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"Twant much of a chore, any heow", said Micah. "I never could stan' by and see any critter put upon by another he'd done no harm to, and I never will". As they returned to the hotel, Mr. Dubois remarked that this journey to the Capital, after all, might not be without good results. "You made", he said to Mr.
But Jerry suspected that one reason she traded at Bartlett's was because she thought it was good for a boy to run errands. Going to the store was Jerry's chief chore. "Just because her grandfather had to chop wood and milk cows before breakfast when he was a boy, she thinks she should keep me busy," he grumbled to himself as he went in the house. "Why do I have to go to the store?
"Two day," said Perrotte, fighting for breath and nerve. "Here, boy," shouted Maitland to a chore lad slouching by, "jump for that cook house and fetch a cup of coffee, and be quick." The boss' tone injected energy into the gawky lad. But Maitland took him to the cook. "Fill this man up," he said, "and then show him where to sleep.
Also the chore of washing dishes after the last guests have gone is reduced to lowest terms, likewise an item not to be overlooked. This trend toward country living, now so far flung as to be a characteristic of American life, is not just a fad. It has been a slow steady growth and has behind it a tradition of a century and more.
For the third time in that short half-hour a silence fell between the two a silence of perfect sympathy and understanding. Five little strokes, tripping over each other in their haste, came from the tiny clock on Mary Cutting's desk. It roused them both. "Come on, old girl," said Mary Cutting. "I've a chore or two still to do before my day is finished. Come along, if you like.
Holbrook, and leaving his office in charge of Tom, his chore boy, he went away, feeling slightly uncomfortable whenever he thought of the girl to whom he felt that justice had not been done. "I half wish I had examined her myself," he said. "Of course she was excited, and could not answer; beside, hanged if I don't believe it was all humbug tormenting her with Greek and Latin.
It was a daily chore and one where there weren't any vacations that would allow objective contemplation of past mistakes. She put away her book, Why I am not a Christian, by Bertrand Russell. The book needed to be perused deeply but she couldn't do that because she needed to keep a part of one eye on the boy and a part of the other eye on the cat. She went over to help him with his futile task.
We went beyond the paper directions and delved in my book and hammered away until, when Rufus, with stately coldness, announced some time after noon that dinner was served, we both declared that it was impossible, though Matthew was at that moment performing the last chore commanded by dusting the medicated ashes under the last wing of the last Lady Leghorn, held tenderly in my arms.
They sank into a physical lethargy which there was no escaping, and which made them rebel at the performance of the smallest chore. One morning when it was his turn to cook the common breakfast, Weatherbee rolled out of his blankets, and to the snoring of his companion, lighted first the slush lamp and then the fire.
To guide a team for a few minutes as an experiment was one thing to plow all day like a hired hand was another. It was not a chore, it was a job. It meant moving to and fro hour after hour, day after day, with no one to talk to but the horses. It meant trudging eight or nine miles in the forenoon and as many more in the afternoon, with less than an hour off at noon.
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