The Complete Writings, vol 4 | Page 6

over to that pasture, looking for bird's nests and shying at red squirrels
on the way, and who knows but he might "see" a sucker in the meadow
brook, and perhaps get a "jab" at him with a sharp stick. He knows a
hole where there is a whopper; and one of his plans in life is to go some
day and snare him, and bring him home in triumph. It is therefore
strongly impressed upon his mind that the cattle want salting. But his
father, without turning his head, replies,
"No, they don't need salting any more 'n you do!" And the old equipage
goes rattling down the road, and John whistles his disappointment.
When I was a boy on a farm, and I suppose it is so now, cattle were
never salted half enough!
John goes to his chores, and gets through the stable as soon as he can,
for that must be done; but when it comes to the out-door work, that
rather drags. There are so many things to distract the attention--a
chipmunk in the fence, a bird on a near-tree, and a hen- hawk circling
high in the air over the barnyard. John loses a little time in stoning the
chipmunk, which rather likes the sport, and in watching the bird, to find

where its nest is; and he convinces himself that he ought to watch the
hawk, lest it pounce upon the chickens, and therefore, with an easy
conscience, he spends fifteen minutes in hallooing to that distant bird,
and follows it away out of sight over the woods, and then wishes it
would come back again. And then a carriage with two horses, and a
trunk on behind, goes along the road; and there is a girl in the carriage
who looks out at John, who is suddenly aware that his trousers are
patched on each knee and in two places behind; and he wonders if she
is rich, and whose name is on the trunk, and how much the horses cost,
and whether that nice- looking man is the girl's father, and if that boy
on the seat with the driver is her brother, and if he has to do chores; and
as the gay sight disappears, John falls to thinking about the great world
beyond the farm, of cities, and people who are always dressed up, and a
great many other things of which he has a very dim notion. And then a
boy, whom John knows, rides by in a wagon with his father, and the
boy makes a face at John, and John returns the greeting with a twist of
his own visage and some symbolic gestures. All these things take time.
The work of cutting down the big weeds gets on slowly, although it is
not very disagreeable, or would not be if it were play. John imagines
that yonder big thistle is some whiskered villain, of whom he has read
in a fairy book, and he advances on him with "Die, ruffian!" and
slashes off his head with the bill-hook; or he charges upon the rows of
mullein-stalks as if they were rebels in regimental ranks, and hews
them down without mercy. What fun it might be if there were only
another boy there to help. But even war, single handed, gets to be
tiresome. It is dinner-time before John finishes the weeds, and it is
cow-time before John has made much impression on the garden.
This garden John has no fondness for. He would rather hoe corn all day
than work in it. Father seems to think that it is easy work that John can
do, because it is near the house! John's continual plan in this life is to
go fishing. When there comes a rainy day, he attempts to carry it out.
But ten chances to one his father has different views. As it rains so that
work cannot be done out-doors, it is a good time to work in the garden.
He can run into the house between the heavy showers. John
accordingly detests the garden; and the only time he works briskly in it
is when he has a stent set, to do so much weeding before the Fourth of
July. If he is spry, he can make an extra holiday the Fourth and the day

after. Two days of gunpowder and ball-playing! When I was a boy, I
supposed there was some connection between such and such an amount
of work done on the farm and our national freedom. I doubted if there
could be any Fourth of July if my stent was not done. I, at least, worked
for my Independence.

III
THE DELIGHTS OF FARMING
There are so many bright spots in the life of a farm-boy, that I
sometimes