Ashton wants me to do. He explained everything to me, and it won't be
work at all, but just fun."
"Well, I hope you will find it so, but if he does not treat you kindly,
you must not stay one day."
Bush never complained to his mother, but he did find precious little
fun and plenty of the hardest kind of work. The miserly farmer bore
down heavily on his young shoulders. He and his wife seemed to be
continually finding extra labor for the lad. The little fellow was on
hand each morning, in stormy as well as in clear weather, at daybreak,
ready and willing to perform to the best of his ability whatever he was
directed to do. Several times he became so weak and faint from the
severe labor, that the frugal breakfast he had eaten at home proved
insufficient, and he was compelled to ask for a few mouthfuls of food
before the regular dinner hour arrived. Although he always remained
late, he was never invited to stay to supper, Mr. Ashton's
understanding being that the mid-day meal was the only one to which the
lad was entitled.
But for his love for his mother, Bush would have given up more than
once. His tasks were so severe and continuous that many a time he was
hardly able to drag himself homeward. Every bone in his body seemed to
ache, and neither his employer nor his wife ever uttered a pleasant or
encouraging word.
But no word of murmuring fell from his lips. He resolutely held back
all complaints, and crept away early to his couch under the plea that
it was necessary in order to be up betimes.
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