The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1889-03-16
TWO FORCED HOLIDAYS.
How Jim Poulder Learned the
Great Blessing of Work.

" amt goin' ter stand this any longer.
Thcy's jes' workin' me to death, an there
amt no use err bein' white slave furever.
Pm old enough. guess, to hev sometime ter
say bout what l shall do. Yes, Pm
comin'?' raising his voice to a shout.
'Thets the way tits. Eff amt a-workin'
an strainin' an workin' every minute an
amt 1es whar they want me, there's a callin'
an a-fussin' bout my laziness as eff never
worked at all. 1t jes' amt right"
With slow, awkward steps, the speaker,
an overgrown lad of fifteen years, moved
from the bank of the brook, where he had
been resting, to large clearing in the for
est, where his axe and coat had been thrown
down by the side of cord of wood
The soliloquy was merely the natural ex-
preston of the thoughts that had been
coursing through the boys mind, as he Law
dreaming on the grassy sods before the
sound of his fathers voice had disturbed him.
The sudden interruption of his day dream
irritated him, and the probable thought
that he would be reproved for his actions
made his lot seem harder than it was.
Amt you got them logs piled up yeti"
was what he heard, as he shambled across
the open clearing TO where his father stood.
Here l came up from t'other clearin',
'spectin' you'd be ready to help me with this
'ere team, an you amt half through vet.
It's too provokin' for any thing, Jim, the
way tibet you put me out!"
Mr.. Poulder looked very much ANNOYED.
and he removed his hat for an instant. and
mopped the perspiration from his brow
with quick, jerky movement. Then he
iammed it on his head again, and looked
toward the half finished work of his son.
Tim mnanIyhiln calmly bo
trunk of large tree, debating within his
mind whether or not it was not the proper
moment to inform his father just what he
had been thinking of.
There was an element of romance in this
lonely farmers boy, and as he looked at his
father, he fiattered himself that he was a
hero. He had already confessed to himself
that he was white slave-a phrase that he
had culled and memorized from dime novel
that had been lent to him by one of his
boyish playmates.
1t was true that, like all farmer boys, he
had been brought up to work, and although
his father was sometimes little strict with
him, compelling him to do his allotted task
when he had attempted to shirk it, Jim
Poulder's lot was not harder than that of
hundreds of other boys in the country.
There seems to be time in all boys lives
when they become dissatisfied with their
surroundings, and long for some sensation,
Dr. change in the daily routine of duty. This
time had arrived for Jim Poulder, and, as
an excuse for his indefinite longing for
something, he complained that too much
work had always been given him since he
was able to handle hoe or axe.
Jim was not disobedient son, but loved
mis- father and mother, and considered it
punishable crime to cross either of them by
word or deed. Yet sometimes he felt lonely
and restless on the mountain side. and he
often thought that his work would not be
aalf so hard if he had companion. About
ais only recreation was found in the woods,
cunning, or idly fishing in the small brook
hat flowed across his fathers farm. He
had left his work for a few minutes to in
1ulge in this pleasure, when his father came
apon the scene, and it was partly guilty
conscience reproving him that made the
boy SO irritable and cross, and put him into
such defiant position toward every one.
Father, I'm tired of workp' he finally
broke out, after his father had been staring
1t the fellcd trees for some time.
Mr.. PouiGcr turned his head quickly
coward his son, and surveyed him wonder
ngly for few seconds without speaking.
Jin's eyes dropped before those of his
fathers, end slight blush stole into his
tanncd cheeks.
''Iired Of work, you say, Jim1'