Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1883-07-17
HOW | BECAME A FARMER.
BY CHAS. L. wINDER.

1t was getting dark. But throug
the bushes, along the muddy road,
could see a house ahead, and | limpe
on toward it. though had little hop
that the people there would receive me.
All. how discouraged, hungry ant
foo,sore was that night Every ste]
was torture. II had had my choice t,
live or die, honestly think l would hav
preferred the latter.
1t was a low, small, one-story house
weather-bea and dilapidated. Two o
the front windows were boarded up, ant
the other two had half the glass pane
broken out. Off to the left was still
more dilapidated barn, the great doors o
which were propped up. Not only th'
yard fence, but all the fences in sight
were shattered and falling down,
The place, as | saw at seconC
glance, was uninhabted, and from tn,
forest of tall, dry thistles before the house
door, ! Judged that it had not been occu.
pied for long time. At least, | thought
| shall not be denied nights lodging
here.
There was Fireplace in the rear of the
room, and after shouting to make sure
that no one was about to object, built
a prodigious fire, and going to the barn
fetched in armfuls Of old straw and made
bed for myself.
was hungry, yet still more tired, and
after time fell asleep.
In the spring of 1874, was as home
less as anybody in Boston. was nine
teen. My mother was dead, and my ia
ther, crippled sailor, was an inmate Of
charitable institution
The previous summer | had driven an
ice-cart, and had saved enough to carry
me partly through the winter. But |
could not get another job. If there is
anything in this world which will try
ones soul, it is to hunt for a job week
after week and month after month, and
be met by that one cold reply" Not
wanted"
By February my money was all spent.
Up to that time | had not the least idea
of leaving the city and trying the coun-
try, for | knew nothing of it. But |
knew a brakeman named Leavett, on
the Boston Il Maine Railroad, who had
an uncle living in the town Of B,
up in New Hampshire. This uncle,
Leavett said, needed hand on his farm,
and he thought | could get the place.
He gave me line to him, and got me a
free ride on the night freight with him
to Exeter. From Exeter | walked to
B, bnt when l arrived there the place
was filled.
Hardly knowing what to do, l went on
in9uiring for employment, and had been
travelling two days when came to an
old deserted house. Here stayed during
the night.
My waking was not CHEEKY the next
morning. was miserably cold, and if
l had been faint and hungry the night
before, was hungrier now. The wea-
ther, too, had turned foggy and wet
Drearily, and not without some pain, l
got up and looked about the inside of the
old house. The bare, smoked, and un-
plastered rooms were the picture of desc
lation. No wonder, thought, that the
previous inhabitants had abandoned the
place. Though there was little induce
ment to tarry longer, there was still less
to 60 on, seeking work where no one
wanted to hire and for the first time the
idea of staying here entered my mind.
And this was what thought: Here is
house and here is farm. They are de-
serted. If nobody else wants them, why
cannot | have them and make home of
them
But whether l lived there or not,
wanted something to eat, and | set off
along the road to farmhouse painted
red. As / drew near, a clatter of forks and
plates assured me that the folks were at
breakfast. The outer door was ajar. l
stepped up and tapped at II.
"Come in" some one called out.
entered and said, GOOD morning !"
but no one responded.
"Do you wish to hire any help" l
asked, addressing myself to the man Of
the house.
"Be you the chap that had fire in the
old house down below here last night :"
the old man inquired.
eyes," / said. "Do you know who
owns it :"
"That's hard telling" he answered.
I" Rufe Bartlett lived there last. But
old man Smith, in Boston, had mort
gage on it, and guess the mortgage has
got it by this time"
"Do you think this Mr. Smith would
care if stopped there awhile