WORKING OK SUNDAY--TURNING A GRINDSTONE IS HEALTHY--“NOT ANY
GRINDSTONE FOR HENNERY!”--THIS HYPOCRISY IS PLAYED OUT--
ANOTHER JOB ON THE OLD MAN--HOW THE DAYS OF THE WEEK GOT
MIXED--THE NUMEROUS FUNERALS--THE MINISTER APPEARS--THE BAD
BOY GOES OVER THE BACK FENCE.
“Hello,” said the grocery man to the bad boy, as he came in looking sick
at heart, and all broke up, “How is your muscle this morning?”
“All right enough,” said the boy, with a look of inquiry, as though
wondering what was coming next. “Why?”
“O, nothing, only I was going to grind the hatchet, and some knives and
things, this morning, and I thought maybe you would like to go out
in the shed and turn the grindstone for me, to develop your muscles.
Turning a grindstone is the healthiest thing a boy can do.”
“That is all right enough,” said the bad boy, as he took up a sweet
cracker, “but please take a good look at me. Do I look like a grindstone
boy? Do I resemble a good little boy that can't say 'no,' and goes off
and turns a grindstone half a day for some old duffer, who pays him by
giving him a handful of green currants, or telling him he will be a man
some day, and the boy goes off one way, with a lame back, while the
good man goes the other way, with a sharp scythe, and a chuckle at
the softness of the boy? You are mistaken in me. I have passed the
grindstone period, and you will have to pick up another sardine who has
never done circular work. Not any grindstone for Hennery, if you please.”
“You are getting too smart,” said the grocery man, as he charged a
pound of sweet crackers to the boy's father. “You don't have to turn the
grindstone if you don't want to.”
“That's what I thought,” says the boy as he takes a handful of
blueberries. “You grindstone sharps, who are always laying for a fool
boy to give taffy to, and get him to break his back, don't play it fine
enough. You bear on too hard on the grindstone. I have seen the time
when a man could get me to turn a grindstone for him till the cows come
home, by making me believe it was fun, and by telling me he never saw
a boy that seemed to throw so much soul into turning a grindstone as I
did, but I have found that such men are hypocrites. They inveigle a boy
into their nest, like the spider does the fly, and at first they don't
bear on hard, but just let the blade of the axe or the scythe touch
the grindstone, and they make a boy believe he is a bigger man than old
Grant. They bet him he will get tired, and he bets that he can turn a
grindstone as long as anybody, and when the boy has got his reputation
at stake, then they begin to bear on hard, and the boy gets tired, but
he holds out, and when the tools are ground he says he is as fresh as
a daisy, when he is tired enough to die. Such men do more to teach boys
the hollowness of the world, and its tricky features, than anything, and
they teach boys to know who are friends and who are foes. No, sir, the
best way is to hire a grown person to turn year grind one. I remember I
turned a grindstone four hours for a farmer once, and when I got through
he said I could go to the spring and drink all the water I wanted for
nothing. He was the tightest man I ever saw. Why, tight! That man was
tight enough to hold kerosene.”
“That's all right. Who wanted you to turn grindstone anyway? But what
is it about your Pa and Ma being turned out of church? hear that they
scandalized themselves horribly last Sunday.”
“Well, you see, me and my chum put up a job on Pa to make him think
Sunday was only Saturday and Ma she fell into it, and I guess we are all
going to get fired from the church for working on Sunday. You see they
didn't go to meetin' last Sunday because Ma's new bonnet hadn't come,
and Monday and Tuesday it rained and the rest of the week was so muddy
no one called, or they could not get anywhere, so Monday I slid out
early and got the daily paper, and on Tuesday my chum he got the paper
off the steps and put Monday's paper in its place. I watched when they
were reading it, but they did not notice the date. Then Wednesday we put
Tuesday's paper on the steps and Pa said it seemed more than Tuesday,
but Ma she got the paper of the day before and looked at the date and
said it seemed so to her but she guessed they had lost a day somehow.
Thursday we got Wednesday's paper on the steps, and Friday we rung in
Thursday's paper, and Saturday my chum he got Friday's paper on the
steps, and Ma said she guessed she would wash to-morrow, and Pa said he
believed he would hoe in the garden and get the weeds out so it would
look better to folks when they went by Sunday to church. Well, Sunday
morning came, and with it Saturday's daily paper, and Pa barely glanced
it over as he got on his overalls and went out in his shirt sleeves a
hoeing in the front garden. And I and my chum helped Ma carry water to
wash. She said it seemed like the longest week she ever saw, but when
we brought the water, and took a plate of pickles to the hired girl that
was down with the mumps, we got in the lilac bushes and waited for the
curtain to rise. It wasn't long before folks began going to church and
you'd a dide laughing to see them all stop in front of where Ma was
washing and look at her, and then go on to where Pa was hoeing weeds and
stop and look at him, and then drive on. After about a dozen teams had
passed I heard Ma ask Pa if he knew who was dead, as there must be a
funeral somewhere. Pa had just hoed into a bumblebee's nest and said he
did not know of any that was dead, but knew some that ought to be, and
Ma she did not ask any foolish questions any more. After about twenty
teams had stopped, Ma she got nervous and asked Deacon Smith if he saw
anything green; he said something about desecration, and drove away
Deacon Brown asked Pa if he did not think he was setting, a bad example
before his boy; but Pa, he said he thought it would be a good one if the
boy could only be hired to do it. Finally Ma got mad and took the tub
behind the house where they could not see her. About four o'clock that
afternoon we saw a dozen of our congregation headed by the minister,
file into our yard, and my chum and I knew it was time to fly, so we
got on the back steps where we could hear. Pa met them at the door,
expecting some bad news; and when they were seated, Ma she came in and
remarked it was a very unhealthy year, and it stood people in hand to
meet their latter end. None of them said a word until the elder put on
his specs, and said it was a solemn occasion, and Ma she turned pale,
and wondered who it could be, and Pa says 'don't keep us in suspense,
who is dead?' and the elder said no one was dead; but they called as a
duty they owed the cause to take action on them for working on Sunday.
Ma, she fainted away, and they threw a pitcher of water down her back,
and Pa said he guessed they were a pack of lunatics, but they all swore
it was Sunday, and they saw Ma washing and Pa out hoeing, as they went
to church, and they had called to take action on them. Then there was
a few minutes low conversation I could not catch, and then we heard Pa
kick his chair over and say it was more tricks of that darned boy. Then
we knew it was time to adjourn, and I was just getting through the back
fence as Pa reached me with a barrel stave, and that's what makes me
limp some!”
“That was real mean in you boys,” said the grocery man. “It will be hard
for your Pa and Ma to explain that matter. Just think how bad they must
feel.”
“O, I don't know. I remember hearing Pa and Uncle Ezra tell how they
fooled their father once, and got him to go to mill with a grist, on
Sunday, and Pa said he would defy anybody to fool him on the day of the
week. I don't think a man ought to tempt his little boy by defying him
to fool his father. Well, I'll take a glass of your fifty cent cider and
go,” and soon the grocery man looked out the window and found somebody
had added a cypher to the 'Sweet cider, only five cents a glass,' making
it an expensive drink, considering it was made of sour apples.