TOM’S NEW HOME.
Tom was so full of his glorious ideas for the future, that he could
scarcely sleep at all that night; and, when he did, he dreamed of
droves of cattle, prancing horses, and sheep without number.
Morning came at length, and, contrary to his usual custom, he was
up at daylight; but he had six long hours to employ in some manner
before he could see Mr. Hayes, for the latter would not reach the
village before ten o’clock. He passed the time until breakfast in
walking about the yard, enjoying the bright prospect before him,
and then he went down to his father’s office, where he impatiently
awaited the arrival of the farmer. The hours seemed lengthened
into weeks; and, so impatient was Tom, that he could neither sit
still, nor stand still, even for a moment. He would walk once or
twice across the office, then run out into the street and closely
scrutinize every wagon within the range of his vision, all the while
saying to himself: “Now, I wonder what keeps that man? He ought to
have been here an hour ago!” Half-past ten came at length, and with
it arrived the farmer, perched upon his heavily-loaded wagon, his
face all wrinkled up with smiles, as if he felt well satisfied with
the world and every body in it, himself in particular. Tom did not
wonder that he was always laughing; when he owned a farm, and four
fine horses, he would laugh too.
The farmer stopped his team in front of the office, and, as he sprang
down from his wagon, he was met by Mr. Newcombe, who, leading him off
on one side, held a long and earnest conversation with him, while
Tom stood by almost bursting with impatience. At length the farmer
approached him, and, as Tom grasped his huge hand, he almost shouted--
“Mr. Hayes, I am going home with you!”
“Human natur’! Be you, though?” exclaimed the farmer. “I’m glad to
hear you say so.”
“But, first,” continued Tom, “I want to ask you one question. Must I
saw wood?”
“O, no,” answered Mr. Hayes, laughing, “I’ve got a strappin’ big boy
to do all that ar’ kind of work.”
“That’s all right!” said Tom, immensely relieved. “That’s one point
settled. Now, I shall charge you eight dollars a month! That’s what I
received when I was a sailor, and I can’t work for a cent less. Will
you pay it?”
“That’s a big price for a chap as don’t know nothin’ ’bout farmin’,”
said Mr. Hayes. “But we won’t quarrel ’bout a few dollars. It’s a
bargain.”
“Then I’ll go with you!” said Tom, delighted that his demands had
been so readily complied with. “I knew I’d suit you. Won’t I have a
jolly time milking cows and driving horses!”
“Sartin!” said the farmer, who seemed as highly elated as Tom
himself.
“Now, then,” said Mr. Newcombe, who had stood by listening to this
conversation, “go home and bid your mother good-by. By that time Mr.
Hayes will have his wagon unloaded.”
Tom at once started for home at the top of his speed; and so eager
was he to return to the farmer as soon as possible, that he took
leave of his mother in a very hurried and unceremonious manner.
Catching up his valise, he ran back to the office, where he arrived
just as Mr. Hayes was returning from the store-house with his empty
wagon.
“Back again so soon,” said he, with one of his good-natured smiles.
“What a mighty good boy you’d be to run errands!”
Tom doubted this; but being too much out of breath to reply, he
put his valise into the wagon, and accompanied the farmer into the
office. As soon as Mr. Newcombe had paid him for the fifty bushels of
potatoes he had just brought in, he was ready to start.
“Good-by, father!” said Tom. “I’m off, now. I’ll know something about
farming when I come back!”
“That’s true as natur’,” said Mr. Hayes. “I’ll take good care on him,
an’ I’ll l’arn him to raise taters as good as ’em I just sold you.”
The farmer climbed into his wagon, gathered up his reins, cracked his
whip, and Tom was whirled off toward his new home.
The boy’s cup of happiness was now full to the brim. After a life of
disappointments, the wheel of fortune had at last made a revolution
in his favor. That something which he had waited for so long, had
finally “turned up,” and from that time forward he would find no
obstacles in his way--there would be nothing to trouble him. He
felt as if he were about entering upon a new existence; and he
regarded his former life as utterly wasted. He forgot the sorrow
and vexation that had been occasioned by his recent failure; and
when he remembered that he had been weak enough to shed tears when
he discovered that his game rooster was a humbug, he could not help
feeling ashamed of himself.
In order to give Mr. Hayes an idea of the object he had in view, Tom
told him the story of the stock raiser in Iowa, which made the farmer
open his eyes wide with astonishment.
“How much would so much stock sell for?” he asked.
Tom settled back in his seat, put on a very thoughtful look, and
answered--
“Two thousand head of cattle at--we’ll say fifty dollars each, for
that is about the price paid now in Southern markets--would amount to
one hundred thousand dollars; and twenty-five hundred sheep, at two
dollars a head, would bring just five thousand dollars, making, in
all, one hundred and five thousand dollars.”
“Human natur’!” exclaimed the farmer, looking at Tom, in amazement.
“You’re a lightnin’ chap on figures, that’s sartin. I couldn’t reckon
up so much in my head if I should try a month. If my boys could do
that, I’d feel ’nation proud of ’em. But, Tommy, it aint every farmer
or stock raiser that can make so much money.”
“O, there’s nothing in the world to prevent it,” said Tom, knowingly.
“Wait until I have been with you long enough to know something about
this business, and I’ll show you how to manage a farm.”
“I never see a chap so anxious and willin’ to learn that didn’t
make a great man!” said the farmer, who little dreamed that Tom was
utterly lacking in some very necessary qualities. “You’re bound to
get through the world all right. Now, if you’ll l’arn my boys to
reckon figures in their heads as fast as you did a minute ago, I’ll
do the right thing by you. Will you do it?”
This question made Tom a little uneasy. He never went into the
company of strangers that he did not endeavor to impress them with
the idea that he was a very smart boy. He had already made a most
favorable beginning with the farmer, who regarded him as a “lightning
calculator;” and, if he had stopped at that, without asking him to
put his knowledge to a practical use, he would have been satisfied.
But Mr. Hayes had hinted that he would like to have him instruct his
boys, and Tom suddenly found himself in a predicament from which he
could then discover no way of extricating himself without injuring
his reputation.
“Well, Tommy,” said the farmer, at length, “we won’t say nothing more
about it just now. I know you could l’arn my boys an amazin’ heap
if you would only try, but I s’pose you feel a leetle funny ’bout
bein’ called on to play school-master. Howsomever, we’ll wait till
we get home, an’ you’re fairly settled in your new quarters. You
mustn’t look on my boys as strangers, ’cause they aint. They have
often heered me speak of you; so you can pitch in an’ be as friendly
as you please. They’ll be glad to see you, an’ when you come to
get acquainted with ’em, I know you’ll like ’em. You’ll find that
things is divided at my house, just as they had oughter be. Sally
Ann--that’s my old woman--she is boss of the kitchen, an’ I’m boss of
the barn-yard. She’s got nothing to say ’bout the way I take care on
my hosses an’ cows, an’ I don’t bother my head ’bout what goes on in
the house, or grumble ’bout the way the butter an’ cheese is made.
You see, when things is divided that way, there aint no quarrelin
an’ fightin’. Every thing goes along smooth an’ easy--just like
clock-work. Now, Tommy, you drive. You needn’t think we’re going to
work you hard just now,” he continued, as Tom took the reins and whip
from his hand, “’cause it aint to be thought on. You’re fresh from
the village, where you never had no hard work to do; so we’ll give
you something easy till you kinder get used to it.”
The more Tom talked with Mr. Hayes, the more delighted he became
with his prospects. He thought that if he could only conjure up some
plan by which he might be able to avoid teaching the farmer’s boys,
he would have nothing to trouble him. Especially was he pleased to
learn that he was not expected to do any hard work. Besides this, he
was already enjoying the “sensation” which he hoped to make in the
farmer’s family, and it was for this reason that he had packed his
valise with his best clothes. According to his idea, his broadcloth
jacket would go a long way toward establishing his claim to respect,
and would have the effect of convincing the country boys that a
village youth was something extraordinary.
After a three hours’ ride, during which the farmer gave his new hand
a long lecture on the manner in which corn and potatoes ought to be
planted and cultivated in order to produce large crops; every word of
which, it is needless to say, was Greek to Tom. He pointed to a house
in the distance, saying: “Now, we’re comin’ to our home. All this
land you see here on this side of the road belongs to me. I’ve got
two hundred acres of just as good ground as ever laid out of doors.”
As the farmer spoke he took the reins from Tom’s hand, cracked his
whip, and, in a few moments, drove through a gate, which was opened
by a barefooted, dirty little urchin, who gazed at Tom with every
expression of wonder and curiosity. If he was a fair specimen of the
farmer’s boys, Tom did not think that he should be very well pleased
with them. Mr. Hayes kept on, and, instead of driving to the barn,
turned up toward the house, and stopped his team in front of the
door. Tom was astonished at the sight that was presented to his gaze.
The door-way was crowded with boys of all ages and sizes, the oldest
apparently about nineteen years of age, and the youngest about three.
They were all hatless and shoeless; the larger ones had their sleeves
rolled up above their elbows, revealing arms as brown as their
faces, while the younger ones carried in their hands huge slices of
bread and butter. Behind them, looking over their shoulders, stood
their mother, evidently as much interested in the new-comer as her
children. She was a tall, muscular woman, with sharp nose, long chin,
and small, piercing eyes; and as Tom looked at her, he began to doubt
the truth of the farmer’s statement--that her authority was bounded
by the four walls of the kitchen. He thought it very probable that
he should discover that her power was exercised over every one on
the farm. Tom took all this in at a glance, for the moment the wagon
stopped the farmer sprang out, exclaiming:
“Now, then, we’re to home. Sally Ann, this is our new hand--Tommy
Newcombe. Get out of the way, boys; where are your manners, that you
stand gapin’ at a feller that way? Let us come in.”
The woman merely nodded to Tom, and after wiping off a chair with her
apron, requested him to “set down.”
“Now, then,” exclaimed the farmer, as the boys crowded up around Tom,
and stared at him as if they meant to look him out of countenance;
“here’s my youngsters--seven on ’em; aint they a fine-lookin’ lot
of fellers? This one,” he continued, pointing to the oldest of the
group, a tall, gaunt, stupid-looking boy, “he’s Roger Williams--Roger
Williams Hayes; you’ve heered of him, hain’t you? Shake hands with
him, Tommy, and be friends.”
Tom arose to his feet and extended his hand, which was accepted by
Roger Williams, whose thoughts seemed to be entirely occupied with
Tom’s clothes. After looking at his coat for a moment, he examined it
with his fingers, and asked, in a slow, drawling voice:
“What’s sich a coat as that ar’ wuth, Tommy?”
“Roger Williams!” shouted the mother; “where’s your manners? Set down
to onct.”
The boy evidently feared to disobey, for he retreated to a chair in
the corner, where he sat, lost in admiration of Tom’s jacket and
well-blacked boots.
“You’ve heard of Roger Williams, haint you?” continued the farmer;
“of course you have. I must get you to tell my boys all about him
some time, ’cause you can do it better’n I can. When I was a
youngster I heered that he was a good man, an’ that he was kicked out
of the country ’cause he didn’t like the Britishers. I don’t like
’em nuther, an’ that’s why I call my boy Roger Williams. This one,”
he added, pointing to another of the group, “he’s George Washington
Hayes. Of course, you know all ’bout the gen’ral he’s named after. If
he only lives to be as great a man as he was, I shall be satisfied.
This one is John Warren, named after the gen’ral that was killed at
the battle of Bunker Hill. My grandfather was in that fight, an’
helped whip the Britishers; that’s why I call him John Warren. This
boy is Franklin Pierce, a good chap to work, and the best l’arnt in
the whole family.”
Franklin Pierce was about Tom’s age, barefooted and dirty like his
brothers; and, as his father pulled him in front of the village boy,
he slowly surveyed him from head to foot, exclaiming: “I’ll bet
a five cent piece that I can throw you down, back hold or square
hold--fair tussle.”
“I don’t fight,” replied Tom, drawing a little closer to Mr. Hayes
for protection.
“Now, sonny, don’t; that’s a good little feller,” said the farmer,
coaxingly.
But the boy evidently prided himself upon his muscle as well as upon
his learning; for he stepped forward, as if to seize Tom, when he was
suddenly checked by the shrill voice of his mother.
“Franklin Pierce!” she shouted; “I’ll take the wagon whip to you,
sure and sartin, if you don’t pay more attention to your manners.”
The boy instantly ceased his hostile demonstrations, and retreated
to the door, where he stood in readiness to seek safety in flight,
should his mother attempt to put her threat into execution.
“Now, this one,” continued the farmer, as if nothing had happened,
“he’s Winfield Scott; an’ there’s Zachary Taylor--both on ’em named
after the two gen’rals that walloped the Mexikins. An’ that little
feller there,” pointing to a child the mother held in her arms,
“he’s Thomas Jefferson. I heered that he was the man that writ the
Declaration of Independence, an’ started the Fourth of July; so I
thought, as he was a great man, I had oughter name one of my boys
after him. My youngsters have all got good names; an’ if they only
do as well in the world as them they are named after, I shall be
satisfied.”
The farmer introduced his boys, one after the other, so rapidly that
it bewildered Tom, who shook each of them by the hand as they were
presented, scarcely comprehending what he was about. The namesakes
of the illustrious heroes of the Mexican war had their hands full of
bread and butter; and, when they were brought forward by the proud
father, Tom just touched their greasy hands with the tips of his
fingers.
After the boys had all been introduced, George Washington and John
Warren were sent out to take care of the horses, while the others
again crowded up around Tom, as if they looked upon him as an object
of great curiosity--all except Franklin Pierce, who still stood
in the door, now and then shaking his head threateningly, as if
challenging the village youth to come out and measure strength with
him.
As the farmer had predicted, the boys proved to be very friendly--in
fact, they were altogether too friendly; for Winfield Scott, after
placing his bread and butter carefully upon the floor, made several
desperate attempts to climb upon Tom’s knee--a proceeding which the
latter successfully resisted by pushing back his chair.
Had Tom been left alone in the room for a few moments, he would
have cried with vexation. He was no longer as confident of success
as he had been but a short time before; for he found his new home
very different from what his imagination had pictured it. He even
thought seriously of returning to the village at once, and of giving
up all hopes of ever becoming a farmer. He did not like to have so
many children, with greasy hands, about him; for he was very neat
in regard to his dress, and the smallest particle of dust upon his
boots or clothes would set him on nettles. He was not at all pleased
with the way Franklin Pierce eyed him; for, if he should happen to
catch him away from the house, he might insist on making good his
wager, that he could throw Tom down. Above all, he did not like the
looks of the “boss of the kitchen.” He already began to fear her, for
he had seen enough to satisfy him that she was not only mistress of
the house, but of the entire farm also; and, if he should happen to
incur her displeasure it was probable that she would not hesitate to
threaten even him with the wagon whip. Beyond a doubt, Tom had again
placed himself in a very unpleasant situation.