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Updated: May 5, 2025
The surly night-wind rustles through the wood, and warns us to retrace our steps, while the sun goes down behind the thickening storm, and birds seek their roosts, and cattle their stalls. "Drooping the lab'rer ox Stands covered o'er with snow, and now demands The fruit of all his toil."
'Spose ye'd do it cheap, seein' how dull ev'ry thin' is?" The sad eyes of Mrs. Hay grew bright in an instant. Her husband's heart jumped up, but he knew to whom he was talking, so he said, as calmly as possible: "Three dollars is reg'lar pay." The Deacon immediately straightened up as if to go. "Too much," said he; "I'd better hire a common lab'rer at a dollar 'n a half, an' boss him myself.
But Dan'l Copestake said it was all nonsense. "Might be made a good garden if master wasn't so close," he used to say to everybody. "Wants more money spent on it, and more hands kept. How'm I to keep a place like that to rights with only two me and a lab'rer, under me, and Peter to do the sweeping?"
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