The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1889-03-21

axe. About shutdown he walked slowly
homeward, and stopped at the barn to feed
the animals. But some one had already
performed his nightly duty, and the animals
were taken care of for the night. Then he
went to do a few little chores around the
house, and found that these too had been
done by his father.
"Well, he means to give to give me half
holiday in earnest" Jim muttered, as he
stood just outside the door before entering
for his supper. II wonder what he'll saw
bout it to the supper table. S'pose I'll
hev to make up fur it ter-morrow."
He gave the stick with which his favorite
dog was playing violent jerk, and ordered
the canine to charge. in no gentle tones.
Then, as il ashamed at his show of anger, he
patted the animal on the head, and told him
to follow him into the house.
If the overworked hoy expected to hear
some reference to the days work, or to his
half-holiday, he was disappointed. His
father and mother both talked of other
things that were quite foreign to the sub
ject which was uppermost in Jim's mind
All that evening they tried to mako things
bright and comfortable for him; but he felt
moody and ashamed, and at an early hour
he hurried off to bed.
40 AoAAO"AuF, A1OA hA1ASo was d UIAHuU duu
clear one, and the sun was shining brightly
into the lad S sleeping room before he opened
his eyes. Then he started up with Jump,
and made an exclamation of surprise as he
looked out of the doors. It was fully nine
O'Clock, and his rising hour had always been
six, while breakfast was Invariably served
at halfpast six.
"Gracious sakes! what's the matter any,
how" he muttered aloud, as he hurriedly
dressed himself. II didn't hear any one
call me.''
Then, as rememb rances Of past mornings
when no had slept on, after being called,
rushed through his mind, he tried to think
whether he had repeated such an offense
But no. he could not remember having heard
his mo her or father call him that morning
He walked down into the breakfast room a
little sheepishlv, expecting to be reproved
severely for his laziness. But no one was
in the room; his mother was busily engaged
in her work outside, and his breakfast was
standing on the table waiting for him. He
sat down Immediately, and hastily drank
his coffee and munched few rolls. Then
picking up his cap, he started for the barn
to begin his work.
Good morning, Jim. Your father has
taken the horses to the mill to-day" his
mother said, as she caught sight of him.
''You can't 60 to the clearin' to-day; there's
no hurry bout tibet work.
This was another surprise for the boy, and
he stood for several minutes undecided what
to do. 1t was so strange to have the horses
fed and harnessed up to the farm-wagon
and taken away to work before he was up,
and yet stranger still was it to be told that
the work in the clearing could wait until a
later period.
He did not know quite how to act, but,
after short hesitation, he turned to the
wood-pile near him, and picked up an axe
with the intention of chopping some wood
for the house stove. He had not split two
sticks before he heard his mother calling
again.
We've hired Sandy to come an cut up
the wood, JIM she said. ''Your father
thought he could do it better than you, an
then you would hev less ter do. Never mind
cuttin' it now"
Jim slowly dropped the axe. Then facing
his mother, he said: "Well, mother, then let
me help you. Don't you want some work
done fur you!"
20, no, I've very little to do to-day. 1
don't need any help" was the reply.
So Jim Poulder was forced into idlcness
that day. Every thing that he attempted to
do, he found that somebody else had engaged
to do before him. Finally, he walked away
from the farm towards the brook, Devil
dered! and surprised. He tried to interest
himself in fishing again, but after a short
trial be flung down his line with disgust.
From the brook he walked on to the clear
ing in the woods, but his axe was not in it's
place, and every thing was silent and still
After watching squirrel at play for time
he then turned his footsteps towards home
again, hoping that his father had returned
from the mill.
He was disappointed in this hope, and he
ate his dinner with his mother, saying but
little, but thinking much. The afternoon
was more dreary than the morning. He
was left alone to do as he pleased, and after
exhausting his few pleasures in the woods,
he became disconsolate and lonesome.
1dleness was something unsuited to one of
his restless nature, although it was what he
had been longing for for weeks past. Now
that he had it to his hearts content, lie
wished for some work that would kill the
time, and Danish certain thoughts that
would worry him constantly, no matter
where he was.
But this is lonesome, he exclaimed,
rather emphatically, late in the afternoon
raising himself from the soft, grassy couch
on which he had been resting. II do wish
hadn't said any thing to father bout work.
don't know what ter do with myself, an
l feel too mean fur any thing when Pm
with him. What can Teller do among
these mountains without he has work! l
never thought of it before. 1t don't seem
right ter be idle nuther when every thing is
so bright and busy. Them fishes and birds
amt idlin', know. They're workin' to get
somethin' to eat. Poor things! an they get
caught every time they make mistake in
their work, an nibble the wrong food. I'll
feed 'em now without tryin' to catch 'em"
For brief instant Jim Poulder forgot his
own lonesomeness in his endeavor to make
the fishes in the stream happy, and he
leaned over the bright, gurgling brook as
he threw all of his bait away, and watched
it while it was eagerly devoured by the
creatures of tho water. He did not know
that, in this simple act, he was learning one
of the greatest lessons of life; that the best
panacea for ennui is to turn the mind and
energies towards the helping of others, and
thereby making the lot of sufferers happier
and more endurable.
The next morning Jim Poulder was up
bright and early, but his father had antici-
pated him, and had already fed the ami
mails. He could really do nothing before
breakfast. and he returned to the house q
little disappointed, though still strong in
the resolution that he had made the pre-
ceding day. He had at last become thor
oughly disguised with himself, and he
meant to make his apology by actions as
well as by words. casase& 49,
Father, / want to do my regular work
to-day" he said, boldly, as he saw his father
getting ready to leave for the woods. 'pm
tired of idieness."
Mr.. Poulder looked ct his son for brief