The Complete Writings, vol 4 | Page 8

thinking of it! and there was no trouble about getting me up at
sunrise that morning. The breakfast was eaten, the luncheon was
packed in a large basket, with bottles of root beer and a jug of switchel,
which packing I superintended with the greatest interest; and then the
cattle were to be collected for the march, and the horses hitched up. Did
I shirk any duty? Was I slow? I think not. I was willing to run my legs

off after the frisky steers, who seemed to have an idea they were going
on a lark, and frolicked about, dashing into all gates, and through all
bars except the right ones; and how cheerfully I did yell at them.
It was a glorious chance to "holler," and I have never since heard any
public speaker on the stump or at camp-meeting who could make more
noise. I have often thought it fortunate that the amount of noise in a boy
does not increase in proportion to his size; if it did, the world could not
contain it.
The whole day was full of excitement and of freedom. We were away
from the farm, which to a boy is one of the best parts of farming; we
saw other farms and other people at work; I had the pleasure of
marching along, and swinging my whip, past boys whom I knew, who
were picking up stones. Every turn of the road, every bend and rapid of
the river, the great bowlders by the wayside, the watering-troughs, the
giant pine that had been struck by lightning, the mysterious covered
bridge over the river where it was, most swift and rocky and foamy, the
chance eagle in the blue sky, the sense of going somewhere,--why, as I
recall all these things I feel that even the Prince Imperial, as he used to
dash on horseback through the Bois de Boulogne, with fifty mounted
hussars clattering at his heels, and crowds of people cheering, could not
have been as happy as was I, a boy in short jacket and shorter
pantaloons, trudging in the dust that day behind the steers and colts,
cracking my black-stock whip.
I wish the journey would never end; but at last, by noon, we reach the
pastures and turn in the herd; and after making the tour of the lots to
make sure there are no breaks in the fences, we take our luncheon from
the wagon and eat it under the trees by the spring. This is the supreme
moment of the day. This is the way to live; this is like the Swiss Family
Robinson, and all the rest of my delightful acquaintances in romance.
Baked beans, rye-and-indian bread (moist, remember), doughnuts and
cheese, pie, and root beer. What richness! You may live to dine at
Delmonico's, or, if those Frenchmen do not eat each other up, at
Philippe's, in Rue Montorgueil in Paris, where the dear old Thackeray
used to eat as good a dinner as anybody; but you will get there neither
doughnuts, nor pie, nor root beer, nor anything so good as that
luncheon at noon in the old pasture, high among the Massachusetts hills!
Nor will you ever, if you live to be the oldest boy in the world, have

any holiday equal to the one I have described. But I always regretted
that I did not take along a fishline, just to "throw in" the brook we
passed. I know there were trout there.

IV
NO FARMING WITHOUT A BOY
Say what you will about the general usefulness of boys, it is my
impression that a farm without a boy would very soon come to grief.
What the boy does is the life of the farm. He is the factotum, always in
demand, always expected to do the thousand indispensable things that
nobody else will do. Upon him fall all the odds and ends, the most
difficult things. After everybody else is through, he has to finish up.
His work is like a woman's,--perpetual waiting on others. Everybody
knows how much easier it is to eat a good dinner than it is to wash the
dishes afterwards. Consider what a boy on a farm is required to do;
things that must be done, or life would actually stop.
It is understood, in the first place, that he is to do all the errands, to go
to the store, to the post office, and to carry all sorts of messages. If he
had as many legs as a centipede, they would tire before night. His two
short limbs seem to him entirely inadequate to the task. He would like
to have as many legs as a wheel has spokes, and rotate about in the
same way. This he sometimes tries to do; and