“I GUESS we will have to put out our Johnny,” said Mrs. Cole, with
a sigh, as she drew closer to the fire, one cold day in autumn. This
remark was addressed to her husband, a sleepy, lazy-looking man, who
was stretched on a bench, with his eyes half closed. The wife, with two
little girls of eight and ten, were knitting as fast as their fingers
could fly; the baby was sound asleep in the cradle; while Johnny, a
boy of thirteen, and a brother of four, were seated on the wide
hearth making a snare for rabbits. The room they occupied was cold and
cheerless; the warmth of the scanty fire being scarcely felt; yet
the floor, and every article of furniture, mean as they were, were
scrupulously neat and clean.
The appearance of this family indicated that they were very poor.
They were all thin and pale, really for want of proper food, and their
clothes had been patched until it was difficult to decide what the
original fabric had been; yet this very circumstance spoke volume in
favour of the mother. She was, a woman of great energy of character,
unfortunately united to a man whose habits were such, that, for the
greater part of the time, he was a dead weight upon her hands; although
not habitually intemperate, he was indolent and good-for-nothing to a
degree, lying in the sun half his time, when the weather was warm, and
never doing a stroke of work until driven to it by the pangs of hunger.
As for the wife, by taking in sewing, knitting, and spinning for the
farmers' families in the neighbourhood, she managed to pay a rent of
twenty dollars for the cabin in which they lived; while she and Johnny,
with what assistance they could occasionally get from Jerry, her
husband, tilled the half acre of ground attached; and the vegetables
thus obtained, were their main dependance during the long winter just at
hand. Having thus introduced the Coles to our reader, we will continue
the conversation.
“I guess we will have to put out Johnny, and you will try and help us a
little more, Jerry, dear.”
“Why, what's got into the woman now?” muttered Jerry, stretching his
arms, and yawning to the utmost capacity of his mouth. The children
laughed at their father's uncouth gestures, and even Mrs. Cole's serious
face relaxed into a smile, as she answered,
“Don't swallow us all, and I will tell you. The winter is beginning
early, and promises to be cold. Our potatoes didn't turn out as well
as I expected, and the truth is, we cannot get along so. We won't have
victuals to last us half the time; and, manage as I will, I can't much
more than pay the rent, I get so little for the kind of work I do. Now,
if Johnny gets a place, it will make one less to provide for; and he
will be learning to do something for himself.”
“Yes, but mother,” said the boy, moving close to her side, and laying
his head on her knee, “yes, but who'll help you when I am gone? Who'll
dig the lot, and hoe, and cut the wood, and carry the water? You can't
go away down to the spring in the deep snow. And who'll make the fire in
the cold mornings?”
The mother looked sorry enough, as her darling boy--for he was the
object around which the fondest affections of her heart had entwined
themselves--she looked sorry enough, as he enumerated the turns he was
in the habit of doing for her; but, woman-like, she could suffer and be
still; so she answered cheerfully,
“May be father will, dear; and when you grow bigger, and learn how to do
everything, you'll be such a help to us all.”
“Don't depend on me,” said Jerry, now arousing himself and sauntering to
the fire; “I hardly ever feel well,”--complaining was Jerry's especial
forte, an excuse for all his laziness; yet his appetite never failed;
and when, as was sometimes the case, one of the neighbours sent a small
piece of meat, or any little article of food to his wife, under the plea
of ill health he managed to appropriate nearly the whole of it. He was
selfishness embodied, and a serious injury to his family, as few cared
to keep him up in his laziness.
One evening, a few days later, Mrs. Cole, who had been absent several
hours, came in looking very tired, and after laying aside her old bonnet
and shawl, informed them that she had obtained a place for Johnny. It
was four miles distant, and the farmer's man would stop for him on his
way from town, the next afternoon. What a beautiful object was farmer
Watkins's homestead, lying as it did on the sunny slope of a hill;
its gray stone walls, peeping out from between the giant trees that
overshadowed it, while everything around and about gave evidence of
abundance and comfort. The thrifty orchard; the huge barn with its
overflowing granaries; the sleek, well-fed cattle; even the low-roofed
spring-house, with its superabundance of shining pails and pans, formed
an item which could hardly be dispensed with, in the _tout ensemble_ of
this pleasant home.
Farmer Watkins was an honest, hard-working man, somewhat past middle
age, with a heart not naturally devoid of kindness, but, where his
hirelings were concerned, so strongly encrusted with a layer of habits,
that they acted as an effectual check upon his better feelings. His
family consisted of a wife, said to be a notable manager, and five or
six children, the eldest, a son, at college. In this household, work,
work, was the order of the day; the farmer himself, with his great
brown fists, set the example, and the others, willing or unwilling, were
obliged to follow his lead. He had agreed to take John Cole, as he said,
more to get rid of his mother's importunities, than for any benefit he
expected to derive from him; and when remonstrated with by his wife
for his folly in giving her the trouble of another brat, he answered
shortly: “Never fear, I'll get the worth of his victuals and clothes out
of him.” Johnny was to have his boarding, clothes, and a dollar a month,
for two years. This dollar a month was the great item in Mrs. Cole's
calculations; twelve dollars a year, she argued, would almost pay her
rent, and when the tears stood in Johnny's great brown eyes (for he was
a pretty, gentle-hearted boy), as he was bidding them all good-bye, and
kissing the baby over and over again, she told him about the money
he would earn, and nerved his little heart with her glowing
representations, until he was able to choke back the tears, and leave
home almost cheerfully.
_Home_--yes, it was home; for they had much to redeem the miseries of
want within those bare cabin walls, for gentle hearts and kindly smiles
were there. There
“The mother sang at the twilight fall,
To the babe half slumbering on her knee.”
There his brother and sisters played; there his associations, his hopes,
his wishes, were all centered. When he arrived at farmer Watkins's, and
was sent into the large carpeted kitchen, everything was so unlike this
home, that his fortitude almost gave way, and it was as much as he could
do, as he told his mother afterwards, “to keep from bursting right out.”
Mrs. Watkins looked very cross, nor did she notice him, except to order
him to stand out of the way of the red-armed girl who was preparing
supper and placing it on a table in the ample apartment. Johnny looked
with amazement at the great dishes of meat, and plates of hot biscuit,
but the odour of the steaming coffee, and the heat, were almost too much
for him, as he had eaten nothing since morning, for he was too sorry to
leave home to care about dinner. The girl, noticing that his pale face
grew paler, laughingly drew her mistress's attention to “master's new
boy.”
“Go out and bring in some wood for the stove,” said Mrs. Watkins,
sharply; “the air will do you good.”
Johnny went out, and, in a few minutes, felt revived. Looking about, he
soon found the wood-shed; there was plenty of wood, but none cut of a
suitable length; it was all in cord sticks. Taking an axe, he chopped an
armful, and on taking it into the house, found the family, had finished
their suppers; the biscuits and meat were all eaten.
“Come on here to your supper,” said the maid-servant, angrily. “What
have you been doing?” and, without waiting for an answer, she filled a
tin basin with mush and skimmed milk, and set it before him. The little
boy did not attempt to speak, but sat down and ate what was given
him. Immediately after, he was sent into a loft to bed, where he cried
himself to sleep. Ah! when we count the thousand pulsations that yield
pain or pleasure to the human mind, what a power to do good or evil
is possessed by every one; and how often would a kind word, or one
sympathizing glance, gladden the hearts of those thus prematurely forced
upon the anxieties of the world! But how few there are who care to
bestow them! The next morning, long before dawn, the farmer's family,
with the exception of the younger children were astir. The cattle were
to be fed and attended to, the horses harnessed, the oxen yoked, and
great was the bustle until all hands were fairly at work. As for Johnny,
he was taken into the field to assist in husking corn. The wind was
keen, and the stalks, from recent rain, were wet, and filled with ice.
His scanty clothing scarcely afforded any protection from the cold, and
his hands soon became so numb that he could scarcely use them; but, if
he stopped one moment to rap them, or breathe upon them, in the hope of
imparting some warmth, the farmer who was close at hand, in warm woollen
clothes and thick husking gloves, would call out,
“Hurry up, hurry up, my boy! no idle bread must be eaten here!”
And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but it
would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought of
exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for him,
told him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a moment, he
would send him home. This was enough for Johnny; anything was better
than to go back and be a burden on his mother; he worked to the best
of his ability until noon. At noon, he managed to get thoroughly warm,
behind the stove, while eating his dinner. Still, the sufferings of
the child, with his insufficient clothing, were very great; but nobody
seemed to think of the _hired boy_ being an object of sympathy, and thus
it continued. The rule seemed to be to get all that was possible out of
him, and his little frame was so weary at night, that he had hardly
time to feel rested, until called with the dawn to renew his labour. A
monthly Sunday however, was the golden period looked forward to in his
day-dreams, for it had been stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday
evening every four weeks, he was to come home, and stay all the next
day. And when the time arrived, how nimbly did he get over the ground
that stretched between him and the goal of his wishes! How much he
had to tell! But as soon as he began to complain, his mother would say
cheerfully, although her heart bled for the hardships of her child,
“Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you grow
up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you.”
This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly
miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his condition;
and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny persevered; young
as he was, he understood the necessity. But how often, during the four
weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of the Saturday night he had
spent at home come up before his mental vision! The fresh loaf of rye
bread, baked in honour of his arrival, and eaten for supper, with maple
molasses--the very molasses he had helped to boil on shares with Farmer
Thrifty's boys in the spring. What a feast they had! Then the long
evening afterwards, when the blaze of the hickory fires righted up
the timbers of the old cabin with a mellow glow, and mother looked so
cheerful and smiled so kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and
light. And how even father had helped to pop corn in the iron pot.
Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample opportunity
to draw comparisons, for he often thought his master cared more for his
cattle than he did for him, and it is quite probable he did; for while
they were warmly housed he was needlessly exposed, and his comfort
utterly disregarded. If there was brush to cut, or fence to make, or
any out-door labour to perform, a wet, cold, or windy day was sure to be
selected, while in _fine weather_ the wood was required to be chopped,
and, generally speaking, all the work that could be done under shelter.
Yet we dare say Farmer Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this,
or the advantage he would himself derive by arranging it otherwise.
John Cole had been living out perhaps a year. He had not grown much in
this period; his frame had always been slight, and his sunken cheeks
and wasted limbs spoke of the hard usage and suffering of his present
situation. The family had many delicacies for themselves, but the _work
boy_ they knew never was used to such things, and they were indifferent,
as to what his fare chanced to be. He generally managed to satisfy the
cravings of hunger on the coarse food given him, but that was all. About
this time it happened that the farmer was digging a ditch, and as he was
afraid winter would set in before it was completed, Johnny and himself
were at work upon it early and late, notwithstanding the wind whistled,
and it was so cold they could hardly handle the tools. While thus
employed, it chanced that they got wet to the skin with a drizzling
rain, and on returning to the house the farmer changed his clothes,
drank some hot mulled cider, and spent the remainder of the evening in
his high-backed chair before a comfortable fire; while the boy was
sent to grease a wagon in an open shed, and at night crept to his straw
pallet, shaking as though in an ague fit. The next morning he was in
a high fever, and with many a “wonder of what had got into him,” but
without one word of sympathy, or any other manifestation of good-will,
he was sent home to his mother. Late in the evening of the same day a
compassionate physician was surprised to see a woman enter his office;
her garments wet and travel-stained, and, with streaming eyes, she
besought him to come and see her son.
“My Johnny, my Johnny, sir!” she cried, “he has been raving wild all
day, and we are afraid he will die.”
Mistaking the cause of the good man's hesitation, she added, with a
fresh burst of grief, “Oh! I will work my fingers to the bone to pay
you, sir, if you will only come. We live in the Gap.”
A few inquiries were all that was necessary to learn the state of
the case. The benevolent doctor took the woman in his vehicle, and
proceeded, over a mountainous road of six miles, to see his patient. But
vain was the help of man! Johnny continued delirious; it was work, work,
always at work; and pitiful was it to hear his complaints of being
cold and tired, while his heart-broken parent hung over him, and denied
herself the necessaries of life to minister to his wants. After being
ill about a fortnight, he awoke one evening apparently free from fever.
His expression was natural, but he seemed so weak he could not speak.
His mother, with a heart overflowing with joy at the change she imagined
favourable, bent over him. With a great effort he placed his arms about
her neck; she kissed his pale lips; a smile of strange meaning passed
over his face, and ere she could unwind that loving clasp her little
Johnny was no more. He had gone where the wicked cease from troubling,
and the weary are at rest; but her hopes were blasted; her house was
left unto her desolate; and as she watched, through the long hours of
night, beside the dead body, it was to our Father who art in Heaven her
anguished heart poured itself out in prayer. Think of this, ye rich! who
morning and evening breathe the same petition by your own hearthstones.
Think of it, ye who have authority to oppress! Do not deprive the
poor man or woman of the “ewe lamb” that is their sole possession; and
remember that He whose ear is ever open to the cry of the distressed,
has power to avenge their cause.