“Now, you children,” said Mr. Hapley, as he was about starting, “you behave yourselves, all on you. You Sam, I want you to fodder them cows this noon, if I don’t get home. And mother,” he added, addressing his wife, “don’t let Benny play out in the wet, he’s got such a cold.”
With these admonitions, the father departed. Unfortunately, there was no one to admonish him to behave himself, though perhaps he needed such a caution as much as his children. Arrived at the wood-lot, he and his assistant took a full “swig” from the jug, and then commenced work. By the time Mr. Hapley had felled one tree, he felt the need of another draught of cider; and seating himself on the prostrate trunk, he again tipped the jug, and then lighting his pipe, resigned himself to quiet contemplation. The sturdy strokes of his more industrious companion, if they reproached him, did not arouse him from his lazy lethargy for half an hour, and then he returned to his work only for a short time, soon seeking refreshment again from the jug and pipe. It was past noon when the sled was loaded up with green wood, and by this time, Mr. Hapley was in no amiable mood, the soothing influence of the pipe not having been equal to the exciting effects of the cider, which always made him as sour as itself. His companion, too, was not quite so cheery as when he came into the woods. He thought it rather hard fare, to do more than three-fourths of the work, and drink less than one-fourth of the cider. So they mounted the load, and drove home, scarcely speaking to each other on the way.
“My patience!” exclaimed Mrs. Hapley, as the team entered the yard; “have you brought me a load of green stuff, at this time of year, and not a stick of dry wood about the premises? What shall I do!”
“Do? why, you can stick it up in the chimney corner, and dry it,” replied Mr. Hapley, quite unconcerned.
“Well,” added his wife, with a sigh, “if I had only known you had no wood seasoning up in the lot, I’d have gone and cut some myself, sooner than try to burn that stuff.”
“You’re always a telling what you’d do,” replied Mr. Hapley; “now I wish you’d go and do it, just once, and say nothin’ about it. Plague on ’t! how is a feller going to chop wood, when he’s got the rheumatis’ so he can’t stand up? It seems as though women hadn’t no consideration about some things.”
Mrs. Hapley always refrained from bandying words with her husband, when he was in an irritable mood, and she made no further reply. He took the horses from the team, (for, according to his slack system, it was time enough to unload the wood, when the sled was needed again,) and led them into the barn. In a few moments he returned, and inquired, in a stern tone:—
“Who fed them cows, this noon?”
“I did,” replied Mrs. Hapley. “Sam wasn’t here, at noon, and so I took care of them.”