“They are their own landlords.” He then explained to the wondering boy how it was that people in America got along, and governed themselves without any nobility or landlords, and owned their land; that he was now paying for his, that he might own it, and that was the reason he came on to the island. He also told him, that in some parts of the country land was given to people for settling on it.
“What! is it their ointy-dointy, forever and ever?”
“Yes; as long as they live; and then they can sell it or leave it to their children, or give it to whom they have a mind to.”
“O,” cried Charlie, jumping up, and reddening with excitement, “how my poor father and mother would have worked, if they could have thought they could ever have come to own land for themselves! According to that, all that the people here do on the land they do for themselves, and they are their own landlords.”
“To be sure they are.”
“Only think, to own your land, and have no rent to pay! I should think it was just the country for poor people to live in.”
“We think it is.”
“I’m glad you told me all these things, father. I mean to do all I can to help you and mother pay for the land, and by and by, perhaps, when I get to be a man, I can have a piece of land.”
“I’ll tell you what you can do, Charles. Make baskets in the evenings and rainy days, and sell them. I will let you have all you get for them.”
“I thank you, father. I could make the house full before spring.”