The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1889-03-21
TWO FORCED HOLIDAYS.
How Jim Poulder Learned the
~- Great Blessing Of Work.

II amt goin' ter stand this any longer.
ihey's Jes' workin' me to death, an there
amt no use er beln' a white slave furever
I'm old enough, guess, to hev sometime ter
say bout what I shall do. Yes, Pm
comm" raising his voice to a shout,
''lhets the way tits. Eff amt a-workin,
an strainin' an workin' every minute. an
amt jes 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 a cord of wood.
Inc sollloquy was merely the natural ex-
preston of the thoughts that had been
courslng through the boys mind, as he Law
dreaming on the grassy sods before the
sound OF his fathers voice had disturbed him.
me sudden interruption of his day-dream
lrrltated him, and the probable thought
mat ne would be reproved for his actions
made his lot seem harder than it was.
"Aint you got them logs piled up yet?'
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 thet you put me out!'
Mr.. Poulder looked very much annoved
and he removed his hat for an instant, and
mopped tho perspiration from his brow
with quick, jerky movement. Then he
jammed it on his head again, and looked
toward the half finished work of his son.
Jim, meanwhile, calmly leaned against the
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 1attered 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 a dime novel
that had been lent to him by Ole of his
boyish playmates.
1t was true that, like all farmer bows. 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 a time in all boys lives
when they become dissatisfied with their
surroundings, and long for some sensation.
or 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
his 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
half so hard if he had a companion. About
his only recreation was found in the woods
cunning, or idly fishing in the small brook
that flowed across his fathers farm. He
mad lett his work for few minutes to in
dulge In this pleasure, when his father came
upon the scene, and it was partly a guilty
conscience repr0ving him that made the
boy so irritable and cross, and put him into
such defiant position toward every one.
"Father, I'm tired Of work!' he finally
broke out, after his father had been staring
at the felled trees for some time.
Mr.. Poulder turned his head quickly
toward his son, and surveyed him wonder
lngly for few seconds without speaking.
Jim's eyes dropped before those of his
fathers, and slight blush stole into his
tanned cheeks.
Tired OF work, you say, Jim!"
Tie question was slowly asked, as if the
speaker was rejecting, or had not yet quite
understood the full import of the lads re-
mark.
Eyes, father" continued the boy, gaining
courage by the silence that followed. II
amt never grumbled afore, an I've alias
done jes' what We told 1ne to, but it want
because didn't feels :ef I had more'n l
oughter do. There amt many fellers thet
has to do the work tibet hev, an there
amt many thet would do it without maxim
a kick. Eff amt riglS On hand jes' when ye
want me, there's a great 'stewin' an fussin',
jes' as eff I'd committed some crime. I've
jes' been readin' where young Teller left
home fur good fur jes' such treatment, an
how he made his way UP into the world in
another State. He complained bout his
hard lot, but his father wouldn't listen to
to him. Then he ran away"
"You haven't thought Of doin' thet, hev
you, Jim!" interrupted Mr.. Poulder at this
juncture. -..4:.
"Yes-n-no, can't say thet hev," slowly
replied the lad, wincing before his fathers
straightforward glance.
'You think your lot hard then, my boya"
continued his father, with kindlier look
in his eyes,
"Well, yes, father, I hev thought so, but
"You how too much work, you say1 Thet's
your troublep' Then, as if talking to him
oe1, Mr.. Poulder continued: probably I've
been little hard on you, Jim. There has
Been lot9 of work To be done on the farm.