1376 
} HOPE FARM NOTES 
A Day of Responsibilities 
Part I. 
To the New England man Thanksgiv¬ 
ing seems the most beautiful holiday of 
the year. The Mayflower people were 
not strong at Christmas celebrations. I 
take it they regarded Santa ('Ians as a 
sort of pagan, and the gifts and good 
cheer as a relic of pagan worship. I 
have been told that the original Christ¬ 
mas tree was decorated with the heads 
of “euemies” killed in battle! From this 
display has developed the array of candles, 
tinsel and bright trinkets which now dec¬ 
orate the tree. The Pilgrims “invented” 
or originated Thanksgiving, and the copy¬ 
right or patent has become a part of every 
drop of New England blood. As a man 
gets along in years he begins to ask him¬ 
self what he has really done that should 
make him thankful. I am sure that right 
now there are thousands of men and 
women sitting before open lires, as I am, 
or in subdued light, or on lonely roads or 
crowded streets, trying to answer a ques¬ 
tion which the restless Yankee blood is 
ever presenting to the brain : What wan 
the most satisfactory <I<iy / ever spent? 
Tonight, just before "Thanksgiving, men 
are searching through the records of mem¬ 
ory for that self-satisfying day. There is 
the day when Mary surrendered and said 
“Yes!'' Then that day when the baby 
was born. That day when you finally 
paid for the farm, or had your pay raised. 
Wlliat about election night, when you 
found yourself elected? There are many 
of these thoughtful days standing out like 
stars along the road ; but which one seems 
most satisfying tonight? 
* * * * * 
I have had many such days to be thank¬ 
ful for. When mother or her daughter 
looks in at the door, or When little Rose 
goes dancing by, or the other children 
tumble about: in some noisy game I think 
I am ready to decide, but finally I will 
settle upon my first real responsibility— 
the day 1 was left, in charge of the farm ! 
It was more than 50 years ago. I was a 
chunky, little boy on a small farm down 
in that part of Massachusetts where Cape 
Cod fastens itself with a firm grip upon 
the mainland. I have sometimes felt that 
the closeness of this grip will account for 
the financial system of some of those old- 
timers. Uncle Daniel and Aunt Mary 
were old people, and I was the “boy.” 
with all that meant on a small farm 50 
years ago. The old folks had to go to 
Boston to collect some money that was 
due them, and they selected the day before 
Thanksgiving for the journey. After 
much discussion they decided to leave me 
alone in charge of the place. 
“This is a very important event in your 
life.” said Uncle Daniel. “It’s a great 
responsibility, and we have decided to 
give you a trial.” 
Aunt Miary evidently had her doubts 
about my qualities as family watch dog. 
for she carried her silver spoons and light 
valuable along with her, while Uncle 
Daniel put the bulky silver in a box and 
lowered it down into the well, where it 
hung above the water. They wrote out 
full instructions for me and then under 
Uncle Daniel's eye I harnessed old Hero, 
the red horse, and we drove to the station. 
I felt, the heavy weight of responsibility 
as I drove back to the lonely little farm. 
I doubt if any great, banker, facing a 
panic ever felt the weight of care as I 
did as I drove into the old barn. It was 
one of those mean, gray, melancholy days 
which Eowell should have described to 
offset the joy of his “Dav in June.” It 
seemed to me as I drove into the barn 
that the hens, the calf and the cat all 
looked at me with eyes that prophesied 
disaster. 
***** 
Old Hero was a tall horse. He was 
kneesprung and liable to stumble, so we 
kept the check rein tight, I had to climb 
on a box to reach Ills bridle. Just as I 
was getting at the buckle the old 1 horse 
swung his head around and knocked me off 
my perch. My first idea was to let him 
stand all day with his harness on. but he 
had an unfortunate habit of lying down in 
his stall. He might break the harness 
or soil it. After much working I got the 
harness off and fastened Hero in his stall. 
The first item on my schedule was to 
water the cow and calf. Our old red cow 
was a mild, gentle creature. With Uncle 
Daniel on the place I could let her out 
to drink, but through the loneliness of 
that cheerless day there came a great, fear 
that if I ever let Molly get her head out 
of that stanchion she would suddenly 
change to some roaring beast of prey. So 
I decided to carry the water to her. It 
was a job to turn that great, windless and 
pull up the bucket, and I could carry only 
about half a pail at a time. It seemed 
as if that cow and calf never could get 
enough water. And every time I let that 
bucket down into the well I thought of 
that treasure hanging in the box. I de¬ 
cided that if robbers came I would endure 
any torture before I would reveal its hid¬ 
ing place! And I was soon put to the 
test. Just after I satisfied the cow and 
the calf I saw Daniel Ames coming into 
the yard with an empty bucket. Now I 
had always been a little afraid of Daniel 
Ames. He chewed tobacco, drank hard 
cider and never went to church. I had 
been taught to regard these as three ear¬ 
marks of a dangerous character, and to 
the lonely little boy in that gray, melan¬ 
choly day these earmarks were greatly 
magnified. 
Th* RURAL. NtW-VUKKER 
“Well, boy,” said Daniel Ames, “old 
folks has took a dav off, have they?” 
I had to admit that I was the sole 
guardian- of the premises. 
“Well, my woman sent me over to 
burry your aunt's frying pan, and gel a 
bucket of water. Our well’s sorter dry.” 
Then there flashed through my mind 
i he thought that I must not let Daniel 
Ames go near that well. You see. our 
well was really inside the house. It was 
originally dug at one end of the kitchen 
and a shed had been built around it. You 
stood right, in the kitchen and pulled up 
the bucket. I felt that if Daniel Ames 
ever went near that well he would notice 
the box of treasure, and then—well, I 
was there on guard. So my little brain 
did some rapid working. 
"You sit right down here, Mr. Ames, 
and wait. I will fill the bucket for you 
and get the pan.” 
Daniel Ames was nor in the habit of 
being called "mister.” and lie had often 
told my uncle that he was “born tired.” 
Here was an appeal to both pride and 
industry, and he lost, no time in sitting 
down on the sawhorse. 
"I always said you are a smart boy. 
I'm going to make you a nice present some 
day.” 
And he sat there while I went to the 
well and. with much labor, filled his 
bucket with water. Then I hunted out 
my aunt’s third best frying-pan, and Dan¬ 
iel Ames slouched away with his burden. 
Into my little heart there came the joy 
of accomplishment—for had I not de¬ 
fended the family treasure? 
* * * * n 
I cleaned out the stable and husked 
a bundle of corn from the scanty supply 
in the haymow. The stalks went to the 
cow and calf, three ears to old Hero, and 
then I shelled six ears and threw the 
grain out to the hens. I remember stand¬ 
ing by the old Brahma rooster to see that 
he had a full share. The solemn dignity 
of this old bird impressed me. He was 
to furnish our Thanksgiving dinner on the 
morrow, and one of bis sons had turned 
against the old fellow and driven him 
into exile. I felt sorry for him and gave 
him more than his share of corn. Be¬ 
fore he started Uncle Daniel had laid' out 
my “stent” for the day. It was a small 
pile of oak wood to be sawed and cut. My 
instructions were to put one big oak knot 
into the airtight stove at noon and to 
keep my saw and ax working through the 
day. So when the chores were finished 
I got out the bucksaw and started on 
that woodpile. Just as the loneliness of 
the day seemed to have penetrated the in¬ 
nermost recesses of my soul. Frank Drake, 
the neighbor's boy, came whistling along 
the road. He stopped just outside the 
gate and called to me. 
“Come on. Quit working. I’m going 
into the woods to look at my snares. I’ll 
bet I’ve got a rabbit and a partridge. 
Come on !” 
Tt was a great temptation, but I had 
been left on guard. It was my first re¬ 
sponsibility. and so I shook my head and 
went on sawing. 
“Oh, come on. Your folks have gone 
to Boston. How they going to know? I 
won’t tell. You dasn’t. I dare you to 
go. ’Fraid cat!” 
I hope that never again as long as I 
live will the tempter give me such a pull 
as he did right then. If he does I hope 
that Responsibility will come to my aid 
once more. But there was only one an¬ 
swer to Frank Drake. 
“I ain’t ‘ ’fraid cat.’ I can lick you 
anywhere. Come in here and I'll prove 
it.” 
Frank knew that I spoke from experi¬ 
ence in many a battle. He was diplo¬ 
matic. 
“Aw! Come up into my father's pas¬ 
ture and I’ll fight you.” 
But I knew that pasture was half-way 
to the snares. If I ever went that far I 
would 1 be lost. 
“You wait till I catch you after school.” 
We exchanged taunts and threats until 
we were both tired, and Frank went on 
down the road, while I took up the saw 
once more. It was a lonesome job Sud¬ 
denly the sound of the church bell slowly 
November 26, U»2i 
tolling broke in upon us. It was the 
custom in those days to toll the bell when¬ 
ever a member of the church died—one 
stroke for each year of his age. It was 
a part of my job to count the strokes, and 
so I put down my saw and stood count¬ 
ing. Perhaps if some poet had driven by 
at that moment he might have seen in the 
figure of the lonely little boy a remem¬ 
brance of the great painting of the two 
French peasants halted in the field, stand¬ 
ing with bowed heads at the sound of 
church bells. I felt little of this. 1 was 
counting the strokes one by one. There 
were 73. Old Mr. Bradley had gone 
home, as the minister said. But the 
echoing sounds seemed to add a new mel¬ 
ancholy to the day. 
An hour later Frank Drake came back 
with the rabbits slung over his shoulder. 
He was ready now with a peace offering. 
“Come over to my house tomorrow and 
T’ll give you one of the skins!” 
It was a long forenoon. The gray 
clouds still obscured the sun. and the air 
seemed like a blanket of fear and" unbelief 
as it pressed above us. Few people went, 
by on the road. They were mostly old 
men and women with hard, set faces, who 
seemed to regard me with a scowl, as if 
they were saying: 
“There's a boy who does not do half 
enough work to pay for his board ” 
It seemed to me that in all the universe 
I had but. one friend. That was the old 
Brahma rooster, lie walked apart from 
the flock, for his lively son saw to it that 
the old man kept in his place. I did not 
know then that ages ago, in the early days 
of the human race, society was divided 1 
into families in which the “old men” 
killed or subjected the boys or young men 
until one of them became master. Then 
the old man went further into the social 
discard than this rooster had traveled. 
But. at any rate, old Brahma was my 
one friend on that day of responsibility. 
He hung about the woodpile with every 
evidence of friendship, and I kept one 
small ear of corn in my pocket as my 
contribution to this friendly association. 
II. w. c. 
DELCO-LIGHT 
Water Supply System 
You can now buy a water supply system, made by the manufac¬ 
turers of the Delco-Light Electric Light and Power Plant. 
This system is a compact unit. There are no bolts nor chains. 
All working parts are enclosed. There is only one place to oil. 
It is self-starting, self-stopping and maintains a pressure of from 
25 to 45 pounds. The entire system is only 28 inches high 
and 37 inches long, including tank. 
Delco-Light Water Supply Systems can be operated either from 
Delco-Light plants or central station current, alternating or 
direct. 
They will provide plenty of water for household use, for water¬ 
ing the stock, sprinkling and other general water supply needs. 
Write at once for booklet and prices. 
Domestic Electric Company, Inc. 
43 Warren Street • New York City 
