ng of the family
circle. A farm would come to grief without a boy-on it, but it is
impossible to think of a farmhouse without a boy in it.

"That boy" brings life into the house; his tracks are to be seen
everywhere; he leaves all the doors open; he has n't half filled
the wood-box; he makes noise enough to wake the dead; or he is in a
brown-study by the fire and cannot be stirred, or he has fastened a grip
into some Crusoe book which cannot easily be shaken off. I suppose that
the farmer-boy's evenings are not now what they used to be; that he has
more books, and less to do, and is not half so good a boy as formerly,
when he used to think the almanac was pretty lively reading, and the
comic almanac, if he could get hold of that, was a supreme delight.

Of course he had the evenings to himself, after he had done the "chores"
at the barn, brought in the wood and piled it high in the box, ready to
be heaped upon the great open fire. It was nearly dark when he came from
school (with its continuation of snowballing and sliding), and he
always had an agreeable time stumbling and fumbling around in barn and
wood-house, in the waning light.

John used to say that he supposed nobody would do his "chores" if he
did not get home till midnight; and he was never contradicted. Whatever
happened to him, and whatever length of days or sort of weather was
produced by the almanac, the cardinal rule was that he should be at home
before dark.

John used to imagine what people did in the dark ages, and wonder
sometimes whether he was n't still in them.

Of course, John had nothing to do all the evening, after his
"chores,"--except little things. While he drew his chair up to the table
in order to get the full radiance of the tallow candle on his slate
or his book, the women of the house also sat by the table knitting and
sewing. The head of the house sat in his chair, tipped back against the
chimney; the hired man was in danger of burning his boots in the fire.
John might be deep in the excitement of a bear story, or be hard at
writing a "composition" on his greasy slate; but whatever he was doing,
he was the only one who could always be interrupted. It was he who must
snuff the candles, and put on a stick of wood, and toast the cheese,
and turn the apples, and crack the nuts. He knew where the fox-and-geese
board was, and he could find the twelve-men-Morris. Considering that
he was expected to go to bed at eight o'clock, one would sa