days nothing could cheer me. When the bitter wind blew from
the north, and the sky was filled with wild geese racing southward, with
swiftly-hurrying clouds, winter seemed about to spring upon me. The
horses' tails streamed in the wind. Flurries of snow covered me with
clinging flakes, and the mud "gummed" my boots and trouser legs,
clogging my steps. At such times I suffered from cold and
loneliness--all sense of being a man evaporated. I was just a little
boy, longing for the leisure of boyhood.

Day after day, through the month of October and deep into November, I
followed that team, turning over two acres of stubble each day. I would
not believe this without proof, but it is true! At last it grew so cold
that in the early morning everything was white with frost and I was
obliged to put one hand in my pocket to keep it warm, while holding the
plow with the other, but I didn't mind this so much, for it hinted at
the close of autumn. I've no doubt facing the wind in this way was
excellent discipline, but I didn't think it necessary then and my heart
was sometimes bitter and rebellious.

The soldier did not intend to be severe. As he had always been an early
riser and a busy toiler it seemed perfectly natural and good discipline,
that his sons should also plow and husk corn at ten years of age. He
often told of beginning life as a "bound boy" at nine, and these stories
helped me to perform my own tasks without whining. I feared to voice my
weakness.

At last there came a morning when by striking my heel upon the ground I
convinced my boss that the soil was frozen too deep for the mold-board
to break. "All right," he said, "you may lay off this forenoon."

Oh, those beautiful hours of respite! With time to play or read I
usually read, devouring anything I could lay my hands upon. Newspapers,
whether old or new, or pasted on the wall or piled up in the
attic,--anything in print was wonderful to me. One enthralling book,
borrowed from Neighbor Button, was _The Female Spy_, a Tale of the
Rebellion. Another treasure was a story called _Cast Ashore_, but this
volume unfortunately was badly torn and fifty pages were missing so that
I never knew, and do not know to this day, how those indomitable
shipwrecked seamen reached their English homes. I dimly recall that one
man carried a pet monkey on his back and that they all lived on
"Bustards."

Finally the day came when the ground rang like iron under the feet of
the horse