SAM'S SUDDEN SICKNESS.
"Where have you been, you young scamp?" demanded the deacon,
wrathfully.
"I just went away a minute or two," said Sam, abashed.
"A minute or two!" ejaculated the deacon.
"It may have been more," said Sam. "You see I aint got no watch to
tell time by."
"How comes it that you have only got through six hills all the
morning?" said the deacon, sternly.
"Well, you see, a cat came along--" Sam began to explain.
"What if she did?" interrupted the deacon. "She didn't stop your work,
did she?"
"Why, I thought I'd chase her out of the field."
"What for?"
"I thought she might scratch up some of the potatoes," said Sam, a
brilliant excuse dawning upon him.
"How long did it take you to chase her out of the field, where she
wasn't doing any harm?"
"I was afraid she'd come back, so I chased her a good ways."
"Did you catch her?"
"No, but I drove her away. I guess she won't come round here again,"
said Sam, in the tone of one who had performed a virtuous action.
"Did you come right back?"
"I sat down to rest. You see I was pretty tired with running so
fast."
"If you didn't run any faster than you have worked, a snail would
catch you in half a minute," said the old man, with justifiable
sarcasm. "Samuel, your excuse is good for nothing. I must punish
you."
Sam stood on his guard, prepared to run if the deacon should make
hostile demonstrations. But his guardian was not a man of violence,
and did not propose to inflict blows. He had another punishment in
view suited to Sam's particular case.
"I'll go right to work," said Sam, seeing that no violence was
intended, and hoping to escape the punishment threatened, whatever it
might be.
"You'd better," said the deacon.
Our hero (I am afraid he has not manifested any heroic qualities as
yet) went to work with remarkable energy, to the imminent danger of
the potato-tops, which he came near uprooting in several instances.
"Is this fast enough?" he asked.
"It'll do. I'll take the next row, and we'll work along together. Take
care,--I don't want the potatoes dug up."
They kept it up for an hour or more, Sam working more steadily,
probably, than he had ever done before in his life. He began to think
it was no joke, as he walked from hill to hill, keeping up with the
deacon's steady progress.
"There aint much fun about this," he thought. "I don't like workin' on
a farm. It's awful tiresome."
"What's the use of hoein' potatoes?" he asked, after a while. "Won't
they grow just as well without it?"
"No," said the deacon.
"I don't see why not."
"They need to have the earth loosened around them, and heaped up where
it's fallen away."
"It's a lot of trouble," said Sam.
"We must all work," said the deacon, sententiously.
"I wish potatoes growed on trees like apples," said Sam. "They
wouldn't be no trouble then."
"You mustn't question the Almighty's doin's, Samuel," said the deacon,
seriously. "Whatever he does is right."
"I was only wonderin', that was all," said Sam.
"Human wisdom is prone to err," said the old man, indulging in a scrap
of proverbial philosophy.
"What does that mean?" thought Sam, carelessly hitting the deacon's
foot with his descending hoe. Unfortunately, the deacon had corns on
that foot, and the blow cost him a sharp twinge.
"You careless blockhead!" he shrieked, raising the injured foot from
the ground, while a spasm of anguish contracted his features. "Did you
take my foot for a potato-hill?"
"Did I hurt you?" asked Sam, innocently.
"You hurt me like thunder," gasped the deacon, using, in his
excitement, words which in calmer moments he would have avoided.
"I didn't think it was your foot," said Sam.
"I hope you'll be more careful next time; you most killed me."
"I will," said Sam.
"I wonder if it isn't time for dinner," he began to think presently,
but, under the circumstances, thought it best not to refer to the
matter. But at last the welcome sound of the dinner-bell was heard, as
it was vigorously rung at the back door by Mrs. Hopkins.
"That's for dinner, Samuel," said the deacon. "We will go to the
house."
"All right!" said Sam, with alacrity, throwing down the hoe in the
furrow.
"Pick up that hoe, and carry it with you," said the deacon.
"Then we won't work here any more to-day!" said Sam, brightening up.
"Yes, we will; but it's no way to leave the hoe in the fields. Some
cat might come along and steal it," he added, with unwonted sarcasm.
Sam laughed as he thought of the idea of a cat stealing a hoe, and the
deacon smiled at his own joke.
Dinner was on the table. It was the fashion there to put all on at
once, and Sam, to his great satisfaction, saw on one side a pie like
that which had tempted him the night before. The deacon saw his look,
and it suggested a fitting punishment. But the time was not yet.
Sam did ample justice to the first course of meat and potatoes. When
that was despatched, Mrs. Hopkins began to cut the pie.
The deacon cleared his throat.
"Samuel is to have no pie, Martha," he said.
His wife thought it was for his misdeeds of the night before, and so
did Sam.
"I couldn't help walkin' in my sleep," he said, with a blank look of
disappointment.
"It aint that," said the deacon.
"What is it, then?" asked his wife.
"Samuel ran away from his work this mornin', and was gone nigh on to
two hours," said her husband.
"You are quite right, Deacon Hopkins," said his wife, emphatically.
"He don't deserve any dinner at all."
"Can't I have some pie?" asked Sam, who could not bear to lose so
tempting a portion of the repast.
"No, Samuel. What I say I mean. He that will not work shall not eat."
"I worked hard enough afterwards," muttered Sam.
"After I came back--yes, I know that. You worked well part of the
time, so I gave you part of your dinner. Next time let the cats
alone."
"Can I have some more meat, then?" asked Sam.
"Ye-es," said the deacon, hesitating. "You need strength to work this
afternoon."
"I s'pose I get that catechism this afternoon instead of goin to work,"
suggested Sam.
"That will do after supper, Samuel. All things in their place. The
afternoon is for work; the evening for readin' and study, and
improvin' the mind."
Sam reflected that the deacon was a very obstinate man, and decided
that his arrangements were very foolish. What was the use of living if
you'd got to work all the time? A good many people, older than Sam,
are of the same opinion, and it is not wholly without reason; but
then, it should be borne in mind that Sam was opposed to all work. He
believed in enjoying himself, and the work might take care of itself.
But how could it be avoided?
As Sam was reflecting, a way opened itself. He placed his hand on his
stomach, and began to roll his eyes, groaning meanwhile.
"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Hopkins.
"I feel sick," said Sam, screwing up his face into strange
contortions.
"It's very sudden," said Mrs. Hopkins, suspiciously.
"So 'tis," said Sam. "I'm afraid I'm going to be very sick. Can I lay
down?"
"What do you think it is, Martha?" asked the deacon, looking
disturbed.
"I know what it is," said his wife, calmly. "I've treated such attacks
before. Yes, you may lay down in your room, and I'll bring you some
tea, as soon as I can make it."
"All right," said Sam, elated at the success of his little trick. It
was very much pleasanter to lie down than to hoe potatoes on a hot
day.
"How easy I took in the old woman!" he thought.
It was not long before he changed his mind, as we shall see in The
next chapter.