The Mason County journal. [volume] (Shelton, W.T.) 1886-1927, 1890-07-04
TWO FORCED HOLIDAYS.

Il amt goin' ter stand this any
longer. They's jes workin' me to
death, an there amt no use err bein'
white slave furever. I'm old enough,
I guess, to hev somethin' ter say bout
what | shall do. Yes, I'm COMMIT"
raising his voice to shout. ''Thet's
the way it's Eff 1 amt a-workin' an
strainin' an workin' every minute, an
amt jes' where they want me, there's
a-callin' an fussin' bout nv laziness
as ef never worked at all. It jes' Amt
right?"
With slow, awkward steps, the
speaker, an over grown lad of Is years.
moved from the bank of the brook,
where he had been resting, to large
clearing in the forest, where his ak
and coat were thrown down by the
side of cord of wood.
The soliloquy was merely the nat
nral expression of the thoughts that
had been coursing through the boys
mind, as he lay 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
''Aint you got them logs piled up
yetl'' was what he heard, as he sham
bled across the open clearing to where
his father stood. Here came up from
t'other clearin', 'specting you be ready
TO help me with this ere team, an you
amt half through yet It's too pro-
vokin' fur anything, Jim, the way
that you put me outr'
Mr. Poulder looked very much an
noyed, and he removed his hat for an
instant, and mopped the 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 time 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 HIM
self that he was hero. He had al
ready confessed to himself that he was
white slave-a phrase he had culled
memorized from a dime novel that
had been lent to him by one of his boy
ISL playmates.
1t was true that. like all farmer
boys, he had been brought up to work,
and although his father was some
times little strict with him, compell-
ing him to do his allotted task when he
had attempted to shirk it, Jim Poulder's
lot was not harder than that of hun
dreds 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, or change in the daily
routine of duty. This time had ar
rived for Jim Poulder, and, as an ex-
cuse for his indefinite longing for some
thing, he complained that too much
work had always been given him
since he was able to handle hoe or ak.
Jim was not a disobedient son, but
loved his father and mother, and con-
sidered 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 had left his work for few min
utes to indulge in this pleasure, when
his father came upon the scene, and it
was partly guilty conscience reprov-
ing him that made the boy so irritable
and cross, and put him into such a de-
liant 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
wonderingly for a few seconds with
out speaking. Jim's eyes dropped be-
fore those of his fathers, and a slight
blush stole into his tanned cheeks.
Tired of work, you say, Jim3"
The question was slowly asked, as if
the speaker was rejecting, or had not
yet quite understood the full import of
the lads remark.
Yes, father" continued the boy,
gaining courage by the silence that
followed. Il amt never grumbled
afore, an I've allus done jes' what ye
told me to, but it want because l
didn't feels eff l had more'n / oughter
do. There amt many fellers tibet has
TO do the work tibet / hev, an there
amt many tibet would do it without
maxim a kick. Eff I amt right on
hand jes' when We want me there's q
great stewin' an fussin', jes' as eff I'd
committed some crime. I've ies' 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 COM
planned bout his hard lot, but his
father wouldn't listen to him Then
ne ran away"
You haven't thought of doin' tibet,
hev you, Jiml' interrupted Mr.. Poul-
der at this juncture.
"Yes-n-no, l can't say tibet l hev, "
slowly replied the lad, wincing before
ms fathers Straightforward glance.
You think your lot hard, then, my
boyfn continued his father, with q
kindlier look in his eyes.
Well, yes, father, I hev thought
SO, but"
You hev too much work, you sayf
Thet's your. trouble3"-. Them as If
talking to himself, Mr.. Poulder con-
tnued: Probably I've been . little