Part 24 (1/2)
Carrying this, Chester went to the field with gloves on, and his cravat looped loosely about his neck.
Hepsy's tender eyes beheld the young man as he went through the orchard.
How handsome he looked, in his tow trousers, straw hat and snowy s.h.i.+rt-sleeves! To her mind, nothing became him so well as his farmer's rig; and as he disappeared over the hill, she clasped her hands with intense emotion, and wept.
”I'm tired just about to death!” said Sam, pretending that he could with difficulty get the crank around. ”Them men bore on all they could, only to make it hard for me. But Ches was worse than either on 'em.”
”Pshaw! turn away!”
”And then Ches was going to lick me.”
”No, he was not. Chester would not hurt you,” said Mr. Royden. ”Come, come! turn faster.”
”I can't!” groaned Sam. ”But he _was_ going to; that's what he cut this switch for.”
”Well, I shall have to use it in his place, if you don't stop talking, and work better,” replied Mr. Royden, with good-natured impatience.
”He said 'twas 'cause I got flung from the horse,” muttered Sam. ”You won't let him lick me for that, will you?”
”No; not if you behave yourself,” answered Mr. Royden. ”What makes you so lazy? I shall not get this scythe ground to-day.”
It seemed such hard work for the boy to turn the grindstone, that the kind-hearted farmer, taking pity on him, brought the tool to an edge as soon as possible, and let him go.
”Now, you must be a good boy, and help the women,” said he, driving the wedge which married the scythe to the snath.
”Help the women!” repeated Sam, with an expression of disgust. ”I'd rather go and spread hay.”
”But your foot is lame.”
”Well, I can't pound clothes half so well as I can spread hay. I have to walk around the barrel----”
”No more of your nonsense!” said Mr. Royden. ”Hepsy!” he cried, seeing his niece in the doorway of the shed, ”you can have Samuel to help you now.”
There was no escape for the unhappy youth. He saw Mr. Royden depart towards the meadow with dismay. He was left in the hands of one who knew no mercy. Mrs. Royden was driving business with furious energy. She had commands for all, and kind words for no one. It was interesting to see her seize upon Sam. His complaints of being ”tired to death” were like chaff sown upon the wind. The tempest of her temper scattered them; inexorable fate controlled the hour; and Sam hopped from the grindstone to the ”pounding-barrel” with despair and discontent in his soul.
He worked pretty well, however, until Mrs. Royden was called to see to the children, who were about starting for school. The moment she was out of sight, he began to swing lazily upon the ”pounder,” and make fun of Sarah, at work over the wash-tub close by.
”You'll get your pay for this,” said the young lady, rubbing away, industriously. ”Mother will be back in a minute.”
”S'posin' Mr. Kerchey should pop in, jest now!” retorted Sam, grinning.
”I'd like to have him ketch you over the wash-tub!”
”I would not care if he did; I am not ashamed of it,” replied Sarah.
”I'd rather do anything than wash clothes; but when I am about it, I'm not lazy.”
She looked beautiful, with her rosy cheeks, brown hair, and fair, full brow, shaded by the plain hood thrown loosely upon her head; her white arms bare, and her hands all covered with the thick, snowy foam of the suds. Sam made some saucy rejoinder, and, laughing, she stepped up to him quickly, with a garment dripping and soapy from the tub. Before he was aware of her design, she had covered his face with it, rubbing vigorously up and down and to and fro, with pleasant malice.
Sam struggled, gasped, and screamed; he tumbled down, and, clawing the disagreeable application from his face, spit like a cat; while Sarah stood over him laughing, and threatening him with another similar experiment.
”There!” exclaimed Sam, waxing angry, ”I won't work now, to pay for it!
And, if you do that again, I'll----”