TOM was so full of his glorious ideas for the future, that he could scarcely sleep at all that night; and, when he did, he dreamed of droves of cattle, prancing horses, and sheep without number.
Morning came at length, and, contrary to his usual custom, he was up at daylight; but he had six long hours to employ in some manner before he could see Mr. Hayes, for the latter would not reach the village before ten o’clock. He passed the time until breakfast in walking about the yard, enjoying the bright prospect before him, and then he went down to his father’s office, where he impatiently awaited the arrival of the farmer. The hours seemed lengthened into weeks; and, so impatient was Tom, that he could neither sit still, nor stand still, even for a moment. He would walk once or twice across the office, then run out into the street and closely scrutinize every wagon within the range of his vision, all the while saying to himself: “Now, I wonder what keeps that man? He ought to have been here an hour ago!” Half-past ten came at length, and with it arrived the farmer, perched upon his heavily-loaded wagon, his face all wrinkled up with smiles, as if he felt well satisfied with the world and every body in it, himself in particular. Tom did not wonder that he was always laughing; when he owned a farm, and four fine horses, he would laugh too.
The farmer stopped his team in front of the office, and, as he sprang down from his wagon, he was met by Mr. Newcombe, who, leading him off on one side, held a long and earnest conversation with him, while Tom stood by almost bursting with impatience. At length the farmer approached him, and, as Tom grasped his huge hand, he almost shouted—
“Mr. Hayes, I am going home with you!”
“Human natur’! Be you, though?” exclaimed the farmer. “I’m glad to hear you say so.”
“But, first,” continued Tom, “I want to ask you one question. Must I saw wood?”
“O, no,” answered Mr. Hayes, laughing, “I’ve got a strappin’ big boy to do all that ar’ kind of work.”
“That’s all right!” said Tom, immensely relieved. “That’s one point settled. Now, I shall charge you eight dollars a month! That’s what I received when I was a sailor, and I can’t work for a cent less. Will you pay it?”
“That’s a big price for a chap as don’t know nothin’ ’bout farmin’,” said Mr. Hayes. “But we won’t quarrel ’bout a few dollars. It’s a bargain.”
“Then I’ll go with you!” said Tom, delighted that his demands had been so readily complied with. “I knew I’d suit you. Won’t I have a jolly time milking cows and driving horses!”
“Sartin!” said the farmer, who seemed as highly elated as Tom himself.
“Now, then,” said Mr. Newcombe, who had stood by listening to this conversation, “go home and bid your mother good-by. By that time Mr. Hayes will have his wagon unloaded.”
Tom at once started for home at the top of his speed; and so eager was he to return to the farmer as soon as possible, that he took leave of his mother in a very hurried and unceremonious manner. Catching up his valise, he ran back to the office, where he arrived just as Mr. Hayes was returning from the store-house with his empty wagon.
“Back again so soon,” said he, with one of his good-natured smiles. “What a mighty good boy you’d be to run errands!”
Tom doubted this; but being too much out of breath to reply, he put his valise into the wagon, and accompanied the farmer into the office. As soon as Mr. Newcombe had paid him for the fifty bushels of potatoes he had just brought in, he was ready to start.
“Good-by, father!” said Tom. “I’m off, now. I’ll know something about farming when I come back!”
“That’s true as natur’,” said Mr. Hayes. “I’ll take good care on him, an’ I’ll l’arn him to raise taters as good as ’em I just sold you.”
The farmer climbed into his wagon, gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and Tom was whirled off toward his new home.
The boy’s cup of happiness was now full to the brim. After a life of disappointments, the wheel of fortune had at last made a revolution in his favor. That something which he had waited for so long, had finally “turned up,” and from that time forward he would find no obstacles in his way—there would be nothing to trouble him. He felt as if he were about entering upon a new existence; and he regarded his former life as utterly wasted. He forgot the sorrow and vexation that had been occasioned by his recent failure; and when he remembered that he had been weak enough to shed tears when he discovered that his game rooster was a humbug, he could not help feeling ashamed of himself.
In order to give Mr. Hayes an idea of the object he had in view, Tom told him the story of the stock raiser in Iowa, which made the farmer open his eyes wide with astonishment.
“How much would so much stock sell for?” he asked.
Tom settled back in his seat, put on a very thoughtful look, and answered—
“Two thousand head of cattle at—we’ll say fifty dollars each, for that is about the price paid now in Southern markets—would amount to one hundred thousand dollars; and twenty-five hundred sheep, at two dollars a head, would bring just five thousand dollars, making, in all, one hundred and five thousand dollars.”
“Human natur’!” exclaimed the farmer, looking at Tom, in amazement. “You’re a lightnin’ chap on figures, that’s sartin. I couldn’t reckon up so much in my head if I should try a month. If my boys could do that, I’d feel ’nation proud of ’em. But, Tommy, it aint every farmer or stock raiser that can make so much money.”
“O, there’s nothing in the world to prevent it,” said Tom, knowingly. “Wait until I have been with you long enough to know something about this business, and I’ll show you how to manage a farm.”
“I never see a chap so anxious and willin’ to learn that didn’t make a great man!” said the farmer, who little dreamed that Tom was utterly lacking in some very necessary qualities. “You’re bound to get through the world all right. Now, if you’ll l’arn my boys to reckon figures in their heads as fast as you did a minute ago, I’ll do the right thing by you. Will you do it?”
This question made Tom a little uneasy. He never went into the company of strangers that he did not endeavor to impress them with the idea that he was a very smart boy. He had already made a most favorable beginning with the farmer, who regarded him as a “lightning calculator;” and, if he had stopped at that, without asking him to put his knowledge to a practical use, he would have been satisfied. But Mr. Hayes had hinted that he would like to have him instruct his boys, and Tom suddenly found himself in a predicament from which he could then discover no way of extricating himself without injuring his reputation.
“Well, Tommy,” said the farmer, at length, “we won’t say nothing more about it just now. I know you could l’arn my boys an amazin’ heap if you would only try, but I s’pose you feel a leetle funny ’bout bein’ called on to play school-master. Howsomever, we’ll wait till we get home, an’ you’re fairly settled in your new quarters. You mustn’t look on my boys as strangers, ’cause they aint. They have often heered me speak of you; so you can pitch in an’ be as friendly as you please. They’ll be glad to see you, an’ when you come to get acquainted with ’em, I know you’ll like ’em. You’ll find that things is divided at my house, just as they had oughter be. Sally Ann—that’s my old woman—she is boss of the kitchen, an’ I’m boss of the barn-yard. She’s got nothing to say ’bout the way I take care on my hosses an’ cows, an’ I don’t bother my head ’bout what goes on in the house, or grumble ’bout the way the butter an’ cheese is made. You see, when things is divided that way, there aint no quarrelin an’ fightin’. Every thing goes along smooth an’ easy—just like clock-work. Now, Tommy, you drive. You needn’t think we’re going to work you hard just now,” he continued, as Tom took the reins and whip from his hand, “’cause it aint to be thought on. You’re fresh from the village, where you never had no hard work to do; so we’ll give you something easy till you kinder get used to it.”
The more Tom talked with Mr. Hayes, the more delighted he became with his prospects. He thought that if he could only conjure up some plan by which he might be able to avoid teaching the farmer’s boys, he would have nothing to trouble him. Especially was he pleased to learn that he was not expected to do any hard work. Besides this, he was already enjoying the “sensation” which he hoped to make in the farmer’s family, and it was for this reason that he had packed his valise with his best clothes. According to his idea, his broadcloth jacket would go a long way toward establishing his claim to respect, and would have the effect of convincing the country boys that a village youth was something extraordinary.
After a three hours’ ride, during which the farmer gave his new hand a long lecture on the manner in which corn and potatoes ought to be planted and cultivated in order to produce large crops; every word of which, it is needless to say, was Greek to Tom. He pointed to a house in the distance, saying: “Now, we’re comin’ to our home. All this land you see here on this side of the road belongs to me. I’ve got two hundred acres of just as good ground as ever laid out of doors.”
As the farmer spoke he took the reins from Tom’s hand, cracked his whip, and, in a few moments, drove through a gate, which was opened by a barefooted, dirty little urchin, who gazed at Tom with every expression of wonder and curiosity. If he was a fair specimen of the farmer’s boys, Tom did not think that he should be very well pleased with them. Mr. Hayes kept on, and, instead of driving to the barn, turned up toward the house, and stopped his team in front of the door. Tom was astonished at the sight that was presented to his gaze. The door-way was crowded with boys of all ages and sizes, the oldest apparently about nineteen years of age, and the youngest about three. They were all hatless and shoeless; the larger ones had their sleeves rolled up above their elbows, revealing arms as brown as their faces, while the younger ones carried in their hands huge slices of bread and butter. Behind them, looking over their shoulders, stood their mother, evidently as much interested in the new-comer as her children. She was a tall, muscular woman, with sharp nose, long chin, and small, piercing eyes; and as Tom looked at her, he began to doubt the truth of the farmer’s statement—that her authority was bounded by the four walls of the kitchen. He thought it very probable that he should discover that her power was exercised over every one on the farm. Tom took all this in at a glance, for the moment the wagon stopped the farmer sprang out, exclaiming:
“Now, then, we’re to home. Sally Ann, this is our new hand—Tommy Newcombe. Get out of the way, boys; where are your manners, that you stand gapin’ at a feller that way? Let us come in.”
The woman merely nodded to Tom, and after wiping off a chair with her apron, requested him to “set down.”
“Now, then,” exclaimed the farmer, as the boys crowded up around Tom, and stared at him as if they meant to look him out of countenance; “here’s my youngsters—seven on ’em; aint they a fine-lookin’ lot of fellers? This one,” he continued, pointing to the oldest of the group, a tall, gaunt, stupid-looking boy, “he’s Roger Williams—Roger Williams Hayes; you’ve heered of him, hain’t you? Shake hands with him, Tommy, and be friends.”
Tom arose to his feet and extended his hand, which was accepted by Roger Williams, whose thoughts seemed to be entirely occupied with Tom’s clothes. After looking at his coat for a moment, he examined it with his fingers, and asked, in a slow, drawling voice:
“What’s sich a coat as that ar’ wuth, Tommy?”
“Roger Williams!” shouted the mother; “where’s your manners? Set down to onct.”
The boy evidently feared to disobey, for he retreated to a chair in the corner, where he sat, lost in admiration of Tom’s jacket and well-blacked boots.
“You’ve heard of Roger Williams, haint you?” continued the farmer; “of course you have. I must get you to tell my boys all about him some time, ’cause you can do it better’n I can. When I was a youngster I heered that he was a good man, an’ that he was kicked out of the country ’cause he didn’t like the Britishers. I don’t like ’em nuther, an’ that’s why I call my boy Roger Williams. This one,” he added, pointing to another of the group, “he’s George Washington Hayes. Of course, you know all ’bout the gen’ral he’s named after. If he only lives to be as great a man as he was, I shall be satisfied. This one is John Warren, named after the gen’ral that was killed at the battle of Bunker Hill. My grandfather was in that fight, an’ helped whip the Britishers; that’s why I call him John Warren. This boy is Franklin Pierce, a good chap to work, and the best l’arnt in the whole family.”
Franklin Pierce was about Tom’s age, barefooted and dirty like his brothers; and, as his father pulled him in front of the village boy, he slowly surveyed him from head to foot, exclaiming: “I’ll bet a five cent piece that I can throw you down, back hold or square hold—fair tussle.”
“I don’t fight,” replied Tom, drawing a little closer to Mr. Hayes for protection.
“Now, sonny, don’t; that’s a good little feller,” said the farmer, coaxingly.
But the boy evidently prided himself upon his muscle as well as upon his learning; for he stepped forward, as if to seize Tom, when he was suddenly checked by the shrill voice of his mother.
“Franklin Pierce!” she shouted; “I’ll take the wagon whip to you, sure and sartin, if you don’t pay more attention to your manners.”
The boy instantly ceased his hostile demonstrations, and retreated to the door, where he stood in readiness to seek safety in flight, should his mother attempt to put her threat into execution.
“Now, this one,” continued the farmer, as if nothing had happened, “he’s Winfield Scott; an’ there’s Zachary Taylor—both on ’em named after the two gen’rals that walloped the Mexikins. An’ that little feller there,” pointing to a child the mother held in her arms, “he’s Thomas Jefferson. I heered that he was the man that writ the Declaration of Independence, an’ started the Fourth of July; so I thought, as he was a great man, I had oughter name one of my boys after him. My youngsters have all got good names; an’ if they only do as well in the world as them they are named after, I shall be satisfied.”
The farmer introduced his boys, one after the other, so rapidly that it bewildered Tom, who shook each of them by the hand as they were presented, scarcely comprehending what he was about. The namesakes of the illustrious heroes of the Mexican war had their hands full of bread and butter; and, when they were brought forward by the proud father, Tom just touched their greasy hands with the tips of his fingers.
After the boys had all been introduced, George Washington and John Warren were sent out to take care of the horses, while the others again crowded up around Tom, as if they looked upon him as an object of great curiosity—all except Franklin Pierce, who still stood in the door, now and then shaking his head threateningly, as if challenging the village youth to come out and measure strength with him.
As the farmer had predicted, the boys proved to be very friendly—in fact, they were altogether too friendly; for Winfield Scott, after placing his bread and butter carefully upon the floor, made several desperate attempts to climb upon Tom’s knee—a proceeding which the latter successfully resisted by pushing back his chair.
Had Tom been left alone in the room for a few moments, he would have cried with vexation. He was no longer as confident of success as he had been but a short time before; for he found his new home very different from what his imagination had pictured it. He even thought seriously of returning to the village at once, and of giving up all hopes of ever becoming a farmer. He did not like to have so many children, with greasy hands, about him; for he was very neat in regard to his dress, and the smallest particle of dust upon his boots or clothes would set him on nettles. He was not at all pleased with the way Franklin Pierce eyed him; for, if he should happen to catch him away from the house, he might insist on making good his wager, that he could throw Tom down. Above all, he did not like the looks of the “boss of the kitchen.” He already began to fear her, for he had seen enough to satisfy him that she was not only mistress of the house, but of the entire farm also; and, if he should happen to incur her displeasure it was probable that she would not hesitate to threaten even him with the wagon whip. Beyond a doubt, Tom had again placed himself in a very unpleasant situation.