s. The trouble with the boy's life is, that
he has no time that he can call his own. He is, like a barrel of beer,
always on draft. The men-folks, having worked in the regular hours, lie
down and rest, stretch themselves idly in the shade at noon, or lounge
about after supper. Then the boy, who has done nothing all day but turn
grindstone, and spread hay, and rake after, and run his little legs off
at everybody's beck and call, is sent on some errand or some household
chore, in order that time shall not hang heavy on his hands. The boy
comes nearer to perpetual motion than anything else in nature, only it
is not altogether a voluntary motion. The time that the farm-boy gets
for his own is usually at the end of a stent. We used to be given a
certain piece of corn to hoe, or a certain quantity of corn to husk in
so many days. If we finished the task before the time set, we had the
remainder to ourselves. In my day it used to take very sharp work to
gain anything, but we were always anxious to take the chance. I think we
enjoyed the holiday in anticipation quite as much as we did when we had
won it. Unless it was training-day, or Fourth of July, or the circus was
coming, it was a little difficult to find anything big enough to fill
our anticipations of the fun we would have in the day or the two or
three days we had earned. We did not want to waste the time on any
common thing. Even going fishing in one of the wild mountain brooks was
hardly up to the mark, for we could sometimes do that on a rainy day.
Going down to the village store was not very exciting, and was, on
the whole, a waste of our precious time. Unless we could get out
our military company, life was apt to be a little blank, even on the
holidays for which we had worked so hard. If you went to see another
boy, he was probably at work in the hay-field or the potato-patch, and
his father looked at you askance. You sometimes took hold and helped
him, so that he could go and play with you; but it was usually time to
go for the cows before the task was done. The fact is, or used to
be, that the amusements of a boy in the country are not many. Snaring
"suckers" out of the deep meadow brook used to be about as good as any
that I had. The North American sucker is not an engaging animal in all
respects; his body is comely enough, but his mouth is puckered up like
that of a purse. The mouth is not formed for the gentle angle-worm nor
the delusive fly of the fishermen. It