CHAPTER XVIII.
WORK AND PLAY.
The days were now perceptibly longer, and the sun had begun to make quite an impression on the huge snow-banks in which Brookdale had been nearly buried up all winter. “Bare ground,” that looks so pleasant to the boy in a northern climate, after a long winter, began to appear in little brown patches, in particularly sunny and sheltered spots. The ice upon the pond was still quite thick, but it was too soft and rough for skating. The sled runners cut in so deeply, that there was little fun in sliding down hill. Besides, skating and coasting had got to be old stories, and the boys were heartily tired of all their winter sports. The sleighing was about spoiled, the roads were sloppy, the fields and meadows impassable, and the woods uncomfortable. In fact, while all the outdoor amusements of winter were at an end, it was too early for the various summer games and sports that supply their places. This brief season, which usually attends the breaking up of winter in northern latitudes, is generally the dullest of all the year to boys in the country, unless they are so fortunate as to be able to amuse themselves indoors, a part of the time at least.
Clinton’s favorite place of resort, at such seasons, was the shop in the rear of the house. Here, surrounded with tools, and patterns, and plans, and specimens of his own work, and perhaps absorbed by some object upon which he was engaged, he was never at a loss for amusement. A day or two after his return from the logging camp, he went to work on the “settle,” which he had determined to make, in imitation of the one he had seen at Uncle Tim’s. This was a job that would require some little thinking and planning, as well as skill at handling tools,—for his mother had promised to give it a place in the kitchen, if it was well made,—and he felt anxious to do his best on this occasion. He first sawed out from a plank the two end pieces, rounding off one corner of each, in a sort of long scroll pattern. Having planed these smooth, he next made the seat, which was also of stiff plank, and fastened it firmly in its place. Nothing remained to be done but to make the back, which was of boards, planed and matched, and screwed into the end pieces. In the course of a week the settle was finished; and it was not only neat and well-finished, but really substantial. It looked as though it might do service full as long as Uncle Tim’s. Clinton was quite satisfied with his success, and his mother was so well pleased with the settle, that she not only decided to place it in the kitchen, but promised to make a handsome cushion for it.
As Clinton was looking admiringly upon his piece of work, soon after it was finished, and thinking whether he could improve it in any respect, the conversation at Uncle Tim’s recurred to his mind, and a happy thought suggested itself, by which he might associate his settle with that interview, and thus have constantly before him a memorial of his trip to the loggers. The next time he had occasion to go to the store, he bought a small package of brass-headed tacks, and with these he carried out his new design, which was to inscribe his initials “C. D.” upon one end of the settle, and the motto, “I’ll Try,” upon the other. He had seen nails arranged in the form of letters upon trunks, and he found no difficulty in making his inscriptions look very well. He surrounded each of them by a single line of tacks, placed in the form of an oval, which gave the whole quite a finished look. This improvement elicited from his parents many additional compliments for the new article of furniture.
The snow was rapidly disappearing, and the sunny sides of the hills were quite bare. The welcome song of the robin was heard around the house, proclaiming the arrival of spring. The brook which flowed through Mr. Davenport’s land was swelled to a miniature torrent, and Clinton’s ducks,—whose water privileges had been restricted through the winter to a small space kept clear of ice by an axe,—now sailed about in all their glory. The frost soon left the ground,—for it penetrates but slightly, when the earth is covered with snow all winter,—the moisture rapidly dried up, and the fields were ready for the plough. For a few weeks Clinton was employed, much of the time, in the various labors of the farm. He usually drove the ploughing team, but he sometimes turned the furrow, by way of change, while his father guided the oxen. Then came harrowing, manuring, planting, setting out trees, making beds in the kitchen-garden, and the various other farm operations of spring, in all of which Clinton assisted his father. He also attended to his own patch of ground, of which he had the sole care every year. As they were at work in the kitchen-garden one day, Mr. Davenport asked Clinton how he should like to take the whole charge of it for the season.
“Why, I should think I might take care of it, just as well as you, after it’s all planted,” replied Clinton.
“And should you be willing to assume all the trouble and responsibility?” inquired his father.
“Yes, sir, I’ll take it and do the best I can,—only, I may want your advice sometimes.”
“Well, Clinty,” resumed his father, “I’ll make you an offer, and you may accept it or not, just as you please. After the garden is planted, I will surrender it entirely into your hands, and you shall do the best you can with it. You shall keep account of everything that is raised in it, and at the end of the season we will calculate the value of the various crops, and I will give you one-fourth of the whole sum, as your share of the profits. For instance, if the vegetables you raise come to twenty-five dollars, you shall have six dollars and a quarter for your services. If, by your good management and the aid of a favorable season, you raise forty dollars’ worth, you will receive ten dollars,—and so on in proportion.”