NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



4G3 



"I don't know, but I can't see very well with- 

 out my glasses." 



'Twas easy to see, however, that that hasty 

 glance had ruflled the smooth current of his 

 thoughts, for he at once knew that withes needed 

 no roots. William took out the horse, wheeled 

 the wagon into the shed, and entering the long 

 kitchen, seated himself at the table. The mother 

 with her quick perception failed not to understand 

 why that shadow rested upon the father's brow. 

 Hardly a word was spoken — Mr. G. upon leaving 

 the table took up a newspaper, a thing which he 

 rarely had time to do; it was evident to Billy, how- 

 ever, that he was not reading very intently, for 

 the paper was upside down. When William left 

 the house he went directly for the spade and hoe, 

 and walking deliberately down the hill side, south 

 of the house, commenced making holes twelve feet 

 apart, where he had helped his father plow the 

 day before. He had thus been engaged half an 

 hour,when rising to wipe the heavy drops of mois- 

 ture from his forehead, he saw his father looking 

 earnestly at him. 



" What are you doing, William'?" 



"I am fixing places to set out trees ?" 



"What kind of trees?" 



"Peach and pear trees, sir." 



"Where did you get them ?" 



"I bought them at a tree auction to-day." 



"You did ! Well, you can't set them here, sir." 



"I can't — what's the reason 1" 



"There are reasons enough, though I'm under 

 no obligation to tell children ; yet I won't be par- 

 ticular this time. In the first place, I wish you 

 to understand once for all, that you take one step 

 too far when you buy trees without leave or li- 

 cense, and more than that proceed deliberately to 

 put them on my best corn land. And now you 

 can do what you please with the trees. You have 

 taken far too much liberty. You shall never set 

 them on my land." 



Without one word, William shouldered his 

 spade and walked to the house. His mother, who 

 stood at the corner window, although she had 

 heard no word spoken, understood the whole af- 

 fair perfectly. She saw William shoulder the 

 spade, and then her heart beat heavily, but quick- 

 ly raising the corner of her apron, she wiped away 

 the tears which were fast falling, and met her son 

 with a smile. 



"Well, mother, I've done," said he as he sunk 

 down on the old kitchen chair, "I've done tryin 

 to be any thing here. He wont let me be any 

 body!" 



"My child, don't speak so disrespectfully of your 

 father. He, Billy, that sounds dreadfully ; never 

 say that again, my son." 



"I can't help it, mother, I shan't stay here. 

 You know what I told you last week, mother, and 

 to-day I have had something come across my feel 

 ings, harder to bear than all. When I was com- 

 ing from the village, I met a man with a double 

 wagon, and a beautiful larch tree in it. I was 

 hoping to buy it, so I asked him where he got it, 

 'Squire Gove gave it to me,' he replied. 0, 

 mother, wasn't that too much ? I asked him who 

 took it up, and he said his Irishman, that he called 

 Mike. 1 could- have torn that tree in splinters, 

 mother. I rode round by the grove, and sure 

 enough 'twas gone, and the mossy seat all tram- 

 pled and torn. Do you think after that I would 



ask him to let me set out the trees 1 No, mother, 

 if father can do without me, I can do without him. 

 T shall go away as soon as you can get my things 

 ready. Of course the folks will say — 'What an 

 ungrateful boy to leave his father alone,' but why 

 can't father try to please me as well as others — as 

 well as strangers ? There are the Norton boys — if 

 father had done one-quarter for me that their fath- 

 er has done for them, I should be very, very, 

 happy. O, mother, don't feel so bad — you must 

 not blame me. I know you are a real Christian, 

 mother, but I an't like you — you overlook, and 

 forgive everything. I am some like father; I wish 

 I was just like you." 



William expected his mother would entreat him 

 to stay at home, but no, not one word did she say 

 in favor of it. She knew these were little things 

 to cause the boy to leave the home of his youth 

 for a home among strangers, but she knew also 

 that the joys and griefs at home are almost all 

 made up of little, very little things. 



We will hasten over the particulars of William's 

 leaving home, and only say that his father's part- 

 ing words were, "I can do without you as long as 

 you can without me, William." In four weeks 

 from this leave-taking, William was a sort of wai- 

 ter on board a Mississippi steamboat. 



Mr. Gove hired an extra hand ; — many people 

 shook their heads meaningly, and said it was a 

 pity, a great pity, but nothing new or strange, 

 for an only child to be spoiled by indulgence ; but 

 there, he was a pretty, bright boy, and they sup- 

 posed it came hard to punish him, but, "Spare 

 the rod and spoil the child," was scripture. 



The summer was passed, the golden grain was 

 garnered, and the rich fruits secured, when Mr. 

 Gove, who had grown somewhat moody of late, 

 called Mike to the back door, and giving him some 

 directions, took his hat, and passing out the 

 other door, joined him. 



"Let me see, you have the spade and hoe. 

 Well, now, come down with me to the side of the 

 hill where the early corn was planted, and do you 

 remember where the holes were, that William 

 made last spring ?" 



"And sure 'tis not me that's afthur forgatting 

 sich things, for didn't I put a flat stone by every 

 hite of 'urn ; and didn't I in hoeing and harvest 

 keep them from being shoved a bit 1 For do you 

 mind, sir, I set a dale by the boy — he wouldn't 

 hurta baste, sir, and his heart is as big as a whale." 



"Well, well, that's enough, Mike. Now you 

 bring all the trees you buried in the swamp, and 

 set them out just as you did Norton's, and do you 

 know which were the trees designed for the holes 

 William had opened?" 



"And faith I mind it well, for didn't I tie a string 

 round 'um, and lay 'umjesso." 



"Well, set them right, and when you have done 

 them, call me from the house." 



Mr. G. took the arm-chair, and moving it to the 

 bed-room window, seemed lost in thought. Sure- 

 ly, he must be sick, for he never was known to 

 sit down of a week-day except at meal times, 



Two hours passed and Mike was passing the 

 window, when he was thus accosted by Mr. G.; 

 "Have you done, Mike '!" 



"Sure, sir, a plasant job to me, I was lazy to 

 quat it." 



"Now take your spade and prepare a place by 

 this window, where you see I've placed the stick. 



