A LITTLE UNPLEASANTNESS.
It was still dark and the rain fell in torrents as Matt opened the
kitchen door and ran hastily out to the barn, where Mrs. Noman, who was
making preparations for breakfast, had told him he would find her
husband.
He noticed the kitchen timepiece as he passed through the room and saw
it was not yet four o'clock. Early rising was evidently one of the
things to be expected in his new home.
Reaching the barn, Matt found Mr. Noman engaged in feeding a dozen or
more gaunt and ill-kept cows, which seized the musty hay thrown down to
them with an avidity that suggested on their part a scarcity of rations.
The same untidiness that marked the house was to be seen about the barn
also, which, if anything, was in a more dilapidated condition than the
former.
"Good morning, Mr. Noman. What can I do to help you?" asked Matt,
pleasantly, as soon as he entered the barn.
"Hum! I don't suppose ye can milk?" was the rather ungracious response.
"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," replied Matt, good-naturedly.
"Well, I'll see about that after awhile. I s'pose ye might as well begin
now as any time. But fust git up on that mow an' throw down more hay.
These pesky critters eat more'n their necks is wuth," said Mr. Noman,
kicking savagely at a cow that was reaching out for the forkful of hay
he was carrying by her.
Matt obeyed with alacrity; and, when that job was finished, it was
followed by others, including the milking, wherein the boy proved an apt
scholar, until nearly six o'clock, when Mrs. Noman's shrill voice
summoned them to breakfast.
That meal, possibly on account of Matt's want of the good appetite he
had had the night before, seemed to him greatly inferior to his supper.
The coffee was bitter and sweetened with molasses, the johnny-cakes were
burnt, and the meat and vegetables cold.
He did his best to eat heartily of the unsavory food, however--partly
that he might not seem to his employer over-fastidious in taste, and
partly because the morning's work had taught him that he would need all
the strength he could obtain ere his day's task was over. Stormy though
it was, he felt sure Mr. Noman would find enough for him to do.
In fact, long before the first of May came, Matt realized fully the
force of the words Mr. Goodenough shouted after him the night he stopped
there to inquire the way to Mr. Noman's.
Had he really known his employer and family, he certainly would not have
been over-anxious to hire out to him for the season, for the dilapidated
condition of the buildings, and the untidiness and disorder that marked
everything about the place, were not, after all, the worst features with
which Matt had to deal. He soon found that his employer was a hard,
grasping tyrant, while his wife was a termagant, scolding and
fault-finding incessantly from morning until night. There was not an
animal on the place that escaped the abuse of the master, and not even
the master himself eluded the tirades of the mistress.
Matt, by faithfully performing every task assigned him, and thus
frequently doing twice over what a boy of his age should have been
expected to do, tried to win the approval of both Mr. Noman and his
wife. He soon found this impossible, and so contented himself with doing
what he felt to be right, and cheerfully bore the scoldings that
speedily became an hourly occurrence.
It was indeed astonishing with what good-nature Matt accepted the work
and the hard words put upon him. Mr. Noman attributed it to the paper he
had asked him to sign, and chuckled to himself at the thought that
Matt's fear of losing his wages kept him so industrious and docile.
He confidentially admitted to his wife, one day, that the boy was worth
twice what he had agreed to pay him--"only I ain't paid him nothin' as
yit," he added, with a knowing look, which his wife seemed to
understand, for she replied:
"Now yer up to another of yer capers, Tom Noman. There never was a man
on the earth meaner'n ye air!"
But Mr. Goodenough, who knew his neighbors well, could in no way account
for the boy's willingness to endure what he knew he must be suffering,
and finally his curiosity got the better of him; for, meeting Matt one
day as he was returning from the nearest village, he drew up his horses
and said:
"Matt, do you know you are the profoundest example of human patience I
ever saw?"
"No; is that so?" replied Matt, with a laugh. "What makes you think so?"
"Well," remarked Mr. Goodenough, leaning on his wagon-seat and looking
down into the smiling countenance before him, "I have lived here beside
Tom Noman and his wife for a dozen years, and know them well enough to
be sure that an angel couldn't long stand their fault-finding, and yet
you have actually been there six weeks, and are still as cheerful as a
lark on one of these beautiful spring mornings. Will you explain to me
how you manage to stand it?"
While he was speaking a far-away look had come into Matt's eyes, and a
shudder shook his robust frame, as though he saw something very
disagreeable to himself; but he answered, quietly enough:
"Mr. Goodenough, there are some things in this world harder to bear than
either work or unkind treatment, and I prefer even to live with Tom
Noman's family rather than to go back to the life I have left
behind me."
With these words, Matt started up his oxen and went on, leaving Mr.
Goodenough to resume his way more mystified than ever.
On the first day of June, Matt asked Mr. Noman for the previous month's
pay.
They were at work in the cornfield, and the boy's request took his
employer so by surprise that his hoe-handle dropped from his grasp.
"Me pay ye now!" he exclaimed. "What air ye thinkin' of?"
Then, as though another idea had come to his mind, he said,
persuasively:
"Ye don't need no money, an' 'twill be better to have yer pay all in a
lump. Jest think how much it'll be--sixty dollars! an' all yer own."
"But I have a special use for the money," persisted Matt; "and, as I
have earned it, I should think you might give it to me."
He spoke all the more emphatically because he knew that Mr. Noman had
quite a sum of money by him, and that he could easily pay him if he
chose to do so.
For reply, Mr. Noman put his hand into his pocket, and, taking out his
wallet, opened it. From it he drew the paper of agreement that Matt and
he had signed. He slowly spelled it out, and, when he had finished,
asked:
"Does this here paper say anythin' about my payin' ye every month?"
"No, sir," Matt reluctantly admitted.
"But it does say, if ye quit yer work 'fore yer time is up, ye air to
have no pay, don't it?" inquired the man, significantly.
"Yes, sir," Matt replied, now realizing how mean and contemptible his
employer was, and what had been his real object in drawing up that
paper.
"Well, how can I know ye air goin' to stay with me yer hull time till
it's up?" he asked, with a show of triumph in his tones.
"Do you mean to say you don't intend to pay me anything until November?"
asked Matt, indignantly.
"That's the agreement," answered Mr. Noman, coolly, returning the paper
to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. "If ye'll keep yer part I'll
keep mine."
He then picked up his hoe and resumed his work.
For the first time since he came to the farm Matt felt an impulse to
leave his employer. It was with great difficulty, indeed, that he
refrained from throwing down his hoe, going to the house after his few
effects, and quitting the place forever. But he did not, and went
resolutely on with his work.
Fortunate for him was it--though he did not know it then--that he did
so. Later on, he could see that the ruling of his spirit that day won
for him, if not a city, certainly the happiest results, though severe
trials stood between him and their consummation.
That night, at as early an hour as possible, Matt sought his little
room. Closing the door carefully after him, he walked over to the rude
rack on the wall and took down his light overcoat. From an inside pocket
he drew a long wallet, and from that, a postal card. Addressing it with
a pencil to "A. H. Dinsmore, 1143 Washington Avenue, Brooklyn, N.Y.," he
wrote rapidly and in small characters on the reverse side, without
giving place or date, the following words:
"DEAR SIR: My promise to send you some money every month until
the total amount due you was paid, I cannot keep for this reason:
Through a misunderstanding with my employer, I am not to have my
pay until the six months for which I have hired out are ended. At
that time you may expect a remittance from me.
"Truly yours,
"M. R."
It was several days later, however, before Matt had an opportunity to go
to the neighboring village. When he did so, he took care not to drop the
postal into the post office, but handed it directly to a mail agent on a
passing train.
His reason for this act could not be easily misunderstood. Evidently, he
did not care that the Mr. Dinsmore to whom he had written should know
his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was unnecessary; for, before
the summer months had run by, he was to meet Mr. Dinsmore under
circumstances most trying to himself.