Ma often says, when she sees us playing, that if she should make me work that hard I would think I was abused.
I guess, maybe, that is so. It surely is some work to chase uphill and around, play ball, and do all kinds of stunts, and sometimes when night comes we feel tired.
I went home to supper one day, all fagged out, so tired I hardly could drag one foot after the other, and flopped down in the nearest chair.
Ma heard me and put her head in at the door.
"It gives me pain," she said, "to inform you that the woodbox is empty and I need a hotter fire to bake those biscuits that you like so well."
"Oh, Ma!" I exclaimed. "Can't you get along until morning. I'm all in."
"Why, you haven't done a thing to-day!" she told me.
I had climbed up and down Bob's Hill six times; been up to Peck's Falls and the cave once; followed the brook over rocks and fallen trees to where it tumbles out of a sunshiny pasture into the shade of the woods in a great watery sheet; been swimming in the Basin, on the other side of the valley; played a match game of baseball at the Eagle ground; played Indian in Plunkett's woods, tracking the enemy through the forest; played foot-and-a-half, until I thought my back would break, and wrestled with Skinny, until he fell on me like a thousand of brick. But I hadn't done anything all day! Oh, no!
"You don't want me to do it, do you?" she said.
Of course, I didn't want that; so, tired as I was, I dragged out to the shed and brought in an armful of wood.