And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but it would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought of exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for him, told him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a moment, he would send him home.  This was enough for Johnny; anything was better than to go back and be a burden on his mother; he worked to the best of his ability until noon.  At noon, he managed to get thoroughly warm, behind the stove, while eating his dinner.  Still, the sufferings of the child, with his insufficient clothing, were very great; but nobody seemed to think of the hired boy being an object of sympathy, and thus it continued.  The rule seemed to be to get all that was possible out of him, and his little frame was so weary at night, that he had hardly time to feel rested, until called with the dawn to renew his labour.  A monthly Sunday however, was the golden period looked forward to in his day-dreams, for it had been stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday evening every four weeks, he was to come home, and stay all the next day.  And when the time arrived, how nimbly did he get over the ground that stretched between him and the goal of his wishes!  How much he had to tell!  But as soon as he began to complain, his mother would say cheerfully, although her heart bled for the hardships of her child,

“Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you grow up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you.”

This was the impulse that prompted to action.  No one can be utterly miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his condition; and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny persevered; young as he was, he understood the necessity.  But how often, during the four weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of the Saturday night he had spent at home come up before his mental vision!  The fresh loaf of rye bread, baked in honour of his arrival, and eaten for supper, with maple molasses—­the very molasses he had helped to boil on shares with Farmer Thrifty’s boys in the spring.  What a feast they had!  Then the long evening afterwards, when the blaze of the hickory fires righted up the timbers of the old cabin with a mellow glow, and mother looked so cheerful and smiled so kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and light.  And how even father had helped to pop corn in the iron pot.

Ah! that was a time long to be remembered; and he had ample opportunity to draw comparisons, for he often thought his master cared more for his cattle than he did for him, and it is quite probable he did; for while they were warmly housed he was needlessly exposed, and his comfort utterly disregarded.  If there was brush to cut, or fence to make, or any out-door labour to perform, a wet, cold, or windy day was sure to be selected, while in fine weather the wood was required to be chopped, and, generally speaking, all the work that could be done under shelter.  Yet we dare say Farmer Watkins never thought of the inhumanity of this, or the advantage he would himself derive by arranging it otherwise.