the wide-swaying -stem to which he clung was the mast of a -ship; that the tossing forest behind him -was the heaving waves of the sea; and that -the wind which moaned over the woods and -murmured in the leaves, and now and then -sent him a wide circuit in the air, as if he -had been a blackbird on the tiptop of a - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> - -spruce, was an ocean gale. What life and -action and heroism there was to him in the -multitudinous roar of the forest, and what -an eternity of existence in the monologue -of the river which brawled far, far below -him over its wide stony bed! How the -river sparkled and danced and went on—now -in a smooth amber current, now fretted -by the pebbles, but always with that continuous -busy song! John never knew that -noise to cease, and he doubted not if he -stayed here a thousand years that same -loud murmur would fill the air.</p> - -<p>On it went, under the wide spans of the -old wooden, covered bridge, swirling around -the great rocks on which the piers stood, -spreading away below in shallows, and taking -the shadows of a row of maples that -lined the green shore. Save this roar, no -sound reached him, except now and then -the rumble of a wagon on the bridge, or -the muffled, far-off voices of some chance -passers on the road. Seen from this high -perch, the familiar village, sending its -brown roofs and white spires up through -the green foliage, had a strange aspect, and - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> - -was like some town in a book, say a village -nestled in the Swiss mountains, or something -in Bohemia. And there, beyond the -purple hills of Bozrah, and not so far as the -stony pastures of Zoar, whither John had -helped drive the colts and young stock in -the spring, might be perhaps Jerusalem itself. -John had himself once been to the -land of Canaan with his grandfather, when -he was a very small boy; and he had once -seen an actual, no-mistake Jew, a mysterious -person, with uncut beard and long -hair, who sold scythe-snaths in that region, -and about whom there was a rumor that he -was once caught and shaved by the indignant -farmers, who apprehended in his long -locks a contempt of the Christian religion. -Oh, the world had vast possibilities for -John. Away to the south, up a vast basin -of forest, there was a notch in the horizon -and an opening in the line of woods, where -the road ran. Through this opening John -imagined an army might appear, perhaps -British, perhaps Turks, and banners of red -and of yellow advance, and a cannon wheel -about and point its long nose and open on - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> - -the valley. He fancied the army, after this -salute, winding down the mountain road, -deploying in the meadows, and giving the -valley to pillage and to flame. In which -event his position would be an excellent -one for observation and for safety. While -he was in the height of this engagement, -perhaps the horn would be blown from the -back porch, reminding him that it was time -to quit cutting brush and go for the cows. -As if there were no better use for a warrior -and a poet in New England than to send -him for the cows!</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="THE_VILLAGE_FROM_THE_HILL"></a> -<img src="images/i_021.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">THE VILLAGE FROM THE HILL</div> -</div> - -<p>John knew a boy—a bad enough boy, I -dare say—who afterwards became a general -in the war, and went to Congress and -got to be a real governor, who used also to be -sent to cut brush in the back pastures, and -hated it in his very soul; and by his wrong -conduct forecast what kind of a man he -would be. This boy, as soon as he had -cut about one brush, would seek for one of -several holes in the ground (and he was familiar -with several), in which lived a white-and-black -animal that must always be nameless -in a book, but an animal quite capable - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> - -of the most pungent defense of himself. -This young aspirant to Congress would cut -a long stick, with a little crotch in the end -of it, and run it into the hole; and when -the crotch was punched into the fur and -skin of the animal, he would twist the stick -round till it got a good grip on the skin, -and then he would pull the beast out; and -when he got the white-and-black just out of -the hole so that his dog could seize him, -the boy would take to his heels, and leave -the two to fight it out, content to scent the -battle afar off. And this boy, who was in -training for public life, would do this sort -of thing all the afternoon; and when the -sun told him that he had spent long enough -time cutting brush, he would industriously -go home as innocent as anybody. There -are few such boys as this nowadays; and -that is the reason why the New England -pastures are so much overgrown with -brush.</p> - -<p>John himself preferred to hunt the pugnacious -woodchuck. He bore a special -grudge against this clover-eater, beyond -the usual hostility that boys feel for any - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> - -wild animal. One day on his way to school -a woodchuck crossed the road before him, -and John gave chase. The woodchuck -scrambled into an orchard and climbed -a small apple-tree. John thought this a -most cowardly and unfair retreat, and stood -under the tree and taunted the animal -and stoned it. Thereupon the woodchuck -dropped down on John and seized him by -the leg of his trousers. John was both enraged -and scared by this dastardly attack; -the teeth of the enemy went through the -cloth and met; and there he hung. John -then made a pivot of one leg and whirled -himself around, swinging the woodchuck in -the air, until he shook him off; but in his -departure the woodchuck carried away a -large piece of John's summer trousers leg. -The boy never forgot it. And whenever -he had a holiday he used to expend an -amount of labor and ingenuity in the pursuit -of woodchucks that would have made -his fortune in any useful pursuit. There -was a hill-pasture, down on one side of -which ran a small brook, and this pasture -was full of woodchuck-holes. It required - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> - -the assistance of several boys to capture a -woodchuck. It was first necessary by patient -watching to ascertain that the woodchuck -was at home. When one was seen -to enter his burrow, then all the entries to -it except one—there are usually three—were -plugged up with stones. A boy and -a dog were then left to watch the open -hole, while John and his comrades went to -the brook and began to dig a canal, to turn -the water into the residence of the woodchuck. -This was often a difficult feat of -engineering and a long job. Often it took -more than half a day of hard labor with -shovel and hoe to dig the canal. But when -the canal was finished, and the water began -to pour into the hole, the excitement began. -How long would it take to fill the hole and -drown out the woodchuck? Sometimes it -seemed as if the hole were a bottomless pit. -But sooner or later the water would rise in -it, and then there was sure to be seen the -nose of the woodchuck, keeping itself on -a level with the rising flood. It was piteous -to see the anxious look of the hunted, -half-drowned creature as it came to the surface - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> - -and caught sight of the dog. There -the dog stood, at the mouth of the hole, -quivering with excitement from his nose to -the tip of his tail, and behind him were the -cruel boys dancing with joy and setting the -dog on. The poor creature would disappear -in the water in terror; but he must -breathe, and out would come his nose again, -nearer the dog each time. At last the -water ran out of the hole as well as in, and -the soaked beast came with it, and made a -desperate rush. But in a trice the dog had -him, and the boys stood off in a circle, with -stones in their hands, to see what they -called "fair play." They maintained perfect -"neutrality" so long as the dog was -getting the best of the woodchuck; but if -the latter was likely to escape, they "interfered" -in the interest of peace and the -"balance of power," and killed the woodchuck. -This is a boy's notion of justice; -of course he'd no business to be a woodchuck,—an -"unspeakable woodchuck."</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="TREEING_A_WOODCHUCK"></a> -<img src="images/i_022.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">TREEING A WOODCHUCK</div> -</div> - -<p>I used the word "aromatic" in relation -to the New England soil. John knew very -well all its sweet, aromatic, pungent, and - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> - -medicinal products, and liked to search for -the scented herbs and the wild fruits and -exquisite flowers; but he did not then -know, and few do know, that there is no -part of the globe where the subtle chemistry -of the earth produces more that is -agreeable to the senses than a New England -hill-pasture and the green meadow at -its foot. The poets have succeeded in -turning our attention from it to the comparatively -barren Orient as the land of -sweet-smelling spices and odorous gums. -And it is indeed a constant surprise that this -poor and stony soil elaborates and grows so -many delicate and aromatic products.</p> - -<p>John, it is true, did not care much for -anything that did not appeal to his taste and -smell and delight in brilliant color; and he -trod down the exquisite ferns and the wonderful -mosses without compunction. But -he gathered from the crevices of the rocks -the columbine and the eglantine and the -blue harebell; he picked the high-flavored -alpine strawberry, the blueberry, the boxberry, -wild currants and gooseberries and -fox-grapes; he brought home armfuls of - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> - -the pink-and-white laurel and the wild -honeysuckle; he dug the roots of the fragrant -sassafras and of the sweet-flag; he -ate the tender leaves of the wintergreen -and its red berries; he gathered the peppermint -and the spearmint; he gnawed the -twigs of the black birch; there was a stout -fern which he called "brake," which he -pulled up, and found that the soft end -"tasted good;" he dug the amber gum -from the spruce-tree, and liked to smell, -though he could not chew, the gum of the -wild cherry; it was his melancholy duty to -bring home such medicinal herbs for the -garret as the goldthread, the tansy, and the -loathsome "boneset;" and he laid in for -the winter, like a squirrel, stores of beech-nuts, -hazel-nuts, hickory-nuts, chestnuts, -and butternuts. But that which lives most -vividly in his memory and most strongly -draws him back to the New England hills -is the aromatic sweet-fern: he likes to eat -its spicy seeds, and to crush in his hands its -fragrant leaves; their odor is the unique -essence of New England.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">JOHN'S REVIVAL</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">The</span> New England country boy of the -last generation never heard of Christmas.</p> - -<p>There was no such day in his calendar. -If John ever came across it in his reading, -he attached no meaning to the word.</p> - -<p>If his curiosity had been aroused, and he -had asked his elders about it, he might have -got the dim impression that it was a kind of -Popish holiday, the celebration of which -was about as wicked as "card-playing," or -being a "democrat." John knew a couple -of desperately bad boys who were reported -to play "seven-up" in a barn, on the hay-mow, -and the enormity of this practice -made him shudder. He had once seen -a pack of greasy "playing-cards," and it -seemed to him to contain the quintessence -of sin. If he had desired to defy all Divine -law and outrage all human society, he felt - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> - -that he could do it by shuffling them. -And he was quite right. The two bad boys -enjoyed in stealth their scandalous pastime, -because they knew it was the most wicked -thing they could do. If it had been as sinless -as playing marbles, they wouldn't have -cared for it. John sometimes drove past -a brown, tumble-down farm-house, whose -shiftless inhabitants, it was said, were card-playing -people; and it is impossible to describe -how wicked that house appeared -to John. He almost expected to see its -shingles stand on end. In the old New -England, one could not in any other way -so express his contempt of all holy and orderly -life as by playing cards for amusement.</p> - -<p>There was no element of Christmas in -John's life, any more than there was of -Easter, and probably nobody about him -could have explained Easter; and he escaped -all the demoralization attending Christmas -gifts. Indeed, he never had any presents -of any kind, either on his birthday or any -other day. He expected nothing that he -did not earn, or make in the way of "trade" - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> - -with another boy. He was taught to work -for what he received. He even earned, as -I said, the extra holidays of the day after -the "Fourth" and the day after Thanksgiving. -Of the free grace and gifts of -Christmas he had no conception. The single -and melancholy association he had with -it was the quaking hymn which his grandfather -used to sing in a cracked and quavering -voice,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="indent5">"While shepherds watched their flocks by night,</div> - <div class="indent8">All seated on the ground."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The "glory" that "shone around" at the -end of it—the doleful voice always repeating, -"and glory shone around"—made -John as miserable as "Hark! from the -tombs." It was all one dreary expectation -of something uncomfortable. It was, in -short, "religion." You'd got to have it -some time; that John believed. But it -lay in his unthinking mind to put off the -"Hark! from the tombs" enjoyment as -long as possible. He experienced a kind of -delightful wickedness in indulging his dislike -of hymns and of Sunday.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="LOOKING_FOR_FROGS"></a> -<img src="images/i_023.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">LOOKING FOR FROGS</div> -</div> - -<p>John was not a model boy, but I cannot - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> - -exactly define in what his wickedness consisted. -He had no inclination to steal, nor -much to lie; and he despised "meanness" -and stinginess, and had a chivalrous feeling -toward little girls. Probably it never -occurred to him that there was any virtue -in not stealing and lying, for honesty and -veracity were in the atmosphere about him. -He hated work, and he "got mad" easily; -but he did work, and he was always ashamed -when he was over his fit of passion. In -short, you couldn't find a much better -wicked boy than John.</p> - -<p>When the "revival" came, therefore, -one summer, John was in a quandary. -Sunday meeting and Sunday school he -didn't mind; they were a part of regular -life, and only temporarily interrupted a -boy's pleasures. But when there began to -be evening meetings at the different houses, -a new element came into affairs. There -was a kind of solemnity over the community, -and a seriousness in all faces. At -first these twilight assemblies offered a little -relief to the monotony of farm-life; and -John liked to meet the boys and girls, and - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> - -to watch the older people coming in, dressed -in their second best. I think John's imagination -was worked upon by the sweet and -mournful hymns that were discordantly -sung in the stiff old parlors. There was a -suggestion of Sunday, and sanctity too, in -the odor of caraway-seed that pervaded the -room. The windows were wide open also, -and the scent of June roses came in with -all the languishing sounds of a summer -night. All the little boys had a scared -look, but the little girls were never so -pretty and demure as in this their susceptible -seriousness. If John saw a boy who -did not come to the evening meeting, but -was wandering off with his sling down the -meadow, looking for frogs, maybe, that boy -seemed to him a monster of wickedness.</p> - -<p>After a time, as the meetings continued, -John fell also under the general impression -of fright and seriousness. All the talk was -of "getting religion," and he heard over and -over again that the probability was, if he -did not get it now he never would. The -chance did not come often, and, if this offer -was not improved, John would be given - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> - -over to hardness of heart. His obstinacy -would show that he was not one of the -elect. John fancied that he could feel his -heart hardening, and he began to look with -a wistful anxiety into the faces of the Christians -to see what were the visible signs of -being one of the elect. John put on a -good deal of a manner that he "didn't -care," and he never admitted his disquiet -by asking any questions or standing up in -meeting to be prayed for. But he did care. -He heard all the time that all he had to do -was to repent and believe. But there was -nothing that he doubted, and he was perfectly -willing to repent if he could think of -anything to repent of.</p> - -<p>It was essential, he learned, that he -should have a "conviction of sin." This he -earnestly tried to have. Other people, no -better than he, had it, and he wondered -why he couldn't have it. Boys and girls -whom he knew were "under conviction," -and John began to feel not only panicky -but lonesome. Cynthia Rudd had been -anxious for days and days, and not able to -sleep at night, but now she had given herself - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> - -up and found peace. There was a kind -of radiance in her face that struck John -with awe, and he felt that now there was -a great gulf between him and Cynthia. -Everybody was going away from him, and -his heart was getting harder than ever. -He couldn't feel wicked, all he could do. -And there was Ed Bates, his intimate -friend, though older than he, a "whaling," -noisy kind of boy, who was under conviction -and sure he was going to be lost. How -John envied him! And, pretty soon, Ed -"experienced religion." John anxiously -watched the change in Ed's face when he -became one of the elect. And a change -there was. And John wondered about -another thing. Ed Bates used to go trout-fishing, -with a tremendously long pole, in a -meadow-brook near the river; and when -the trout didn't bite right off Ed would -"get mad," and as soon as one took hold -he would give an awful jerk, sending the -fish more than three hundred feet into the -air and landing it in the bushes the other -side of the meadow, crying out, "Gul darn -ye, I'll learn ye." And John wondered if -Ed would take the little trout out any more -gently now.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="TROUT_FISHING"></a> -<img src="images/i_024.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">TROUT FISHING</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> - -<p>John felt more and more lonesome as -one after another of his playmates came -out and made a profession. Cynthia (she -too was older than John) sat on Sunday -in the singers' seat; her voice, which was -going to be a contralto, had a wonderful -pathos in it for him, and he heard it with a -heartache. "There she is," thought John, -"singing away like an angel in heaven, and -I am left out." During all his after life -a contralto voice was to John one of his -most bitter and heart-wringing pleasures. -It suggested the immaculate scornful, the -melancholy unattainable.</p> - -<p>If ever a boy honestly tried to work himself -into a conviction of sin, John tried. -And what made him miserable was that -he couldn't feel miserable when everybody -else was miserable. He even began to -pretend to be so. He put on a serious and -anxious look like the others. He pretended -he didn't care for play; he refrained from -chasing chipmunks and snaring suckers; -the songs of birds and the bright vivacity - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> - -of the summer time that used to make him -turn hand-springs smote him as a discordant -levity. He was not a hypocrite at all, -and he was getting to be alarmed that he -was not alarmed at himself. Every day -and night he heard that the spirit of the -Lord would probably soon quit striving -with him, and leave him out. The phrase -was that he would "grieve away the Holy -Spirit." John wondered if he was not doing -it. He did everything to put himself -in the way of conviction, was constant at -the evening meetings, wore a grave face, -refrained from play, and tried to feel anxious. -At length he concluded that he -must do something.</p> - -<p>One night as he walked home from a -solemn meeting, at which several of his -little playmates had "come forward," he -felt that he could force the crisis. He was -alone on the sandy road: it was an enchanting -summer night; the stars danced -overhead, and by his side the broad and -shallow river ran over its stony bed with a -loud but soothing murmur that filled all the -air with entreaty, John did not then know - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> - -that it sang, "But I go on forever," yet -there was in it for him something of the -solemn flow of the eternal world. When -he came in sight of the house, he knelt -down in the dust by a pile of rails and -prayed. He prayed that he might feel bad, -and be distressed about himself. As he -prayed he heard distinctly, and yet not as -a disturbance, the multitudinous croaking -of the frogs by the meadow-spring. It was -not discordant with his thoughts; it had in -it a melancholy pathos, as if it were a kind -of call to the unconverted. What is there -in this sound that suggests the tenderness -of spring, the despair of a summer night, -the desolateness of young love? Years -after it happened to John to be at twilight -at a railway station on the edge of the Ravenna -marshes. A little way over the -purple plain he saw the darkening towers -and heard "the sweet bells of Imola." -The Holy Pontiff Pius IX. was born at -Imola, and passed his boyhood in that -serene and moist region. As the train -waited, John heard from miles of marshes -round about the evening song of millions - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> - -of frogs, louder and more melancholy and -entreating than the vesper call of the bells. -And instantly his mind went back—for -the association of sound is as subtle as that -of odor—to the prayer, years ago, by the -roadside and the plaintive appeal of the unheeded -frogs, and he wondered if the little -Pope had not heard the like importunity, -and perhaps, when he thought of himself -as a little Pope, associated his conversion -with this plaintive sound.</p> - -<p>John prayed, but without feeling any -worse, and then went desperately into the -house and told the family that he was in -an anxious state of mind. This was joyful -news to the sweet and pious household, -and the little boy was urged to feel that he -was a sinner, to repent, and to become that -night a Christian; he was prayed over, and -told to read the Bible, and put to bed with -the injunction to repeat all the texts of -Scripture and hymns he could think of. -John did this, and said over and over the -few texts he was master of, and tossed -about in a real discontent now, for he had a -dim notion that he was playing the hypocrite - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> - -a little. But he was sincere enough in -wanting to feel, as the other boys and girls -felt, that he was a wicked sinner. He tried -to think of his evil deeds; and one occurred -to him, indeed, it often came to his mind. -It was a lie,—a deliberate, awful lie, that -never injured anybody but himself. John -knew he was not wicked enough to tell a -lie to injure anybody else.</p> - -<p>This was the lie. One afternoon at -school, just before John's class was to -recite in geography, his pretty cousin, a -young lady he held in great love and respect, -came in to visit the school. John -was a favorite with her, and she had come -to hear him recite. As it happened, John -felt shaky in the geographical lesson of that -day, and he feared to be humiliated in the -presence of his cousin; he felt embarrassed -to that degree that he couldn't have -"bounded" Massachusetts. So he stood -up and raised his hand, and said to the -schoolma'am, "Please, ma'am, I've got the -stomach-ache; may I go home?" And -John's character for truthfulness was so -high (and even this was ever a reproach to - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> - -him) that his word was instantly believed, -and he was dismissed without any medical -examination. For a moment John was delighted -to get out of school so early; but -soon his guilt took all the light out of the -summer sky and the pleasantness out of nature. -He had to walk slowly, without a single -hop or jump, as became a diseased boy. -The sight of a woodchuck at a distance -from his well-known hole tempted John, -but he restrained himself, lest somebody -should see him, and know that chasing -a woodchuck was inconsistent with the -stomach-ache. He was acting a miserable -part, but it had to be gone through with. -He went home and told his mother the -reason he had left school, but he added that -he felt "some" better now. The "some" -didn't save him. Genuine sympathy was -lavished on him. He had to swallow a stiff -dose of nasty "picra," the horror of all -childhood, and he was put in bed immediately. -The world never looked so pleasant -to John, but to bed he was forced to go. He -was excused from all chores; he was not -even to go after the cows. John said he - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> - -thought he ought to go after the cows,—much -as he hated the business usually, he -would now willingly have wandered over -the world after cows,—and for this heroic -offer, in the condition he was, he got credit -for a desire to do his duty; and this unjust -confidence in him added to his torture. -And he had intended to set his hooks that -night for eels. His cousin came home, -and sat by his bedside and condoled with -him; his schoolma'am had sent word how -sorry she was for him, John was such a -good boy. All this was dreadful. He -groaned in agony. Besides, he was not to -have any supper; it would be very dangerous -to eat a morsel. The prospect was -appalling. Never was there such a long -twilight; never before did he hear so many -sounds outdoors that he wanted to investigate. -Being ill without any illness was a -horrible condition. And he began to have -real stomach-ache now; and it ached because -it was empty. John was hungry -enough to have eaten the New England -Primer. But by and by sleep came, and -John forgot his woes in dreaming that he - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> - -knew where Madagascar was just as easy as -anything.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="FORCED_TO_GO_TO_BED"></a> -<img src="images/i_025.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">FORCED TO GO TO BED</div> -</div> - -<p>It was this lie that came back to John -the night he was trying to be affected by -the revival. And he was very much -ashamed of it, and believed he would never -tell another. But then he fell thinking -whether with the "picra," and the going -to bed in the afternoon, and the loss of his -supper, he had not been sufficiently paid -for it. And in this unhopeful frame of -mind he dropped off in sleep.</p> - -<p>And the truth must be told, that in the -morning John was no nearer to realizing -the terrors he desired to feel. But he was -a conscientious boy, and would do nothing -to interfere with the influences of the season. -He not only put himself away from -them all, but he refrained from doing almost -everything that he wanted to do. -There came at that time a newspaper, a -secular newspaper, which had in it a long -account of the Long Island races, in which -the famous horse "Lexington" was a -runner. John was fond of horses, he knew -about Lexington, and he had looked forward - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> - -to the result of this race with keen -interest. But to read the account of it -now he felt might destroy his seriousness -of mind, and—in all reverence and simplicity -he felt it—be a means of "grieving -away the Holy Spirit." He therefore hid -away the paper in a table drawer, intending -to read it when the revival should be over. -Weeks after, when he looked for the newspaper, -it was not to be found, and John -never knew what "time" Lexington made, -nor anything about the race. This was to -him a serious loss, but by no means so deep -as another feeling that remained with him; -for when his little world returned to its ordinary -course, and long after, John had an -uneasy apprehension of his own separateness -from other people in his insensibility -to the revival. Perhaps the experience was -a damage to him; and it is a pity that there -was no one to explain that religion for a -little fellow like him is not a "scheme."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">WAR</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Every</span> boy who is good for anything is a -natural savage. The scientists who want -to study the primitive man, and have so -much difficulty in finding one anywhere in -this sophisticated age, couldn't do better -than to devote their attention to the common -country boy. He has the primal, vigorous -instincts and impulses of the African -savage, without any of the vices inherited -from a civilization long ago decayed, or -developed in an unrestrained barbaric society. -You want to catch your boy young, -and study him before he has either virtues -or vices, in order to understand the primitive -man.</p> - -<p>Every New England boy desires (or did -desire a generation ago, before children -were born sophisticated, with a large library, -and with the word "culture" written on - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> - -their brows) to live by hunting, fishing, and -war. The military instinct, which is the -special mark of barbarism, is strong in him. -It arises not alone from his love of fighting, -for the boy is naturally as cowardly as the -savage, but from his fondness for display,—the -same that a corporal or a general -feels in decking himself in tinsel and tawdry -colors and strutting about in view of the -female sex. Half the pleasure in going out -to murder another man with a gun would -be wanting if one did not wear feathers and -gold lace and stripes on his pantaloons. -The law also takes this view of it, and will -not permit men to shoot each other in plain -clothes. And the world also makes some -curious distinctions in the art of killing. To -kill people with arrows is barbarous; to kill -them with smooth-bores and flintlock muskets -is semi-civilized; to kill them with -breech-loading rifles is civilized. That nation -is the most civilized which has the -appliances to kill the most of another -nation in the shortest time. This is the -result of six thousand years of constant -civilization. By and by, when the nations - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> - -cease to be boys, perhaps they will not -want to kill each other at all. Some people -think the world is very old; but here is an -evidence that it is very young, and, in fact, -has scarcely yet begun to be a world. -When the volcanoes have done spouting, -and the earthquakes are quaked out, and -you can tell what land is going to be solid -and keep its level twenty-four hours, and -the swamps are filled up, and the deltas of -the great rivers, like the Mississippi and -the Nile, become <i>terra firma</i>, and men stop -killing their fellows in order to get their -land and other property, then perhaps there -will be a world that an angel wouldn't -weep over. Now one half the world are employed -in getting ready to kill the other -half, some of them by marching about in -uniform, and the others by hard work to -earn money to pay taxes to buy uniforms -and guns.</p> - -<p>John was not naturally very cruel, and it -was probably the love of display quite as -much as of fighting that led him into a -military life; for he in common with all -his comrades had other traits of the savage. - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> - -One of them was the same passion for -ornament that induces the African to wear -anklets and bracelets of hide and of metal, -and to decorate himself with tufts of hair, -and to tattoo his body. In John's day there -was a rage at school among the boys for -wearing bracelets woven of the hair of the -little girls. Some of them were wonderful -specimens of braiding and twist. These -were not captured in war, but were sentimental -tokens of friendship given by the -young maidens themselves. John's own -hair was kept so short (as became a warrior) -that you couldn't have made a bracelet out -of it, or anything except a paint-brush; but -the little girls were not under military law, -and they willingly sacrificed their tresses to -decorate the soldiers they esteemed. As -the Indian is honored in proportion to the -scalps he can display, the boy at John's -school was held in highest respect who -could show the most hair trophies on his -wrist. John himself had a variety that -would have pleased a Mohawk, fine and -coarse and of all colors. There were the -flaxen, the faded straw, the glossy black, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> - -the lustrous brown, the dirty yellow, the -undecided auburn, and the fiery red. Perhaps -his pulse beat more quickly under the -red hair of Cynthia Rudd than on account -of all the other wristlets put together; it -was a sort of gold-tried-in-the-fire color to -John, and burned there with a steady flame. -Now that Cynthia had become a Christian, -this band of hair seemed a more sacred if -less glowing possession (for all detached -hair will fade in time), and if he had known -anything about saints he would have imagined -that it was a part of the aureole that -always goes with a saint. But I am bound -to say that, while John had a tender feeling -for this red string, his sentiment was not -that of the man who becomes entangled -in the meshes of a woman's hair; and he -valued rather the number than the quality -of these elastic wristlets.</p> - -<p>John burned with as real a military ardor -as ever inflamed the breast of any slaughterer -of his fellows. He liked to read of -war, of encounters with the Indians, of any -kind of wholesale killing in glittering uniform, -to the noise of the terribly exciting - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> - -fife and drum, which maddened the combatants -and drowned the cries of the -wounded. In his future he saw himself a -soldier with plume and sword and snug-fitting, -decorated clothes,—very different -from his somewhat roomy trousers and -country-cut roundabout, made by Aunt -Ellis, the village tailoress, who cut out -clothes, not according to the shape of the -boy, but to what he was expected to grow -to,—going where glory awaited him. In -his observation of pictures, it was the common -soldier who was always falling and -dying, while the officer stood unharmed in -the storm of bullets and waved his sword in -a heroic attitude. John determined to be -an officer.</p> - -<p>It is needless to say that he was an ardent -member of the military company of -his village. He had risen from the grade -of corporal to that of first lieutenant; the -captain was a boy whose father was captain -of the grown militia company, and consequently -had inherited military aptness and -knowledge. The old captain was a flaming -son of Mars, whose nose militia war, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> - -general training, and New England rum -had painted with the color of glory and disaster. -He was one of the gallant old soldiers -of the peaceful days of our country, -splendid in uniform, a martinet in drill, terrible -in oaths, a glorious object when he -marched at the head of his company of -flintlock muskets, with the American banner -full high advanced, and the clamorous -drum defying the world. In this he fulfilled -his duties of citizen, faithfully teaching -his uniformed companions how to march -by the left leg, and to get reeling drunk by -sundown; otherwise he didn't amount to -much in the community; his house was -unpainted, his fences were tumbled down, -his farm was a waste, his wife wore an old -gown to meeting, to which the captain -never went; but he was a good trout-fisher, -and there was no man in town who spent -more time at the country store and made -more shrewd observations upon the affairs -of his neighbors. Although he had never -been in an asylum any more than he had -been in war, he was almost as perfect a -drunkard as he was soldier. He hated the - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> - -British, whom he had never seen, as much -as he loved rum, from which he was never -separated.</p> - -<p>The company which his son commanded, -wearing his father's belt and sword, was -about as effective as the old company, and -more orderly. It contained from thirty to -fifty boys, according to the pressure of -"chores" at home, and it had its great days -of parade and its autumn manoeuvres, like -the general training. It was an artillery -company, which gave every boy a chance -to wear a sword; and it possessed a small -mounted cannon, which was dragged about -and limbered and unlimbered and fired, to -the imminent danger of everybody, especially -of the company. In point of marching, -with all the legs going together, and -twisting itself up and untwisting, breaking -into single-file (for Indian fighting) and -forming platoons, turning a sharp corner, -and getting out of the way of a wagon, -circling the town pump, frightening horses, -stopping short in front of the tavern, with -ranks dressed and eyes right and left, it -was the equal of any military organization - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> - -I ever saw. It could train better than the -big company, and I think it did more good -in keeping alive the spirit of patriotism and -desire to fight. Its discipline was strict. -If a boy left the ranks to jab a spectator, -or make faces at a window, or "go for" a -striped snake, he was "hollered" at no -end.</p> - -<p>It was altogether a very serious business; -there was no levity about the hot and hard -marching, and as boys have no humor nothing -ludicrous occurred. John was very -proud of his office, and of his ability to -keep the rear ranks closed up and ready to -execute any manoeuvre when the captain -"hollered," which he did continually. He -carried a real sword, which his grandfather -had worn in many a militia campaign on -the village green, the rust upon which John -fancied was Indian blood; he had various -red and yellow insignia of military rank -sewed upon different parts of his clothes, -and though his cocked hat was of pasteboard, -it was decorated with gilding and -bright rosettes, and floated a red feather -that made his heart beat with martial fury - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> - -whenever he looked at it. The effect of -this uniform upon the girls was not a matter -of conjecture. I think they really cared -nothing about it, but they pretended to -think it fine, and they fed the poor boys' -vanity,—the weakness by which women -govern the world.</p> - -<p>The exalted happiness of John in this -military service I dare say was never -equalled in any subsequent occupation. -The display of the company in the village -filled him with the loftiest heroism. There -was nothing wanting but an enemy to fight, -but this could only be had by half the company -staining themselves with elderberry -juice and going into the woods as Indians, -to fight the artillery from behind trees with -bows and arrows, or to ambush it and tomahawk -the gunners. This, however, was -made to seem very like real war. Traditions -of Indian cruelty were still fresh in -Western Massachusetts. Behind John's -house in the orchard were some old slate -tombstones, sunken and leaning, which recorded -the names of Captain Moses Rice -and Phineas Arms, who had been killed by - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> - -Indians in the last century while at work in -the meadow by the river, and who slept -there in the hope of a glorious resurrection. -Phineas Arms—martial name—was long -since dust; and even the mortal part of the -great Captain Moses Rice had been absorbed -in the soil, and passed perhaps with -the sap up into the old but still blooming -apple-trees. It was a quiet place where -they lay, but they might have heard—if -hear they could—the loud, continuous -roar of the Deerfield, and the stirring of -the long grass on that sunny slope. There -was a tradition that years ago an Indian, -probably the last of his race, had been seen -moving along the crest of the mountain, -and gazing down into the lovely valley -which had been the favorite home of his -tribe, upon the fields where he grew his -corn and the sparkling stream whence he -drew his fish. John used to fancy at times, -as he sat there, that he could see that red -spectre gliding among the trees on the -hill; and if the tombstone suggested to him -the trump of judgment, he could not separate -it from the war-whoop that had been - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> - -the last sound in the ear of Phineas Arms. -The Indian always preceded murder by the -war-whoop; and this was an advantage that -the artillery had in the fight with the elderberry -Indians. It was warned in time. If -there was no war-whoop, the killing didn't -count; the artilleryman got up and killed -the Indian. The Indian usually had the -worst of it; he not only got killed by the -regulars, but he got whipped by the home-guard -at night for staining himself and his -clothes with the elderberry.</p> - -<p>But once a year the company had a superlative -parade. This was when the military -company from the north part of the -town joined the villagers in a general muster. -This was an infantry company, and -not to be compared with that of the village -in point of evolutions. There was a great -and natural hatred between the north town -boys and the centre. I don't know why, -but no contiguous African tribes could be -more hostile. It was all right for one of -either section to "lick" the other if he -could, or for half a dozen to "lick" one of -the enemy if they caught him alone. The - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> - -notion of honor, as of mercy, comes into -the boy only when he is pretty well grown; -to some, neither ever comes. And yet there -was an artificial military courtesy (something -like that existing in the feudal age, no -doubt) which put the meeting of these two -rival and mutually detested companies on a -high plane of behavior. It was beautiful to -see the seriousness of this lofty and studied -condescension on both sides. For the time, -everything was under martial law. The -village company being the senior, its captain -commanded the united battalion in the -march, and this put John temporarily into -the position of captain, with the right to -march at the head and "holler;" a responsibility -which realized all his hopes of -glory.</p> - -<p>I suppose there has yet been discovered -by man no gratification like that of marching -at the head of a column in uniform on -parade,—unless perhaps it is marching at -their head when they are leaving a field of -battle. John experienced all the thrill of -this conspicuous authority, and I dare say -that nothing in his later life has so exalted - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> - -him in his own esteem; certainly nothing -has since happened that was so important -as the events of that parade day seemed. -He satiated himself with all the delights of -war.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">COUNTRY SCENES</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">It</span> is impossible to say at what age a -New England country boy becomes conscious -that his trousers-legs are too short, -and is anxious about the part of his hair -and the fit of his woman-made roundabout. -These harrowing thoughts come to him -later than to the city lad. At least, a generation -ago he served a long apprenticeship -with nature only for a master, absolutely -unconscious of the artificialities of life.</p> - -<p>But I do not think his early education was -neglected. And yet it is easy to underestimate -the influences that, unconsciously to -him, were expanding his mind and nursing -in him heroic purposes. There was the -lovely but narrow valley, with its rapid -mountain stream; there were the great hills -which he climbed only to see other hills -stretching away to a broken and tempting - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> - -horizon; there were the rocky pastures, -and the wide sweeps of forest through -which the winter tempests howled, upon -which hung the haze of summer heat, over -which the great shadows of summer clouds -traveled; there were the clouds themselves, -shouldering up above the peaks, -hurrying across the narrow sky,—the -clouds out of which the wind came, and the -lightning and the sudden dashes of rain; -and there were days when the sky was ineffably -blue and distant, a fathomless vault -of heaven where the hen-hawk and the -eagle poised on outstretched wings and -watched for their prey. Can you say how -these things fed the imagination of the boy, -who had few books and no contact with -the great world? Do you think any city -lad could have written "Thanatopsis" at -eighteen?</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="SLIPPERY_WORK"></a> -<img src="images/i_026.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">SLIPPERY WORK</div> -</div> - -<p>If you had seen John, in his short and -roomy trousers and ill-used straw hat, picking -his barefooted way over the rocks along -the river-bank of a cool morning to see if -an eel had "got on," you would not have -fancied that he lived in an ideal world. - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> - -Nor did he consciously. So far as he knew, -he had no more sentiment than a jack-knife. -Although he loved Cynthia Rudd devotedly, -and blushed scarlet one day when -his cousin found a lock of Cynthia's flaming -hair in the box where John kept his -fish-hooks, spruce gum, flag-root, tickets of -standing at the head, gimlet, billets-doux in -blue ink, a vile liquid in a bottle to make -fish bite, and other precious possessions, -yet Cynthia's society had no attractions for -him comparable to a day's trout-fishing. -She was, after all, only a single and a very -undefined item in his general ideal world, -and there was no harm in letting his imagination -play about her illumined head. -Since Cynthia had "got religion" and -John had got nothing, his love was tempered -with a little awe and a feeling of distance. -He was not fickle, and yet I cannot -say that he was not ready to construct a -new romance in which Cynthia should be -eliminated. Nothing was easier. Perhaps -it was a luxurious traveling-carriage, drawn -by two splendid horses in plated harness, -driven along the sandy road. There were - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> - -a gentleman and a young lad on the front -seat, and on the back seat a handsome, pale -lady with a little girl beside her. Behind, -on the rack with the trunk, was a colored -boy, an imp out of a story-book. John -was told that the black boy was a slave, -and that the carriage was from Baltimore. -Here was a chance for a romance. Slavery, -beauty, wealth, haughtiness, especially on -the part of the slender boy on the front -seat,—here was an opening into a vast -realm. The high-stepping horses and the -shining harness were enough to excite -John's admiration, but these were nothing -to the little girl. His eyes had never before -fallen upon that kind of girl; he had -hardly imagined that such a lovely creature -could exist. Was it the soft and dainty -toilet, was it the brown curls, or the large -laughing eyes, or the delicate, finely cut -features, or the charming little figure of -this fairy-like person? Was this expression -on her mobile face merely that of amusement -at seeing a country boy? Then John -hated her. On the contrary, did she see -in him what John felt himself to be? Then - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> - -he would go the world over to serve her. -In a moment he was self-conscious. His -trousers seemed to creep higher up his legs, -and he could feel his very ankles blush. -He hoped that she had not seen the other -side of him, for in fact the patches were -not of the exact shade of the rest of the -cloth. The vision flashed by him in a moment, -but it left him with a resentful feeling. -Perhaps that proud little girl would -be sorry some day, when he had become a -general, or written a book, or kept a store, -to see him go away and marry another. He -almost made up his cruel mind on the instant -that he would never marry her, however -bad she might feel. And yet he -couldn't get her out of his mind for days -and days, and when her image was present -even Cynthia in the singers' seat on Sunday -looked a little cheap and common. -Poor Cynthia! Long before John became -a general, or had his revenge on the Baltimore -girl, she married a farmer and was -the mother of children, red-headed; and -when John saw her years after, she looked -tired and discouraged, as one who has carried - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> - -into womanhood none of the romance of her youth.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="RIGGING_UP_THE_FISHINGTACKLE"></a> -<img src="images/i_027.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">RIGGING UP THE FISHING TACKLE</div> -</div> - -<p>Fishing and dreaming, I think, were the -best amusements John had. The middle -pier of the long covered bridge over the -river stood upon a great rock, and this rock -(which was known as the swimming-rock, -whence the boys on summer evenings dived -into the deep pool by its side) was a favorite -spot with John when he could get an -hour or two from the everlasting "chores." -Making his way out to it over the rocks at -low water with his fish-pole, there he was -content to sit and observe the world; and -there he saw a great deal of life. He always -expected to catch the legendary trout -which weighed two pounds and was believed -to inhabit that pool. He always did catch -horned dace and shiners, which he despised, -and sometimes he snared a monstrous -sucker a foot and a half long. But in the -summer the sucker is a flabby fish, and -John was not thanked for bringing him -home. He liked, however, to lie with his -face close to the water and watch the long -fishes panting in the clear depths, and occasionally - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> - -he would drop a pebble near one -to see how gracefully he would scud away -with one wave of the tail into deeper water. -Nothing fears the little brown boy. The -yellow-bird slants his wings, almost touches -the deep water before him, and then escapes -away under the bridge to the east -with a glint of sunshine on his back; the -fish-hawk comes down with a swoop, dips -one wing, and, his prey having darted under -a stone, is away again over the still hill, -high soaring on even-poised pinions, keeping -an eye perhaps upon the great eagle -which is sweeping the sky in widening -circles.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="WATCHING_THE_FISHES"></a> -<img src="images/i_028.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">WATCHING THE FISHES</div> -</div> - -<p>But there is other life. A wagon rumbles -over the bridge, and the farmer and -his wife, jogging along, do not know that -they have startled a lazy boy into a momentary -fancy that a thunder-shower is -coming up. John can see, as he lies there -on a still summer day with the fishes and -the birds for company, the road that comes -down the left bank of the river, a hot, sandy, -well-traveled road, hidden from view here -and there by trees and bushes. The chief - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> - -point of interest, however, is an enormous -sycamore-tree by the roadside and in front -of John's house. The house is more than -a century old, and its timbers were hewed -and squared by Captain Moses Rice (who -lies in his grave on the hillside above it), in -the presence of the Red Man who killed -him with arrow and tomahawk some time -after his house was set in order. The gigantic -tree, struck with a sort of leprosy, -like all its species, appears much older, and -of course has its tradition. They say it grew -from a green stake which the first land-surveyor -planted there for one of his points -of sight. John was reminded of it years -after when he sat under the shade of the -decrepit lime-tree in Freiberg and was told -that it was originally a twig which the -breathless and bloody messenger carried in -his hand when he dropped exhausted in the -square with the word "Victory!" on his -lips, announcing thus the result of the glorious -battle of Morat, where the Swiss in -1476 defeated Charles the Bold. Under -the broad but scanty shade of the great -button-ball tree (as it was called) stood an - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> - -old watering-trough, with its half-decayed -penstock and well-worn spout pouring forever -cold sparkling water into the overflowing -trough. It is fed by a spring near by, -and the water is sweeter and colder than -any in the known world, unless it be the -well Zem-Zem, as generations of people -and horses which have drunk of it would -testify if they could come back. And if -they could file along this road again, what -a procession there would be riding down -the valley!—antiquated vehicles, rusty -wagons adorned with the invariable buffalo-robe -even in the hottest days, lean and -long-favored horses, frisky colts, drawing -generation after generation the sober and -pious saints that passed this way to meeting -and to mill.</p> - -<p>What a refreshment is that water-spout! -All day long there are pilgrims to it, and -John likes nothing better than to watch -them. Here comes a gray horse drawing a -buggy with two men,—cattle-buyers probably. -Out jumps a man, down goes the -check-rein. What a good draught the nag -takes! Here comes a long-stepping trotter - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> - -in a sulky; man in a brown linen coat and -wide-awake hat,—dissolute, horsey-looking -man. They turn up, of course. Ah! there -is an establishment he knows well; a sorrel -horse and an old chaise. The sorrel horse -scents the water afar off, and begins to -turn up long before he reaches the trough, -thrusting out his nose in anticipation of the -cool sensation. No check to let down; he -plunges his nose in nearly to his eyes in -his haste to get at it. Two maiden ladies—unmistakably -such, though they appear -neither "anxious nor aimless"—within -the scoop-top smile benevolently on the -sorrel back. It is the deacon's horse, a -meeting-going nag, with a sedate, leisurely -jog as he goes; and these are two of the -"salt of the earth,"—the brevet rank of -the women who stand and wait,—going -down to the village store to dicker. There -come two men in a hurry, horse driven up -smartly and pulled up short; but as it is -rising ground, and the horse does not easily -reach the water with the wagon pulling -back, the nervous man in the buggy hitches -forward on his seat, as if that would carry - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> - -the wagon a little ahead! Next, lumber-wagon -with load of boards; horse wants to -turn up, and driver switches him and cries -"G'lang," and the horse reluctantly goes -by, turning his head wistfully towards the -flowing spout. Ah! here comes an equipage -strange to these parts, and John stands -up to look: an elegant carriage and two -horses; trunks strapped on behind; gentleman -and boy on front seat and two ladies -on back seat,—city people. The gentleman -descends, unchecks the horses, wipes -his brow, takes a drink at the spout and -looks around, evidently remarking upon the -lovely view, as he swings his handkerchief -in an explanatory manner. Judicious travelers! -John would like to know who they -are. Perhaps they are from Boston, whence -come all the wonderfully painted peddlers' -wagons drawn by six stalwart horses, which -the driver, using no rein, controls with his -long whip and cheery voice. If so, great -is the condescension of Boston; and John -follows them with an undefined longing as -they drive away toward the mountains of -Zoar. Here is a footman, dusty and tired, - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> - -who comes with lagging steps. He stops, -removes his hat, as he should to such a -tree, puts his mouth to the spout, and takes -a long pull at the lively water. And then -he goes on, perhaps to Zoar, perhaps to a -worse place.</p> - -<p>So they come and go all the summer afternoon; -but the great event of the day is -the passing down the valley of the majestic -stage-coach, the vast yellow-bodied, rattling -vehicle. John can hear a mile off the shaking -of chains, traces, and whiffletrees, and -the creaking of its leathern braces, as the -great bulk swings along piled high with -trunks. It represents to John, somehow, -authority, government, the right of way; -the driver is an autocrat,—everybody must -make way for the stage-coach. It almost -satisfies the imagination, this royal vehicle; -one can go in it to the confines of the world,—to -Boston and to Albany.</p> - -<p>There were other influences that I dare -say contributed to the boy's education. I -think his imagination was stimulated by a -band of gypsies who used to come every -summer and pitch a tent on a little roadside - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> - -patch of green turf by the river-bank, -not far from his house. It was shaded by -elms and butternut-trees, and a long spit -of sand and pebbles ran out from it into -the brawling stream. Probably they were -not a very good kind of gypsy, although the -story was that the men drank and beat -the women. John didn't know much about -drinking; his experience of it was confined -to sweet cider; yet he had already set himself -up as a reformer, and joined the Cold -Water Band. The object of this Band was -to walk in a procession under a banner that -declared,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> - <div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="indent5">"So here we pledge perpetual hate</div> - <div class="indent6">To all that can intoxicate;"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>and wear a badge with this legend, and -above it the device of a well-curb with a -long sweep. It kept John and all the little -boys and girls from being drunkards -till they were ten or eleven years of age; -though perhaps a few of them died meantime -from eating loaf-cake and pie and -drinking ice-cold water at the celebrations -of the Band.</p> - -<p>The gypsy camp had a strange fascination - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> - -for John, mingled of curiosity and fear. -Nothing more alien could come into the -New England life than this tatterdemalion -band. It was hardly credible that -here were actually people who lived outdoors, -who slept in their covered wagon or -under their tent, and cooked in the open -air; it was a visible romance transferred -from foreign lands and the remote times of -the story-books; and John took these city -thieves, who were on their annual foray -into the country, trading and stealing -horses and robbing hen-roosts and cornfields, -for the mysterious race who for thousands -of years have done these same things -in all lands, by right of their pure blood -and ancient lineage. John was afraid to -approach the camp when any of the scowling -and villanous men were lounging about, -pipes in mouth; but he took more courage -when only women and children were visible. -The swarthy, black-haired women in -dirty calico frocks were anything but attractive, -but they spoke softly to the boy, and -told his fortune, and wheedled him into -bringing them any amount of cucumbers - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> - -and green corn in the course of the season. -In front of the tent were planted in the -ground three poles that met together at the -top, whence depended a kettle. This was -the kitchen, and it was sufficient. The fuel -for the fire was the driftwood of the stream. -John noted that it did not require to be -sawed into stove-lengths; and, in short, -that the "chores" about this establishment -were reduced to the minimum. And an -older person than John might envy the -free life of these wanderers, who paid -neither rent nor taxes, and yet enjoyed all -the delights of nature. It seemed to the -boy that affairs would go more smoothly in -the world if everybody would live in this -simple manner. Nor did he then know, or -ever after find out, why it is that the world -only permits wicked people to be Bohemians.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ENTERING_THE_OLD_BRIDGE"></a> -<img src="images/i_029.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">ENTERING THE OLD BRIDGE</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center">A CONTRAST TO THE NEW ENGLAND BOY</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">One</span> evening at vespers in Genoa, attracted -by a burst of music from the swinging -curtain of the doorway, I entered a -little church much frequented by the common -people. An unexpected and exceedingly -pretty sight rewarded me.</p> - -<p>It was All-Souls' Day. In Italy almost -every day is set apart for some festival, or -belongs to some saint or another; and I -suppose that when leap-year brings around -the extra day, there is a saint ready to -claim the 29th of February. Whatever -the day was to the elders, the evening was -devoted to the children. The first thing -I noticed was, that the quaint old church -was lighted up with innumerable wax-tapers,—an -uncommon sight, for the darkness -of a Catholic church in the evening is -usually relieved only by a candle here and - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> - -there, and by a blazing pyramid of them -on the high altar. The use of gas is held -to be a vulgar thing all over Europe, and -especially unfit for a church or an aristocratic -palace.</p> - -<p>Then I saw that each taper belonged to -a little boy or girl, and the groups of children -were scattered all about the church. -There was a group by every side altar and -chapel, all the benches were occupied by -knots of them, and there were so many -circles of them seated on the pavement -that I could with difficulty make my way -among them. There were hundreds of -children in the church, all dressed in their -holiday apparel, and all intent upon the illumination, -which seemed to be a private -affair to each one of them.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="THE_OLD_WATERING_TROUGH"></a> -<img src="images/i_030.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">THE OLD WATERING TROUGH</div> -</div> - -<p>And not much effect had their tapers -upon the darkness of the vast vaults above -them. The tapers were little spiral coils -of wax, which the children unrolled as fast -as they burned, and when they were tired -of holding them they rested them on the -ground and watched the burning. I stood -some time by a group of a dozen seated in - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> - -a corner of the church. They had massed -all the tapers in the centre and formed a -ring about the spectacle, sitting with their -legs straight out before them and their -toes turned up. The light shone full in -their happy faces, and made the group, enveloped -otherwise in darkness, like one of -Correggio's pictures of children or angels. -Correggio was a famous Italian artist of the -sixteenth century, who painted cherubs -like children who were just going to -heaven, and children like cherubs who had -just come out of it. But then, he had the -Italian children for models, and they get -the knack of being lovely very young. An -Italian child finds it as easy to be pretty as -an American child to be good.</p> - -<p>One could not but be struck with the patience -these little people exhibited in their -occupation, and the enjoyment they got -out of it. There was no noise; all conversed -in subdued whispers and behaved -in the most gentle manner to each other, -especially to the smallest, and there were -many of them so small that they could only -toddle about by the most judicious exercise - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> - -of their equilibrium. I do not say this by -way of reproof to any other kind of children.</p> - -<p>These little groups, as I have said, were -scattered all about the church; and they -made with their tapers little spots of light, -which looked in the distance very much -like Correggio's picture which is at Dresden,—the -Holy Family at Night, and the -light from the Divine Child blazing in the -faces of all the attendants. Some of the -children were infants in the nurse's arms, -but no one was too small to have a taper, -and to run the risk of burning its fingers.</p> - -<p>There is nothing that a baby likes more -than a lighted candle, and the church has -understood this longing in human nature, -and found means to gratify it by this festival -of tapers.</p> - -<p>The groups do not all remain long in -place, you may imagine; there is a good -deal of shifting about, and I see little stragglers -wandering over the church, like fairies -lighted by fire-flies. Occasionally they form -a little procession and march from one altar -to another, the lights twinkling as they go.</p> - -<p>But all this time there is music pouring - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> - -out of the organ-loft at the end of the -church, and flooding all its spaces with its -volume. In front of the organ is a choir -of boys, led by a round-faced and jolly -monk, who rolls about as he sings, and lets -the deep bass noise rumble about a long -time in his stomach before he pours it out -of his mouth. I can see the faces of all of -them quite well, for each singer has a candle -to light his music-book.</p> - -<p>And next to the monk stands the boy,—the -handsomest boy in the whole world -probably at this moment. I can see now -his great, liquid, dark eyes and his exquisite -face, and the way he tossed back his -long waving hair when he struck into his -part. He resembled the portraits of Raphael, -when that artist was a boy; only I -think he looked better than Raphael, and -without trying, for he seemed to be a spontaneous -sort of boy. And how that boy -did sing! He was the soprano of the choir, -and he had a voice of heavenly sweetness. -When he opened his mouth and tossed back -his head, he filled the church with exquisite -melody.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - -<p>He sang like a lark, or like an angel. As -we never heard an angel sing, that comparison -is not worth much. I have seen pictures -of angels singing,—there is one by Jan -and Hubert Van Eyck in the gallery at -Berlin,—and they open their mouths like -this boy, but I can't say as much for their -singing. The lark, which you very likely -never heard either,—for larks are as scarce -in America as angels,—is a bird that -springs up from the meadow and begins to -sing as he rises in a spiral flight, and the -higher he mounts the sweeter he sings, -until you think the notes are dropping out -of heaven itself, and you hear him when he -is gone from sight, and you think you hear -him long after all sound has ceased.</p> - -<p>And yet this boy sang better than a lark, -because he had more notes and a greater -compass and more volume, although he -shook out his voice in the same gleesome -abundance.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="THE_NEW_ENGLAND_BOY"></a> -<img src="images/i_031.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">THE NEW ENGLAND BOY</div> -</div> - -<p>I am sorry that I cannot add that this ravishingly -beautiful boy was a good boy. He -was probably one of the most mischievous -boys that was ever in an organ-loft. All - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> - -time that he was singing the vespers he -was skylarking like an imp. While he was -pouring out the most divine melody, he -would take the opportunity of kicking the -shins of the boy next to him; and while he -was waiting for his part he would kick out -behind at any one who was incautious -enough to approach him. There never was -such a vicious boy; he kept the whole loft -in a ferment. When the monk rumbled -his bass in his stomach, the boy cut up -monkey-shines that set every other boy into -a laugh, or he stirred up a row that set -them all at fisticuffs.</p> - -<p>And yet this boy was a great favorite. -The jolly monk loved him best of all, and -bore with his wildest pranks. When he -was wanted to sing his part and was skylarking -in the rear, the fat monk took him -by the ear and brought him forward; and -when he gave the boy's ear a twist, the boy -opened his lovely mouth and poured forth -such a flood of melody as you never heard. -And he didn't mind his notes; he seemed -to know his notes by heart, and could sing -and look off like a nightingale on a bough. - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> - -He knew his power, that boy; and he -stepped forward to his stand when he -pleased, certain that he would be forgiven -as soon as he began to sing. And such -spirit and life as he threw into the performance, -rollicking through the Vespers with a -perfect abandon of carriage, as if he could -sing himself out of his skin if he liked!</p> - -<p>While the little angels down below were -pattering about with their wax tapers, keeping -the holy fire burning, suddenly the -organ stopped, the monk shut his book with -a bang, the boys blew out the candles, and -I heard them all tumbling down stairs in a -gale of noise and laughter. The beautiful -boy I saw no more.</p> - -<p>About him plays the light of tender -memory; but were he twice as lovely, I -could never think of him as having either -the simple manliness or the good fortune -of the New England boy.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - -<div class="center"> -<span class="xlarge"><b>The Riverside Press</b></span><br /> -CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, U. S. A.<br /> -ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY<br /> -H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO.<br /> -</div> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p><span class="smcap">Transcriber's Notes.</span></p> -<p>1. Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors have been silently corrected.</p> -<p>2. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.</p> -<p>3. Some page numbers in the "List of Illustrations" have been changed as -many of the illustrations have been moved to the nearest paragraph break.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Being a Boy, by Charles Dudley Warner - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEING A BOY *** - -***** This file should be named 54604-h.htm or 54604-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/6/0/54604/ - -Produced by David Edwards, Brian Wilsden and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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