Walter Harland | Page 9

passed. When the breakfast things were cleared away, my mother seated herself by my side, and said: "Upon reflection, my son, I have decided that you had best not return to Mr. Judson." These were joyful words to me, for I had feared my mother would decide otherwise, and I had never disobeyed her, but it would have been hard, very hard for me to obey had she wished me to return to my employer. Little Flora was, if possible, more pleased than myself at the decision; with a low cry of joy, she threw her arms around my neck, saying "Oh! Walter, I am so glad that Mamma will not send you back to that old man." Poor child, she had never before been separated from her brother, and she had sadly missed her playmate during the past year. "Although," continued my mother "you may not have been free from blame, I think Mr. Judson acted very wrong. If, as I trust, is the case, you have told me the truth, I consider you blameable in two points only, first, in neglecting your work in the absence of your employer, and, secondly, in allowing yourself to use disrespectful language to him." While my mother was yet speaking, the door opened and Farmer Judson entered the room, without the ceremony of knocking, and began talking (as was his custom when angry) in a very loud and stormy voice, "Pray be seated, Mr. Judson," said my mother, "and when you become a little more composed I shall be pleased to listen to anything you may wish to say." He did not take the proffered seat, but muttered something about "people putting on airs," and turning sharply upon me, he said, "I hain't got no more time to waste talkin, so get your hat and come back to your work and no more about it." I did not move, but waited for my mother to speak,--with a voice of much composure, she replied to him, saying: "I have decided, Mr. Judson, that Walter had best not return to you. Till last evening I have never from him heard the first word of complaint;" in a straight forward manner she then repeated what I had said upon my return home. "My son informs me," added my mother, "that in more than one instance he has endured blows from you, and for very little cause; had I before been aware of this he should have left you at once; for my boy is not a slave to be driven with the lash. I have no doubt that his conduct may in many instances have been blameable. I am sorry that he allowed himself at the last to speak disrespectfully to you, but you must be aware that his provocation was great, and we must not look for perfection in a boy of thirteen. Considering all things, I think he had best remain no longer in your employ; for to subject him longer to a temper so capricious as yours, would be, I fear, to injure his disposition."
Mr. Judson was unable to gainsay one word my mother had said, and to conceal his mortification got into a towering passion, and used some very severe language which deeply wounded my mother's feelings. As he strode angrily from the room he said, "You need not expect anything else but to come to beggary if you keep a great fellow like that lazin' round in idleness, and I, for one, shall not pity you, depend on't." With these words he left the house, closing the door after him with a loud bang. It was indeed a welcome relief when he left us alone. My little sister had crept close to me the moment the angry Farmer entered the room, where she remained: trembling with fear till he was fairly out of hearing, when she exclaimed, "I hope that ugly old man will never come here again. Wasn't you afraid, Mamma?"
"No, dear," replied my mother, with a smile; "and let us hope if ever he does visit us again he will be in a better temper."
I wished at once to set about looking for another situation; but my mother advised me to remain at home and rest for a time. Little Flora was delighted when she found that I was to remain at home, for a time at least.
CHAPTER VI.
Not far from our humble dwelling stood the residence of Dr. Gray, the village physician. His only child was a son of nearly the same age as myself, and we had been firm friends from the days of early childhood. When of sufficient age we were sent to the same school, where we occupied the same desk, and often conned our daily lessons from the same book. The uncommon friendship