Walter Harland | Page 4

how much my mind was set on it, and knowing the
motives which influenced me, she finally gave her consent, and leaving
school I began looking about me for employment. My mother's wish, as
well as my own was that I should, if possible, obtain some situation in
the village where I could still board at home, but, as is usually the case,
no one needed a boy at that time. After spending several days in search
of work, without success, I became disheartened. My mother advised
me to return to my books, and think no more about it; but I was
unwilling that my first attempt toward taking care of myself should
prove an entire failure.
CHAPTER III.
A few miles from the village of Elmwood lived Mr. Judson, a rich
farmer, he might properly be termed rich in this world's goods, for,
besides the broad acres which comprised the two farms in one where he

resided, he was the owner of several houses in the village, which
brought him a handsome annual income. The chief aim of his life
appeared to be the acquisition of money, and, when once it came into
his possession, it was guarded with miserly care. The very countenance
and manner of the Farmer bespoke his nature. Aided by memory, I see
him now as I saw him years ago:--he was of medium height, strong and
muscular, but thin in flesh. His hair had once been black, but was then
sprinkled thickly with gray; he had small piercing, restless black eyes
that seemed to look several ways at once. His nose was of the form
which I have often heard styled a hawk-bill; and, altogether, there was
a sort of dry, hard look about the man which rendered his personal
appearance repulsive and disagreeable. His constant care and anxiety
was to get the largest possible amount of labor out of those in his
employ; consequently, he was always in a hurry himself, and striving to
hurry every one else. His farm-laborers used to say that he kept his eyes
in such unceasing motion, to see that every thing went right on all sides,
that a restless, roving expression of the eyes had become natural to him.
Though living only a few miles distant, neither my mother nor myself
knew any thing of the character of this man; and when he came to
engage me to do "chores and light work" as he termed it, we gladly
accepted his offer, as my mother had the idea that residing for a time
upon a farm (if not overworked) would have a beneficial effect upon
my health and constitution. Many wondered when it became known
that I had gone to live with Farmer Judson; but each one kept their
thoughts to themselves. When I took my place at the Farmer's I soon
found that, if my work was light, there was likely to be plenty of it. I
did not complain of this, for I expected to work; but what made my
position almost unbearable was the constant habit of fault-finding in
which my employer indulged. He was dreaded and feared by all under
his roof. He was constantly on the watch for waste and expenditure
within-doors, and without there could never be enough done to satisfy
him; do your best, and he always thought you should have done more.
As I have before said, I was very fond of books, and I had counted
upon having my evenings at my own disposal that I might still do
something in the way of self improvement; but I soon learned that
books were quite out of the question in my new home. There was either
corn to shell or errands to perform; in short, there was something to

keep me busy till nearly bed-time every night. I used sometimes to
think the farmer used to study up something to keep me busy on
purpose to keep me from study. I believe my greatest fault in his eyes
was my love of books. He was entirely without education himself,
which, (in a great measure) accounted for his narrow and sordid mind;
he looked upon any time devoted to books or mental culture as a dead
loss.
"What's the use of botherin' over books," he would often say; and
would often add in a boasting manner, "I don't know a from b, and if I
do say it myself, where will you find a man who has got along better in
the world than I have done." If getting along well with the world
consists only in hoarding up dollars and cents till every feeling of
tenderness and benevolence toward the rest of mankind becomes
benumbed and deadened, then truly Mr. Judson had got along
remarkably well. His door was but a