the hay-field. It
said, "Why on earth does n't that boy come home? It is almost dark, and
the cows ain't milked!" And that was the time the cows had to start into
a brisk pace and make up for lost time. I wonder if any boy ever drove
the cows home late, who did not say that the cows were at the very
farther end of the pasture, and that "Old Brindle" was hidden in the
woods, and he couldn't find her for ever so long! The brindle cow is the
boy's scapegoat, many a time.

No other boy knows how to appreciate a holiday as the farm-boy does;
and his best ones are of a peculiar kind. Going fishing is of course one
sort. The excitement of rigging up the tackle, digging the bait, and the
anticipation of great luck! These are pure pleasures, enjoyed because
they are rare. Boys who can go a-fishing any time care but little
for it. Tramping all day through bush and brier, fighting flies and
mosquitoes, and branches that tangle the line, and snags that break the
hook, and returning home late and hungry, with wet feet and a string of
speckled trout on a willow twig, and having the family crowd out at the
kitchen door to look at 'em, and say, "Pretty well done for you, bub;
did you catch that big one yourself?"--this is also pure happiness,
the like of which the boy will never have again, not if he comes to be
selectman and deacon and to "keep store."

But the holidays I recall with delight were the two days in spring and
fall, when we went to the distant pasture-land, in a neighboring town,
maybe, to drive thither the young cattle and colts, and to bring them
back again. It was a wild and rocky upland where our great pasture was,
many miles from home, the road to it running by a brawling river, and up
a dashing brook-side among great hills. What a day's adventure it was!
It was like a journey to Europe. The night before, I could scarcely
sleep for thinking of it! and there was no trouble about getting me
up at sunrise that morning. The breakfast was eaten, the luncheon
was packed in a large basket, with bottles of root beer and a jug of
switchel, which packing I superintended with the greatest interest;
and then the cattle were to be collected for the march, and the horses
hitched up. Did I shirk any duty? Was I slow? I think not. I was willing
to run my legs off after the frisky steers, who seemed to have an idea
they were going on a lark, and frolicked about, dashing into all gates,
and through all bars except the right ones; and