ZT/ie  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
111 
Labor  Without  Reward 
By  E.  E.  De  Graff 
Part  I. 
Martha  Jocelyn  was  doing  the  Mon¬ 
day's  washing.  It  was  large,  and  it 
was  heavy.  Tt  always  is  on  a  farm.  Slip 
did  i In-  weekly  washing  for  her  husband 
and  herself,  her  two  sons,  the  hired  help, 
and  the  husband’s  mother,  a  helpless  in¬ 
valid.  who  had  been  30  years  in  that 
condition.  The  dishes  on  the  breakfast 
table  still  stood,  unwashed,  drawing  the 
flies.  Martha  had  not  had  time  to  clear 
them  away,  for  she  was  hurrying  to  get 
out  the  white  clothes,  so  they  could  dry 
in  time  to  get  the  use  of  the  line  for 
the  colored  ones.  Oh,  those  colored  ones! 
How  she  dreaded  the  heavy  overalls,  stiff 
with  spattered  milk,  and  the  heavy  socks, 
stiff  with  the  earth  that  would  sift  in 
while  the  men  were  plowing!  And  the 
water  had  to  be  carried  quite  a  distance, 
and  up  two  steps.  At  leugth  Martha  got 
the  white  clothes  on  the  line,  and  began 
to  clear  the  table.  Every  inch  of  space 
was  cluttered  up — no  clear  space  to  set 
the  dishes.  But  she  pushed  things  enough 
aside  in  the  crowded  sink  to  set  the  dish- 
pan.  and  piled  the  dishes  in  it,  covering 
them  with  water  to  soak,  while  she 
started  a  pie  for  dinner.  For  “men 
folks”  on  a  farm  work  hard,  and  must 
be  promptly  fed. 
Martha  looked  out  of  the  window  at 
John,  cultivating  the  rows  of  young  corn 
with  his  riding  cultivator — a  two-row 
cultivator — a  new  acquisition,  as  was 
the  gang  plow,  bought  that  Spring.  A 
hundred  dollars  in  those  two  items  for 
greater  efficiency  in  farming.  She  start¬ 
ed  to  heave  a  sigh,  but  a  voice  calling 
“Martha!  Martha!”  Interrupted  her. 
now  tired,  oh  how  tired,  she  had 
grown  during  the  30  years,  of  that,  in¬ 
sistent  call !  Not  less  than  15  or  20 
times  a  day,  seven  days  in  the  week, 
four  weeks  in  the  month,  12  months  .in 
the  year — 30  years !  She  had  come  to 
the  farm,  a  bride  of  20,  and  now  she 
was  50 — one  hundred  and  ninety-two 
thousand  times  had  that  strident  call 
fallen  on  tortured  ear  drums. 
Her  mother-in-law  was  deaf,  so  every 
call  necessitated  a  trip  through  two 
rooms,  to  where  she  was.  It  seemed  to 
her,  ns  she  looked  back  on  tbe  dreary 
stretch  of  monotonous  years,  that  she  hail 
never  put  her  hands  into  the  bread 
dough,  or  started  to  roll  out  a  pie  crust, 
that  that  inevitable  call  had  not  inter¬ 
rupted  her.  It  came  when  she  was  well 
and  happy,  when  she  was  sick  and  ner¬ 
vous.  when  she  was  depressed,  and  when 
she  was  hopeful — when  the  birds  sang, 
the  flowers  bloomed,  and  she  had  tempor¬ 
arily  forgotten  drudgery  in  the  garden  — 
“Martha !” — there  it  was  again,  and  she 
was  jerked  back  to  tbe  same  old  grind. 
It  had  gotten  so  upon  her  nerves,  that, 
she  fairly  jumped  of  late,  when  she 
heard  it. 
She  went  in,  patient  as  always,  aud 
attended  to  the  wants  of  the  invalid. 
When  she  came  back,  she  finished  mak¬ 
ing  her  pastry,  and  hurriedly  washed  the 
dishes  and  set  the  table,  after  which,  she 
prepared  the  dinner  conscious  all  the 
time  of  a  disordered  sitting-room,  and 
several  unmade  beds,  as  well  as  those 
awful  colored  clothes,  soaking  in  the  tub. 
At  noon,  the  men  trooped  in,  hearty 
and  hungry,  and  full  of  jokes.  Her  hus¬ 
band's  morning  toil  had  consisted  of 
draw-jug  the  milk  two  miles  to  the  cream¬ 
ery.  and  “talking  over”  crop  prospects 
with  neighboring  farmers,  after  which, 
he  had  driven  leisurely  back,  under  the 
shade  of  the  overhanging  trees,  with  the 
birds  pouring  out  their  happy  morning 
songs — and  then  he  “puttered  around” 
overseeing  the  men.  He  was  GO,  and  did 
not  do  hard  work  any  more. 
Of  the  two  “hired  men,”  one  had  ridden 
on  the  cultivator  since  seven,  and  the 
other  had  been  spraying  the  potatoes  on 
a  horse-drawn  sprayer.  Both  had  be¬ 
gun  a  certain  job.  which  they  had  con¬ 
tinued  without  interruption  until  noon. 
They  came  in  to  a  hot  meal,  after 
which,  they  would  rest  for  nearly  an 
hour.  Martha  had  been  up  at  four,  to 
get  a  good  start  with  her  washing.  She 
had  started  the  washing  and  waited  on 
Grandma — had  prepared  breakfast  and 
waited  on  Grandma — bad  hung  out  the 
white  clothes  and  waited  on  Grandma — 
had  fed  the  chickens*  and  brought  in 
more  water  and  waited  on  Grandma — 
had  brought  in  wood,  and  kept  replenish¬ 
ing  the  fire  (the  wood  was  brought  in 
from  the  wood  shed  down  a  long  steep 
step)  and  had  waited  on  Grandma.  She 
did  not  sit  down  with 'her  husband  and 
the  men — she  must  carry  Grandma’s 
dinner  in  to  her.  Thus  the  day  wore 
on. 
It  was  four  o’clock  before  the  dinner 
dishes  were  done,  the  clothes  all  out.  and 
tubs  emptied  and  put  away,  the  sitting 
room  straightened,  the  beds  made,  and  she 
had  a  chance  to  sit  a  few  minutes  before 
beginning  the  supper.  Since  four  o’clock 
that  morning  she  had  not  been  seated,  ex¬ 
cept  10  minutes  at  the  dinner  table. 
As  she  drew  the  rocking  chair  near  the 
window,  and  picked  up  the.  farm  paper, 
she  jumped  nervously — “Martha  !  Come 
quick  !” 
She  went  in  and  attended  to  Grandma, 
and  again  took  up  the  paper. 
Her  eye  fell  on  the  following  words : 
“Labor  without  reward  is  tlie  meanest 
and  most  irksome  thing  on  earth.” 
Twelve  words  only !  Yet  those  twelve 
words,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  illumed 
the  whole  of  her  dreary  past,  aud  showed 
her  why  it  was  dreary.  No  wonder  the 
hired  men  sat  down  to  their  meals  with 
jokes — sometimes  a  little  rough,  but 
good-natured.  They  had  their  hoard  and 
washing  free,  anti  the  money  coming  at 
the  end  of  the  month  was  theirs — theirs 
to  see  and  handle,  to  stuff  into  their 
pockets,  or  to  send  away  to  the  bank. 
When  had  she  had  a  handful  of  green¬ 
backs  of  her  very  own?  Not  since  she 
had  taught  school  as  a  girl  and  saved 
enough  to  buy  a  piano,  which  she  never 
had  time  to  play  on. 
.She  took  up  the  paper  again.  “When 
(lie  reward  comes,  you  are  quite  ready 
to  consider  more  labor.  When  there  is 
no  reward,  life  becomes  one  dull  round 
of  hoeing,  with  nothing  to  put  the  balm 
of  imagination  on  the  blister." 
Suddenly  the  sense  of  injustice  which 
had  been — although  pent-up — subcon¬ 
sciously  rankling  for  years,  burst  forth 
ir  one  bitter  cry  : 
“(),  T  have  wasted  my  life,  because  I 
was  a  fool !  A  fool !’’  And  she  found  un¬ 
accustomed  tears  trickling  down  her 
cheeks.  She  seldom  had  time  to  indulge 
in  tears. 
“Martha !  Martha  !’’ 
Her  reverie  interrupted  as  usual,  she 
went  again  to  Grandma.  But  the  woman 
who  waited  on  Grandma  this  time,  was 
a  different  one  from  her  who  had  at¬ 
tended  patiently,  one  hundred  and  ninety- 
two  thousand  times  to  her  wants. 
*  *  *  #  *  *  * 
Three  weeks  from  that  day.  Farmer 
Jocelyn  received  the  following  letter, 
postmarked  Seattle,  Washington.  It  was 
from  Martha’s  sister,  a  woman  of  cul¬ 
ture  and  means. 
“Dear  John :  Martha  is  under  the  doc¬ 
tor’s  care.  She  seems  to  be  suffering 
from  a  nervous  breakdown.  The  doctor 
says  her  condition  is  serious,  but  he  be¬ 
lieves  a  year’s  rest  will  put  her  on  her 
feet.” 
More  followed,  but  Farmer  Jocelyn 
had  had  enough,  and  more  than  enough. 
Since  Martha  had  left,  several  weeks 
before,  for  Seattle,  on  a  ticket  sent  by 
her  sister,  it  had  seemed  as  if  pande¬ 
monium  had  broken  loose  in  the  house, 
always  before  so  quiet  and  well-ordered. 
The  only  help  he  could  obtain,  was  a 
big,  fat,  indolent  woman,  who  insisted 
on  bvingii’j  with  her  her  two  canaries, 
and  a  mangy  fox  torrior.  The  fox  ter- 
rior  chased  the  chickens,  and  the  woman 
spent  much  of  her  time  “shooing”  the 
cats  out  of  the  house  fearing  for  her 
canaries.  Grandma  complained  bitterly 
that  Mrs.  Schmitt  neglected  her  shame¬ 
fully  when  no  one  was  present,  and  was 
sickeningly  sweet  and  officious  when  any 
of  the  neighbors  came  in. 
Meals  were  never  on  time,  and  were 
slapped  on  the  table  “any  old  way.” 
\\  ashing  she  would  not  do,  so  a  woman 
came  once  a  week,  bringing  three  small 
children  with  her,  for  the  day.  The 
children  made  havoc  with  the  little 
chickens,  teased  the  cats  aud  threw 
stones  at  the  calves  and  colts. 
(Concluded  next  week) 
alone 
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