I could
sell cabbages to you for a shilling a piece. I knew you sold them for
fifteen cents and I thought that you would give a shilling. So the
farmer said he would pay me my wages in cabbages at a shilling apiece
and only charge me a dollar for the horse and wagon to bring them in. So
you only pay three cents. Here are thirty cabbages, which will come to
ninety cents. I pay a dollar for the horse, and when I get back to the
farm I owe the farmer ten cents, besides working a week for nothing. O,
it is all right. I don't kick, but this ends farming for Hennery. I know
when I have got enough of an easy life on a farm. I prefer a hard life,
breaking stones on the streets, to an easy, dreamy life on a farm."

"They _did_ play it on you, didn't they," said the grocery man. "But
wasn't the old deacon a good man to work for?"

"Good man nothing'," said the boy, as he took up a piece of horse radish
and began to grate it on the inside of his rough hand. "I tell you
there's a heap of difference in a deacon in Sunday school, telling about
sowing wheat and tares, and a deacon out on a farm in a hurry season,
when there is hay to get in and wheat to harvest all at the same time.
I went out to the farm Sunday evening with the deacon and his wife, and
they couldn't talk too much about the nice time we would have, and the
fun; but the deacon changed more than forty degrees in five minutes
after we got to the farm. He jump'd out of the wagon and pulled off his
coat, and let his wife climb out over the wheel, and yelled to the hired
girl to bring out the milk pail, and told me to fly around and unharness
the horse, and throw down a lot of hay for the work animals, and then
told me to run down to the pasture and drive up a lot of cows. The
pasture was half a mile away, and the cows were scattered around in the
woods, and the mosquitos were thick, and I got all covered with mud and
burrs, and stung with thistles, and when I got the cattle near to the
house, the old deacon yelled to me that I was slower than molasses in
the winter, and then I took a club and tried to hurry the cows, and he
yelled at me to stop hurrying, 'cause I would retard the flow of milk.
By gosh I _was_ mad. I asked for a mosquito bar to put over me next time
I went after the cows, and the people all laughed at me, and when I
sat down on the fence to scrape the mud off my Sunday pants, the
deacon yelled like he does in the revival, only he said, 'come, come,
procras