Part 11 (2/2)

”You're very considerate, Samuel; but I don't think it's healthy to drink between meals.”

”Supposin' you're thirsty,” suggested Sam, disappointed.

”It's only fancy. You don't need drink railly. You only think you do,”

said the deacon, and he made some further remarks on the subject to which Sam listened discontentedly. He began to think his situation a very hard one.

”It's work--work all the time,” he said to himself. ”What's the good of workin' yourself to death? When I'm a man I'll work only when I want to.”

Sam did not consider that there might be some difficulty in earning a living unless he were willing to work for it. The present discomfort was all he thought of.

At last, much to Sam's joy, the deacon gave the signal to return to the house.

”If you hadn't been sick, we'd have got through more,” he said; ”but to-morrow we must make up for lost time.”

”I hope it'll rain to-morrow,” thought Sam. ”We can't work in the rain.”

At supper the wormwood seemed to give him additional appet.i.te.

”I'm afraid you'll make yourself sick again, Samuel,” said the deacon.

”There aint no danger,” said Sam, looking alarmed at the suggestion.

”I feel all right now.”

”The wormwood did you good,” said Mrs. Hopkins, drily.

”I wonder if she means anything,” thought Sam

CHAPTER VIII.

SAM'S TEMPTATION.

A month pa.s.sed, a month which it is safe to say was neither satisfactory to Sam nor his employer. The deacon discovered that the boy needed constant watching. When he was left to himself, he was sure to s.h.i.+rk his work, and indulge his natural love of living at ease. His appet.i.te showed no signs of decrease, and the deacon was led to remark that ”Samuel had the stiddyest appet.i.te of any boy he ever knew. He never seemed to know when he had eaten enough.”

As for Mrs. Hopkins, Sam failed to produce a favorable impression upon her. He was by no means her ideal of a boy, though it must be added that this ideal was so high that few living boys could expect to attain it. He must have an old head on young shoulders, and in fact be an angel in all respects except the wings. On these Mrs. Hopkins probably would not insist. Being only a boy, and considerably lazier and more mischievous than the average, there was not much prospect of Sam's satisfying her requirements.

”You'd better send him to the poorhouse, deacon.” she said more than once. ”He's the most s.h.i.+f'less boy I ever see, and it's awful the amount he eats.”

”I guess I'll try him a leetle longer,” said the deacon. ”He aint had no sort of bringin' up, you know.”

So at the end of four weeks Sam still continued a member of the deacon's household.

As for Sam, things were not wholly satisfactory to him. In spite of all his adroit evasions of duty, he found himself obliged to work more than he found agreeable. He didn't see the fun of trudging after the deacon up and down the fields in the warm summer days. Even his meals did not yield unmingled satisfaction, as he had learned from experience that Mrs. Hopkins did not approve of giving him a second slice of pie, and in other cases interfered to check the complete gratification of his appet.i.te, alleging that it wasn't good for boys to eat too much.

Sam took a different view of the matter, and felt that if he was willing to take the consequences, he ought to be allowed to eat as much as he pleased. He was not troubled with the catechism any more.

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