JED’S BOY
CHAPTER I
THE TRAMP BOY
It was November, in the year 1914. The snow had come with the gloom of twilight, and an angry wind whistled over the Western Massachusetts hills.
I was then a lad, trying to fill his father’s place on the farm. I had just finished milking when I heard Bill Jenkins, our hired man, call out in rasping tones, “No, there’s no work for you here, I tell you!”
Turning, I saw at the barnyard gate the person to whom Bill had spoken. He was a tall slim boy apparently near my own age, fourteen.
“What is it, Bill?” I said; “what does he want?”
“You run along with your milkin’ pail,” said Bill. “I’ll ’tend to him. You don’t know nothin’ ’bout dealin’ with tramps.”
I repeated my question, and the boy answered, “I am looking for work.”
“An’ I told you there’s no work here for you,” said Bill roughly. “An’ if you can’t understand such plain words as them air, you’ll have to get a dictionary.”