It is understood, in the first place, that he is to do all the errands, to go to the store, to the post office, and to carry all sorts of messages.  If he had as many legs as a centipede, they would tire before night.  His two short limbs seem to him entirely inadequate to the task.  He would like to have as many legs as a wheel has spokes, and rotate about in the same way.  This he sometimes tries to do; and people who have seen him “turning cart-wheels” along the side of the road have supposed that he was amusing himself, and idling his time; he was only trying to invent a new mode of locomotion, so that he could economize his legs and do his errands with greater dispatch.  He practices standing on his head, in order to accustom himself to any position.  Leapfrog is one of his methods of getting over the ground quickly.  He would willingly go an errand any distance if he could leap-frog it with a few other boys.  He has a natural genius for combining pleasure with business.  This is the reason why, when he is sent to the spring for a pitcher of water, and the family are waiting at the dinner-table, he is absent so long; for he stops to poke the frog that sits on the stone, or, if there is a penstock, to put his hand over the spout and squirt the water a little while.  He is the one who spreads the grass when the men have cut it; he mows it away in the barn; he rides the horse to cultivate the corn, up and down the hot, weary rows; he picks up the potatoes when they are dug; he drives the cows night and morning; he brings wood and water and splits kindling; he gets up the horse and puts out the horse; whether he is in the house or out of it, there is always something for him to do.  Just before school in winter he shovels paths; in summer he turns the grindstone.  He knows where there are lots of winter-greens and sweet flag-root, but instead of going for them, he is to stay in-doors and pare apples and stone raisins and pound something in a mortar.  And yet, with his mind full of schemes of what he would like to do, and his hands full of occupations, he is an idle boy who has nothing to busy himself with but school and chores!  He would gladly do all the work if somebody else would do the chores, he thinks, and yet I doubt if any boy ever amounted to anything in the world, or was of much use as a man, who did not enjoy the advantages of a liberal education in the way of chores.

A boy on a farm is nothing without his pets; at least a dog, and probably rabbits, chickens, ducks, and guinea-hens.  A guinea-hen suits a boy.  It is entirely useless, and makes a more disagreeable noise than a Chinese gong.  I once domesticated a young fox which a neighbor had caught.  It is a mistake to suppose the fox cannot be tamed.  Jacko was a very clever little animal, and behaved, in all respects, with propriety.  He kept Sunday as well as any day, and all the ten commandments that he could understand.  He was a very graceful playfellow, and seemed to have an affection for me.  He lived