This was the time chosen by grandfather to instruct James in shooting with the rifle. James at first only manifested that fondness for a gun common to most young people, but he soon began to feel the hidden motion of that strange passion which throbs in the very marrow of the hunter, and became as enthusiastic as his preceptor, who before the summer was out, had taught him to shoot at flying game.
Mr. Whitman, while Walter Conly was boarding at his house, had engaged him to help him, from hoeing time till after wheat harvest, and to his great surprise, James, after a few days’ practice, did nearly as much as Conly; after the first two days he kept up with them both, hoed as many hills, and as well as they did. In mowing, he could not get along as fast, but cut his grass well, but after he had pitched hay three days, he could put more hay on the cart or the mow by one half, than Conly could, and do his best.
The most importance was attached to the wheat harvest. There were no reaping machines then; all was done with the sickle and cradle, and in reaping, James distanced the whole of them, for in that work he was at home.
Mr. Whitman and Conly were tying up some grain, beside a piece of potatoes, when the schoolmaster observed,—
“I never in my life saw so handsome a piece of potatoes as that.”
“Those are not my potatoes. I have none half as good as them.”
“Whose are they?”
“They belong to James. I told him he might have all he could raise on that piece of ground. He had my father for counsellor, both in respect to the quantity of dressing, and the method of planting, and by the looks, I think he could not have had a better one. In that respect James is different from any boy I ever saw; he has not a particle of conceit about him; is always willing to take advice, and generally asks it.”
“There is not much danger of your redemptioner’s leaving you, at least not till after the potatoes are dug, and they are never known to leave in the fall, as then they begin to think of winter quarters.”
“I took the boy, not to benefit myself, but to help him, and I am willing he should go when he can do better; but I know very well that he is better with me than he can be away from me, and therefore I try to make him contented and happy. I gave him the use of this land because I have noticed that since he has obtained some notion of time, knows how many days there are in a month, and how many months in a year, that he will sometimes say: ‘A year is a good while,’ and perhaps when he remembers that he has agreed to stay here four years, it seems to him like being bound for a life-time. But now when he has a crop in the ground to take up his attention all summer, the proceeds in the fall, to put in his chest, and look at in the winter, and another crop to look forward to in the spring, it will shorten time up wonderfully. He’ll forget all about being a redemptioner; won’t feel that he is working just to pay up old scores, and he’ll be more contented. I know I should; besides it will teach him to lay up, and put life right into him.”