It was still dark, and the rain fell in torrents as Budd opened the
kitchen door and ran hastily out to the barn, where Mrs. Benton, who was
making preparations for breakfast, had told him he would find her
husband. He noticed the kitchen time-piece as he passed through the
room, and knew 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 quite drenched, Budd found Mr. Benton engaged in
feeding a dozen or more gaunt and ill-kept cows, who 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. Benton. What can I do to assist you?" asked Budd,
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 Budd, good-naturedly.
"Well, I'll see 'bout that after awhile. I suppose 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 are wuth," said Mr.
Benton, kicking savagely at a cow that was reaching out for the wad of
hay he was carrying by her.
Budd obeyed with alacrity; and when that job was finished it was
followed by others, including the milking, wherein the lad proved an apt
scholar, until nearly six o'clock, when Mrs. Benton's shrill voice
summoned them to breakfast. That meal, possibly on account of Budd'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
were 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
should need all the strength he could obtain ere his day's task was
over. Stormy though it was, he felt sure Mr. Benton would find enough
for him to do.
In fact, long before the first of April came, Budd realized fully the
force of the words Mr. Wright had shouted after him the night he stopped
there to inquire the way to Mr. Benton's. Had he really known his
employer and family, he certainly would not have been over-anxious to
have hired 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 Budd
had to deal. He soon found that his employer was a hard, cruel, grasping
tyrant, while his wife was a complete 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 escaped the tirades of the mistress.
Budd, by faithfully performing every task assigned him, and thus
frequently doing twice over what a lad of his age should have been
expected to do, tried to win the approval of both Mr. Benton 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
soon became an hourly occurrence.
It was indeed astonishing with what good nature the lad bore both the
work and the abuse put upon him. Mr. Benton attributed it to the paper
he had asked the boy to sign, and chuckled to himself at the thought
that Budd's fear of losing his wages kept him so industrious and docile.
He confidentially admitted to his wife, one day, that the lad 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 ye are up to another of yer capers, John Benton. There never was a
man on the earth meaner than ye are!"
But Mr. Wright, who knew his neighbors well, could in no way account for
the lad's willingness to endure what he knew he must be enduring, and
finally his curiosity got the better of him; for, meeting Budd one day
as he was returning from the nearest village, he drew up his horses and
said:
"Budd, do you know you are the profoundest example of human patience I
ever saw?"
"No; is that so?" replied Budd, with a laugh. "What makes you think so?"
"Well," remarked Mr. Wright, leaning on his wagon-seat and looking down
into the smiling countenance before him, "I have lived here beside John
Benton and his wife ten years, and know them well enough to be sure that
an angel direct from Heaven couldn't long stand their abuse; and yet you
have actually been there four weeks, and are still as cheerful as a lark
on one of these beautiful spring mornings. Will you just explain to me
how you manage to stand it?"
While he was speaking a far-away look had come into the lad's eyes, and
a shudder shook his robust frame as though he saw something very
disagreeable to himself; but he answered, quietly enough:
"Mr. Wright, there are some things in this world harder to bear than
either work or abuse, and I prefer even to live with John Benton's
family than to go back to the life I have left behind me."
With these words Budd started up his oxen and went on, leaving Mr.
Wright to resume his journey more mystified than ever.
On the first day of May Budd asked Mr. Benton for the previous month's
pay.
They were at work putting in corn, and the lad's request took his
employer so by surprise that his hoe-handle dropped from his grasp.
"Me pay ye now!" he exclaimed. "What are 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
bunch. Jes' think how much 'twill be--sixty dollers, an' all yer own."
"But I have a special use for the money," persisted Budd; "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. Benton had
quite a sum of money by him, and that he could easily pay him if he
chose to do so.
For reply, Mr. Benton put his hand into his pocket, and taking out his
wallet, opened it. From it he then took the paper of agreement that
Budd and he had signed. This he slowly spelled out, and when he had
finished, asked:
"Does this here paper say anythin' 'bout my payin' ye every munth?"
"No, sir," Budd reluctantly admitted.
"But it does say, if ye quit yer work 'fore yer time is up ye are to
have no pay, doesn't it?" inquired the man, significantly.
"Yes, sir," the lad 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 are goin' to stay with me yer whole 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 October?"
asked Budd, indignantly.
"That's the agreement," replied Mr. Benton, coolly, returning the paper
to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. "If ye'll keep yer part,
I'll keep mine."
He now picked up his hoe and resumed his work.
For the first time since he came to the farm Budd 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, 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, Budd 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 took a long wallet, and from the wallet a postal card.
Addressing it with a pencil to "N. B. Johnson, Esq., No. 127 Sumner
Street, Boston, Mass.," he wrote rapidly and in tiniest characters, on
the reverse side, without giving place or date, the following words:
DEAR SIR:--I promised you last March to send you some money each month
until the total amount remaining due to you was paid. I have secured
work at a small compensation, but find, through a misunderstanding with
my employer, that 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. I am very sorry to make this change in my original plans, but
cannot help it, and trust you will be satisfied with this arrangement.
Truly yours,
BUDD BOYD.
It was several days later, however, before Budd had an opportunity to go
up to the neighboring village. When he did go, he took care not to drop
the postal into the post-office, but handed it directly to a mail agent
upon a passing train. His reason for this act could not be easily
misunderstood. Evidently he did not care that the Mr. Johnson to whom he
had written should know his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was
unnecessary, for before the summer months had fairly come he was to see
Mr. Johnson under circumstances most trying to himself.