I gained the brow of the hill from which I could see Mr. Wyman’s house, and look down on the rich field of grain waving in the sunlight. Every thing had a fresh, tidy appearance, and spoke of good management on the part of Mr. Wyman. Looking along the road, I saw a boy of my own size coming leisurely along; and as he approached I saw it was Ezra Metcalf, a lad that I had seen in Claverton.
“A long time since I have seen you, Ezra,” I said as he came up. “Are you going to the village?”
“Yes; I can’t stand it any longer. Old Wyman is so cross there’s no doing any thing with him. It is work, work, work; and when I would think it was all done, he’d send me into the house to wait on his wife.”
“Men hire boys to work,” I answered.
“Yes; but all the time is a little too much. Rain or shine, it made no difference. It seemed to be all that he thought of, to get as much work out of me as he could.”
I listened to his statement without any misgiving, and when he had finished, I told him of my purpose to ask Mr. Wyman for work.
“You had better not, if you want any flesh left on your bones,” he answered.
I bade him good-by, and we walked on, each his own way.
I found Mr. Wyman in his field hoeing corn. He did not stop as I came up and made known my errand.
“Yes, I want a smart, go-ahead kind of boy; one who knows how work should be done, and will do it faithfully, whether I am by or not, if I could only find one of that sort.”