Part 2 — WORK AND PLAY.
Reading edition
BY KARL WINSHIP.
"Have you watered Prince this evening, Roswell?" asked Mr. Hofford, as his sixteen-year-old son came into the room at supper time and dropped into his seat at the table.
"Yes, sir," answered Roswell, sulkily.
"And brought in the wood and coal?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you may go to the village to-night."
"I don't want to go to the village."
For the first time Mr. Hofford appeared to notice his son's air of discontent, and he asked, kindly:
"What's the matter, Roswell? Are you sick?"
"No; I'm just tired out, that's all," replied the boy, giving the table-leg a little kick.
"Tired, are you?"
"Yes, I am. I am worked to death."
Mr. Hofford laughed pleasantly.
"You don't look as if you were in danger of dying. And I don't think you do more work than other boys of your age."
"I don't know about that," rejoined Roswell, in a discontented voice; "but I know I'm working from morning to night. I have to attend to everything in the way of chores, until I'm so tired that I can't read or study. And I never have any time for play."
"I am sorry for that," said Mr. Hofford, gravely, "because all boys ought to have time for play. I thought I saw you playing football yesterday?"
"Oh, I play some," admitted Roswell, "but nothing like I want to. I wish I had nothing to do but play, like Rollo there."
"You'd soon get tired of living a dog's life," said Mrs. Hofford, with an amused look.
"No, I wouldn't," said Roswell, confidently. "I never had enough play."
"Very well," said Mr. Hofford, with a queer smile. "To-morrow is Tuesday; suppose you start in and play."
"And not do any work?"
"Certainly not; no work for yourself, or anybody else."
Roswell looked at his father, as if disbelieving his ears.
"I mean it," continued Mr. Hofford. "I will tend to the horse and cow, Jennie will do the house chores and run the errands, and your mother will do the rest. You will have nothing to do but play, and I hope you will enjoy yourself."
"I'm sure I shall!" declared Roswell, joyfully.
When he opened his eyes the next morning it was bright daylight, and he sprang out of bed very hurriedly, forgetting the changed condition of affairs. Then, as recollection dawned upon him, he dressed slowly and went down stairs to breakfast.
There was no one there but his mother, who said "Good-morning!" pleasantly.
"My!" he exclaimed, glancing at the clock; "if it isn't ten minutes to nine! I'll be late for school."
"You are not to go to school," said his mother, quietly. "Going to school is not play."
"But I'll miss my promotion, if I don't go," pleaded Roswell, aghast at the thought.
"Can't help it. You must not do anything but play."
Roswell laughed.
"Very well," he said, lightly.
Then he finished his breakfast in silence and strolled out.
He walked around the yard for five or ten minutes, whistling shrilly; took a look in the barn at Prince and then set off to the village. It was almost deserted, the boys being at school—all but a few loaferish fellows, with whom Roswell did not care to associate.
About ten o'clock he returned home, got a book and read until dinner-time.
Somehow he did not have much of an appetite, and after dinner he took his fishing tackle and went off to the creek.
When he returned at dusk, he had a string of perch.
"Where's my fish-knife, Jennie?" he asked, as he laid the fish on the bench in the wash-house.
"Jennie will clean the fish, Roswell," called out his mother. "Catching fish is play; cleaning them is work."
"Pshaw!" said Roswell, impatiently.
He was rather proud of his ability to prepare fish for the pan.
At supper Mr. Hofford asked him how he was enjoying himself, and Roswell answered that he was doing very well. After supper, when the table was cleared, he got out a lot of traps and set to work on an electrical machine he was trying to make, but his father promptly checked him.
"That won't do, Roswell. Work is strictly forbidden."
"But this is for myself."
"No matter. It is not play. You had better go to the village and play."
Roswell got up angrily, put away the machine and went out. In an hour he came back, saying he had had a quarrel with Perry Gantley, and had a headache. So he went to bed.
The next morning he rigged up a swing in the woods back of the house, and amused himself for an hour, and then went fishing, but, as he had no luck, he hardly spoke a word at dinner-time.
During the afternoon he read for a few minutes, and then took a walk through the woods, returning so tired that he was glad to go to bed right after supper.
Thursday was simply dreadful. It rained all day, and Roswell read until his eyes ached. Then he tried to sleep, romped with Rollo awhile, and at last went to the barn.
Mrs. Hofford followed him presently, and found him currying Prince.
"Come, Roswell, this won't do," she said, quickly. "No work."
Roswell threw down the currycomb with an impatient exclamation, and returned to the house.
He did not make his appearance at all at supper, and Jennie reported that he was lying in bed, asleep. She supposed Mr. Hofford smiled, but made no remark.
Friday morning Roswell came down very early and Mr. Hofford met him coming in with an armful of wood.
"Here! What does this mean?" he asked, sternly.
"I'm going back to work," replied Roswell, flushing up, but laughing at the same time.
"It is not possible you are tired of play?"
"No, not tired; but—"
"But you think it is more fun when sandwiched between work?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am glad you have made the discovery for yourself," said Mr. Hofford, with a smile. "Fun or play is never thoroughly enjoyable unless we have earned the right to it by hard work. A perfectly idle boy or man is never happy, and no person knows the absolute pleasure in work until they are deprived of it, It is a good lesson to learn, my son, and I am glad you have learned it so early."
NEW YEAR'S DAY.
The aged and the young, man, woman, child, Unite in social glee; even stranger dogs, Meeting with bristling back, soon lay aside Their snarling aspect, and in sportive chase, Excursive scour, or wallow in the snow. With sober cheerfulness, the grandam eyes Her offspring 'round her, all in health and peace; And thankful that she's spared to see this day Return once more, breathes low a secret prayer, That God would shed a blessing on their heads. —James Grahame.
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