CHAPTER XVIII.WORK AND PLAY.
Thedays were now perceptibly longer, and the sun had begun to make quite an impression on the huge snow-banks in which Brookdale had been nearly buried up all winter. “Bare ground,” that looks so pleasant to the boy in a northern climate, after a long winter, began to appear in little brown patches, in particularly sunny and sheltered spots. The ice upon the pond was still quite thick, but it was too soft and rough for skating. The sled runners cut in so deeply, that there was little fun in sliding down hill. Besides, skating and coasting had got to be old stories, and the boys were heartily tired of all their winter sports. The sleighing was about spoiled, the roads were sloppy, the fields and meadows impassable, and the woods uncomfortable. In fact, while all the outdoor amusements of winter were at an end, it was too early for thevarious summer games and sports that supply their places. This brief season, which usually attends the breaking up of winter in northern latitudes, is generally the dullest of all the year to boys in the country, unless they are so fortunate as to be able to amuse themselves indoors, a part of the time at least.
Clinton’s favorite place of resort, at such seasons, was the shop in the rear of the house. Here, surrounded with tools, and patterns, and plans, and specimens of his own work, and perhaps absorbed by some object upon which he was engaged, he was never at a loss for amusement. A day or two after his return from the logging camp, he went to work on the “settle,” which he had determined to make, in imitation of the one he had seen at Uncle Tim’s. This was a job that would require some little thinking and planning, as well as skill at handling tools,—for his mother had promised to give it a place in the kitchen, if it was well made,—and he felt anxious to do his best on this occasion. He first sawed out from a plank the two end pieces, rounding off one corner of each, in a sort of long scroll pattern. Having planed these smooth, he next made the seat, which was also of stiffplank, and fastened it firmly in its place. Nothing remained to be done but to make the back, which was of boards, planed and matched, and screwed into the end pieces. In the course of a week the settle was finished; and it was not only neat and well-finished, but really substantial. It looked as though it might do service full as long as Uncle Tim’s. Clinton was quite satisfied with his success, and his mother was so well pleased with the settle, that she not only decided to place it in the kitchen, but promised to make a handsome cushion for it.
As Clinton was looking admiringly upon his piece of work, soon after it was finished, and thinking whether he could improve it in any respect, the conversation at Uncle Tim’s recurred to his mind, and a happy thought suggested itself, by which he might associate his settle with that interview, and thus have constantly before him a memorial of his trip to the loggers. The next time he had occasion to go to the store, he bought a small package of brass-headed tacks, and with these he carried out his new design, which was to inscribe his initials “C. D.” upon one end of the settle, and the motto, “I’ll Try,” upon the other. He had seennails arranged in the form of letters upon trunks, and he found no difficulty in making his inscriptions look very well. He surrounded each of them by a single line of tacks, placed in the form of an oval, which gave the whole quite a finished look. This improvement elicited from his parents many additional compliments for the new article of furniture.
The settle
The snow was rapidly disappearing, and the sunny sides of the hills were quite bare. The welcome song of the robin was heard around the house, proclaiming the arrival of spring. The brook which flowed through Mr. Davenport’s land was swelled to a miniature torrent, and Clinton’s ducks,—whose water privileges had been restricted through the winter to a small space kept clear of ice by an axe,—now sailed about in all their glory. The frost soon left the ground,—for it penetrates but slightly, when the earth is covered with snow all winter,—the moisture rapidly dried up, andthe fields were ready for the plough. For a few weeks Clinton was employed, much of the time, in the various labors of the farm. He usually drove the ploughing team, but he sometimes turned the furrow, by way of change, while his father guided the oxen. Then came harrowing, manuring, planting, setting out trees, making beds in the kitchen-garden, and the various other farm operations of spring, in all of which Clinton assisted his father. He also attended to his own patch of ground, of which he had the sole care every year. As they were at work in the kitchen-garden one day, Mr. Davenport asked Clinton how he should like to take the whole charge of it for the season.
“Why, I should think I might take care of it, just as well as you, after it’s all planted,” replied Clinton.
“And should you be willing to assume all the trouble and responsibility?” inquired his father.
“Yes, sir, I’ll take it and do the best I can,—only, I may want your advice sometimes.”
“Well, Clinty,” resumed his father, “I’ll make you an offer, and you may accept it or not, just as you please. After the garden is planted, I will surrender it entirely into your hands, and you shall do the bestyou can with it. You shall keep account of everything that is raised in it, and at the end of the season we will calculate the value of the various crops, and I will give you one-fourth of the whole sum, as your share of the profits. For instance, if the vegetables you raise come to twenty-five dollars, you shall have six dollars and a quarter for your services. If, by your good management and the aid of a favorable season, you raise forty dollars’ worth, you will receive ten dollars,—and so on in proportion.”
“I’ll do it, I’ll do it,”—said Clinton, eagerly.
“Wait a moment,” continued Mr. Davenport,—“there are one or two conditions that must be plainly understood, before we close the bargain; one is, that you are not to neglectmywork, for the sake of your own. I shall call on you, when I want your assistance in the field, just as I did last year, and you mustn’t think that what you do in your garden is to exempt you from all further labor. And you must understand, too, that if I find you are neglecting the garden at any time, I shall take it back into my own hands, and you will receive nothing for your labor. Do you agree to this?”
“Yes, sir; but you’ll allow me time enough to take care of the garden, wont you?”
“Certainly, you shall have time enough for that, besides some hours every day, to devote to study and play.”
“Well,” said Clinton, “I’ll agree to all that, and if the garden doesn’t do well, it shan’t be my fault.”
In a few days the garden was all planted. It was nearly an acre in extent, and was thickly sowed with vegetables, such as peas, beans, lettuce, radishes, turnips, cabbages, onions, early potatoes, sweet corn, cucumbers, squashes, melons, etc. Having done all that he was to do with it, Mr. Davenport now surrendered it into the keeping of Clinton. For a few weeks the garden required little care; but by-and-by the weeds began to spring up, and the various insect tribes commenced their operations among the tender plants. Clinton now found plenty to do. He was wise enough, however, not let his work get behind hand; for had he suffered the bugs and weeds to get a few days’ start of him, I doubt whether he would have overtaken them. This was one secret of his success; another was, his perseverance,—for he generally carried through whateverhe undertook, simply because he was determined to do so. Mr. Davenport was very well satisfied with the way he managed the garden; and to encourage him, he was careful not to call him away to other parts of the farm any more than was necessary.
Clinton generally rode over to the post-office, at the Cross-Roads, every Saturday afternoon, to get the weekly newspapers to which his father was a subscriber. One pleasant afternoon, in May, he drove over as usual, and as the mail had not arrived, he hitched Fanny to a post, and went away, a short distance, to where a group of small boys of his acquaintance were collected. They were earnestly and loudly discussing some point, and when they saw Clinton, one of them said:—
“There’s Clinton Davenport coming, let’s leave it to him.”
“Yes,” cried one and another,—and the proposition appeared to be unanimously accepted.
“Well, what is the trouble?” inquired Clinton.
Half a dozen different voices began to answer at once, when Clinton cut them all short, and told Frank, one of the oldest boys, to explain the difficulty.
“Why,” said Frank, “you know when we play ‘Ispy,’ we tell off the boy, that’s to lead in the game, in this way:—
‘One-ary, youery, ickery C,Hackaback, crackaback, titobolee,Hon-pon, muscadon,Twiddledum, twaddledum, twenty-one.’”
‘One-ary, youery, ickery C,Hackaback, crackaback, titobolee,Hon-pon, muscadon,Twiddledum, twaddledum, twenty-one.’”
‘One-ary, youery, ickery C,Hackaback, crackaback, titobolee,Hon-pon, muscadon,Twiddledum, twaddledum, twenty-one.’”
‘One-ary, youery, ickery C,
Hackaback, crackaback, titobolee,
Hon-pon, muscadon,
Twiddledum, twaddledum, twenty-one.’”
“‘Tweedledum, twaddledum!’ you goose!” exclaimed one of the boys; “who ever heard such lingo as that? This is the right way, isn’t it, Clinton?
‘One-ary, youery, ickery, Ann,Phillacy, follacy, ticular John;Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,Stinklam, stanklam, buck.’
‘One-ary, youery, ickery, Ann,Phillacy, follacy, ticular John;Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,Stinklam, stanklam, buck.’
‘One-ary, youery, ickery, Ann,Phillacy, follacy, ticular John;Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,Stinklam, stanklam, buck.’
‘One-ary, youery, ickery, Ann,
Phillacy, follacy, ticular John;
Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,
Stinklam, stanklam, buck.’
There, now, isn’t that right?”
“That’s the way we have it here,” replied Clinton,—“but I suppose they say it different where Frank came from. When Oscar Preston was here, he used to rattle it off different from both of these; I believe this is the way he said he learned it:—
‘One-ary, youery, ickery and,Phillacy, follacy, Nicholas Jones;Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,Huldee, guldee, loo.’”
‘One-ary, youery, ickery and,Phillacy, follacy, Nicholas Jones;Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,Huldee, guldee, loo.’”
‘One-ary, youery, ickery and,Phillacy, follacy, Nicholas Jones;Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,Huldee, guldee, loo.’”
‘One-ary, youery, ickery and,
Phillacy, follacy, Nicholas Jones;
Queeby, quaby, Irish Mary,
Huldee, guldee, loo.’”
“Ho! I never heard of that way before,” said one of the boys; “I guess that’s the latest Boston edition.”
“If you can’t agree on any of these,” said Clinton, “I’ll tell you what you can do,—you can ‘tell off’ with:—
‘One-zall, zu-zall, zicker-all zan,Bobtail, vinegar, titter-all, tan,Harum, scarum, back-out.’
‘One-zall, zu-zall, zicker-all zan,Bobtail, vinegar, titter-all, tan,Harum, scarum, back-out.’
‘One-zall, zu-zall, zicker-all zan,Bobtail, vinegar, titter-all, tan,Harum, scarum, back-out.’
‘One-zall, zu-zall, zicker-all zan,
Bobtail, vinegar, titter-all, tan,
Harum, scarum, back-out.’
Or, if that doesn’t suit, then take:—
‘Eeny, meeny, mony mite;Peskalana, bona, strike;Parago, walk.’”
‘Eeny, meeny, mony mite;Peskalana, bona, strike;Parago, walk.’”
‘Eeny, meeny, mony mite;Peskalana, bona, strike;Parago, walk.’”
‘Eeny, meeny, mony mite;
Peskalana, bona, strike;
Parago, walk.’”
“Pooh!” said Frank; “that aint right, nor anywhere near it. This is the way I learned that one:—
‘Eeny, meeny, mony, my;Pistolanee, bony, sly;Argy, dargy, walk.’”
‘Eeny, meeny, mony, my;Pistolanee, bony, sly;Argy, dargy, walk.’”
‘Eeny, meeny, mony, my;Pistolanee, bony, sly;Argy, dargy, walk.’”
‘Eeny, meeny, mony, my;
Pistolanee, bony, sly;
Argy, dargy, walk.’”
The other boys all objected to this version of the saying,but Frank insisted that if it was not the right one, it was certainly the best.
“I wonder who first made up all these poetries,” said one of the smaller boys.
“‘These poetries!’ what grammar do you study, Ned?” said Frank, with a laugh.
“Well, you know what I mean,” replied Ned; “I knew ’t wasn’t right,—I only said it just in fun.”
“I don’t know when these rhymes were made,” said Clinton, “but my father says they used to have them when he was young, and I suppose the boys have always had something of the kind. Shouldn’t you like to see all the different kinds printed in a book, Ned?”
“I guess I should,” replied Ned; “what a funny book it would make!”
The mail-stage had now arrived, and Clinton went over to the post-office. In addition to the usual newspapers, the post-master handed him two letters. One of them was for Mrs. Preston, for Clinton often took her letters and papers from the post-office, and delivered them on his way home. The other letter was addressedto himself. It was stamped at Boston, and was in the hand-writing of his uncle. The letter for Mrs. Preston had two or three different post-marks upon it, and was somewhat dingy, as though it had travelled a great distance. This, together with the fact that the address was written in a cramped and awkward hand, led Clinton to suspect, or at least hope, it was from Jerry. He hurried back as fast as possible, and when he reached Mrs. Preston’s, his curiosity was so much excited that he determined to stop and hear who the letter was from. He watched Mrs. Preston as she first glanced at the address, and then hastily broke the seal, and before she had read half its contents, he felt so certain that he had guessed right, that he inquired:—
“Isn’t it from Jerry, Mrs. Preston?”
But Mrs. Preston was too eagerly engaged, to heed his question, and she continued reading until she had finished the letter, when she replied:—
“Yes, it is from Jerry, and I’m very much obliged to you for bringing it. Poor boy! he’s having a hard time of it, but it’s a great satisfaction to know where he is.”
“Where is he?” inquired Clinton, whose curiosity was now thoroughly awakened.
“You may read the letter, if you wish,” said Mrs. Preston, handing it to Clinton. “Read it aloud, if you please, so that Emily and Harriet may hear.”
Clinton complied with her request. Correcting the grammar, spelling, and punctuation, the letter read as follows:—
“Rio Janeiro, March 30.“Dear Mother,I write these few lines to let you know I am alive and well, and I hope this will find you so. You will see from the date I am a good ways from home. I came here in the brig Susan, which sailed from Boston in February. We have had a very rough time. Last week we encountered a terrible gale, and I thought it was a gone case with us. We had to put in here to repair damages, and as there is a chance to send letters home I thought I would write. We are bound for Valparaiso, and have got to go round Cape Horn. It is a long voyage, and I guess I shall go to California before I come home. I don’t like going to sea so well as I expected, and I don’t mean to go another voyage. It’s a hard life, I can tell you. I am sorry I took that money, but I had to have some. I didn’t spend but little of it, but somebody has stolen the rest—some ofthe sailors, I suppose, but I don’t know who. I mean to pay you back again, out of my wages. I suppose father hasn’t got through logging yet. I should like to see you all, but I must wait a spell. Tell Mary I am going to fetch her home a pretty present, and I shall bring something for the others, too. I can’t see to write any longer, so good-bye to you all.Jeremiah Preston.”
“Rio Janeiro, March 30.
“Dear Mother,
I write these few lines to let you know I am alive and well, and I hope this will find you so. You will see from the date I am a good ways from home. I came here in the brig Susan, which sailed from Boston in February. We have had a very rough time. Last week we encountered a terrible gale, and I thought it was a gone case with us. We had to put in here to repair damages, and as there is a chance to send letters home I thought I would write. We are bound for Valparaiso, and have got to go round Cape Horn. It is a long voyage, and I guess I shall go to California before I come home. I don’t like going to sea so well as I expected, and I don’t mean to go another voyage. It’s a hard life, I can tell you. I am sorry I took that money, but I had to have some. I didn’t spend but little of it, but somebody has stolen the rest—some ofthe sailors, I suppose, but I don’t know who. I mean to pay you back again, out of my wages. I suppose father hasn’t got through logging yet. I should like to see you all, but I must wait a spell. Tell Mary I am going to fetch her home a pretty present, and I shall bring something for the others, too. I can’t see to write any longer, so good-bye to you all.
Jeremiah Preston.”
“Mother,” said Harriet, as soon as Clinton had finished reading the letter, “what does Jerry mean about taking money?”
“Don’t ask me any questions now,” replied Mrs. Preston, in a tone that cut off all further inquiries. Jerry’s theft had been a secret in her own breast, until now; but as he had alluded to it in his letter, and as his letter must be read by all the family, she knew it could no longer be concealed. Still, she was provoked that Harriet should be so thoughtless as to allude to the subject in the presence of Clinton.
“Emily,” continued Mrs. Preston, “you run and get your atlas, and let Clinton show us where Jerry is, before he goes.”
The atlas was soon produced, and Clinton, turning to the map of South America, pointed out to thefamily the location of Rio Janeiro, in Brazil, on the Atlantic coast, and Valparaiso, the chief sea-port of Chili, on the Pacific side of the continent. Then, remembering his own unopened letter, he bade them good-night, and started for home.