"Now that the deer has done the killing himself, you might as well have some fresh venison to eat before we go on with our work."
III
GOBBLE! GOBBLE!
Hard Times on the French Grant
"IT is, 'Doby, do this,' and, 'Doby, do that,' from morning to night. I've worked and worked and wor-r-rked," groaned Obadiah Holman, "'til both of my heels are stone-bruised and I have a rag on every toe."
The expression of his face showed that he held strong feelings on the subject of child labor and that those feelings were all against it.
Chore-boys did not get together and organize themselves in the olden days. Protests against overtime jobs received so little attention that Doby grumbled: "No use to sputter. S'pose I'll have to keep right on quarryin'."
He had dropped his task to glance about the town of Gallipolis. It was a lean and wizened, yet quaint and romantic settlement of Old World Frenchmen. The log cabins were the same cubes of houses that pioneers were everywhere building. But the town had a different air from bustling Pittsburg or dignified Marietta. He examined one home after another.
In the tiny holes of windows hung beribboned curtains of white. Never before had he seen frilled curtains; never before a curtain in a cabin window where there was neither sash nor glass.