He looked upon such work as carrying wood and water as something especially adapted to cultivate the muscles of older people, but decidedly injurious to boys of his age. Therefore whenever he saw anything at home which indicated the possibility of his being set at work, he always had immediate and urgent business which called him as far away as he felt able to walk, and he could go a long distance, however warm the day, when he believed he was fleeing from labor.
But one day Andrew Jackson Washington Jones's father came home with a very long and stout willow switch in his hand, and told the ever-tired little darky that it was his intention to "use it upon his back, shuah," if a certain pile of wood was not split and into the shed by sunset.
Andrew would have turned pale if his skin had not been quite so dark, for from the way his father spoke, he was quite certain he would be just cruel enough to carry his threat into execution; and he went out by the wood-pile wondering which would be the hardest—to do the work or receive the promised whipping.
He had just made up his mind that he would rather have the willow cut up by his back than to cut that pile of wood with the dull axe, while all the other boys were out cat-fishing; and he was already smarting from anticipation when another and more horrible thought came to him. He would probably not only be obliged to feel the willow, but to do the work also, and he was discouraged.
"Daddy'll lick me fo' a fac', an' mammy will tear round drefful till it's done," he said, musingly, and he shivered at the thought. "Dar's gwine to be no rest fo' dis chile till dat yere wood am cut."
If Andrew had only ceased discussing matters with himself then, and set to work in earnest on that unlucky wood-pile, all would have been well, and one little colored boy would not have been missing from home that night. But he continued the discussion until he had decided to do the task, and afterward concluded that he could, by trying remarkably hard, catch just one cat-fish, and yet have the wood in the shed before the sun got through work and went to bed.
"Keep remembrancin' dis yere switch," cried his mother, when she saw him feel of the axe, then put his best bone clappers in his pocket, and start in the direction of the wharves.
Andrew nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders as if he had it ever before his eyes, but hurried on.
If he had attacked the wood-pile with half the energy that he started for the cat-fish, all would have been well with both him and the wood, for he walked along at a really rapid rate, considering how tired he always was.
At the wharves he saw none of his friends, but a steamer was there taking on freight, and to Andrew's mind it would be quite as interesting to examine her as to catch three or even four cat-fish.