But the boy evidently prided himself upon his muscle as well as upon his learning; for he stepped forward, as if to seize Tom, when he was suddenly checked by the shrill voice of his mother.
“Franklin Pierce!” she shouted; “I’ll take the wagon whip to you, sure and sartin, if you don’t pay more attention to your manners.”
The boy instantly ceased his hostile demonstrations, and retreated to the door, where he stood in readiness to seek safety in flight, should his mother attempt to put her threat into execution.
“Now, this one,” continued the farmer, as if nothing had happened, “he’s Winfield Scott; an’ there’s Zachary Taylor—both on ’em named after the two gen’rals that walloped the Mexikins. An’ that little feller there,” pointing to a child the mother held in her arms, “he’s Thomas Jefferson. I heered that he was the man that writ the Declaration of Independence, an’ started the Fourth of July; so I thought, as he was a great man, I had oughter name one of my boys after him. My youngsters have all got good names; an’ if they only do as well in the world as them they are named after, I shall be satisfied.”
The farmer introduced his boys, one after the other, so rapidly that it bewildered Tom, who shook each of them by the hand as they were presented, scarcely comprehending what he was about. The namesakes of the illustrious heroes of the Mexican war had their hands full of bread and butter; and, when they were brought forward by the proud father, Tom just touched their greasy hands with the tips of his fingers.
After the boys had all been introduced, George Washington and John Warren were sent out to take care of the horses, while the others again crowded up around Tom, as if they looked upon him as an object of great curiosity—all except Franklin Pierce, who still stood in the door, now and then shaking his head threateningly, as if challenging the village youth to come out and measure strength with him.
As the farmer had predicted, the boys proved to be very friendly—in fact, they were altogether too friendly; for Winfield Scott, after placing his bread and butter carefully upon the floor, made several desperate attempts to climb upon Tom’s knee—a proceeding which the latter successfully resisted by pushing back his chair.
Had Tom been left alone in the room for a few moments, he would have cried with vexation. He was no longer as confident of success as he had been but a short time before; for he found his new home very different from what his imagination had pictured it. He even thought seriously of returning to the village at once, and of giving up all hopes of ever becoming a farmer. He did not like to have so many children, with greasy hands, about him; for he was very neat in regard to his dress, and the smallest particle of dust upon his boots or clothes would set him on nettles. He was not at all pleased with the way Franklin Pierce eyed him; for, if he should happen to catch him away from the house, he might insist on making good his wager, that he could throw Tom down. Above all, he did not like the looks of the “boss of the kitchen.” He already began to fear her, for he had seen enough to satisfy him that she was not only mistress of the house, but of the entire farm also; and, if he should happen to incur her displeasure it was probable that she would not hesitate to threaten even him with the wagon whip. Beyond a doubt, Tom had again placed himself in a very unpleasant situation.