Without regard to the fact that harness is heavy, and a horse's back high, Martin would order him to hitch up. He was perfectly aware that it was too much for the child, but lack of affection, and a vague, extenuating belief that especially trying jobs developed one, made him merciless. The boy frequently boiled with rage, but he was so weaponless, so completely in his father's power—there was no escape from this tyranny. He knew he could not live without him; even his mother could not do that. His mother! What a sense of rest would come over him when he sat in her capacious lap, his head on her soft shoulder. With her cheek against his and her kind hand gently patting the back of his still chubby one, something hard in him always melted away.
“Why do I love you so, mama,” he asked once, “and hate papa so?”
Mrs. Wade realized what was in his sore heart and hers ached for him, but she answered quietly: “You mustn't hate anybody, dear. You shouldn't.”
“I don't hate anybody but him. I hate him and I'm afraid of him—just like you are.”
“Oh, Billy,” cried Rose, shocked to the quick. “You must never, never say I hate your father—when you're older you'll understand. He is a wonderful man.”
“He's mean,” said Billy succinctly. “When I get big I'm going to run away.”
“From me? Oh, darling, don't think such thoughts. Papa doesn't intend to be mean. He just doesn't know what fun it is to play. You see, dear, when he was a boy like you, he had to work, oh, ever and ever so much more than you do—yes, he did,” she nodded solemnly at Bill's incredulous stare. “And his mother never talked with him or held him close as I do you. She didn't have time. Aunt Nellie has told me all about it. He just worked and worked and worked—they all did. That's all there was in their life—just work. Why, when he was your age, his father was at war and papa and Grandmother Wade had to do everything. He did a man's share at fourteen and by the time he was fifteen, he ran this whole farm. Work has gotten to be a habit with him and it's made him different from a great many people. But he thinks that is why he's gone ahead and so he's trying to raise you the same way. If he really didn't care about you, Billy, it wouldn't bother him what you did.”
In the silence that fell they could hear old Molly bellowing with pathetic monotony for her calf that had been taken from her. Yesterday she had been so proud, so happy. She had had such a hard time bringing it into the world, too. Martin had been obliged to tie a rope to its protruding legs and pull with all his strength. It didn't seem fair to think that the trusting-eyed little fellow had been snatched from her so soon, as if her pain had been an entirely negligible incident. Already, after six short weeks, he was hanging, drawn and quartered, in one of Fallon's meat-markets.
“I hate this place!” burst out the boy passionately. “I hate it!”
“All farms are cruel,” agreed his mother quickly. “But I suppose they have to be. People must have milk and they must have veal.”