The Children's Repository [pp. 221-226]

THE LADIES' REPOSITOR r.
yet looking as if he were not well fed, and being
fit only for doing such chores about the place as
she and her husband could easily have dispensed
with; and her favors were doled out, not stingily, perhaps, but always with the thought that
Jack "was not earning his salt."
As for Jack
Jack had been thrown houseless and homeless upon the world like thousands of others,
apparently for no purpose but to be fed, clothed,
and taken care of by somebody. His recollections of the past were dim and unpleasant; he
could remember nothing of parents, relations,
or friends, and he had been handed over to the
county authorities long before he knew the
meaning of cruelty or affection. His pauper's
portion was provided, and he received it with
a sense of indebtedness to somebody for the
charity, and always feeling that he was in some
one's way, and taking what it would be juster
to give some other person.
The change to Farmer Weed's was not so
great for him, for here he felt more in the way
than ever, not having, as he had at the poorhouse, the companionship that misery loves;
and though Mrs. Weed had no children of her
own, no pent-up or wasted affection was bestowed upon the orphan boy who shuffled along
through life, living solely on the present, nothing lingering in his memory of a brighter past,
and as dull, uninteresting, and hopeless a future,
with scarcely a thought beyond his daily bread
and daily chores.
A slight incident was destined to turn the
whole course of his life, however, and change
its hitherto uneventful current. He drove with
Farmer Weed to the county town on court
day, and there heard, for the first time, the
music of a fife and drum accompanying the
county militia as they paraded through the town
to the air of Yankee Doodle. Jack listened
with ravished ears, and though the sight of
some fine blue coats, and gilt epaulets, glittering in the sun, had enchanted his eyes, the
sounds of the music filled his head long after
the gay sight had vanished, and rang through
his ear as he sat by Farmer Weed's side when
they were driving home.
A faculty that had been lying dormant had
received a sudden awaking, and Jack earnestly,
in all leisure odd moments, with his whistle for
a fife, made impromptu drums of any convenient
object, applying the accompaniments in faint
imitation of the delightful sounds that had inspired him from the musicians of the militia.
Mrs. Weed was not long in discovering his
new amusements, and regarded them with an
eye of especial disfavor. The tin pans, shining
in all their spotless effulgence, had once or
twice served Jack as drums, but her quick ear
had instantly detected the offered indignity, and
the offender who, not earning his salt, nevertheless, making assaults in very wantonness upon
her peculiar property, received a merited reward; and discovering that whistling was a part
of the offense, that was instantly forbidden in
her hearing, and the violation of her command
threatened with fearful punishment.
As Jack was not allowed to go beyond the
sound of her voice unless sent on errands, it
was at such times that he indulged in his secret
pleasure to his heart's content, out of sight and
sound of his mistress's sharp eyes and ears; for
the surreptitious low whistles, and tremulous,
gentle beating on the weather-stained sides of
the barn and out-buildings, made very lugubrious and uncertain music.
The Autumn days were shortening, when
Jack, one evening, was stopped by a boy from
a neighboring farm as he was driving the cows
from the pasture. Nicholas, a stout, thick-set
boy of sixteen, rarely bestowed more than a
passing nod or whistle to Jack; but that evening he was invested with a new dignity, and
wishing to impress Jack he hailed him, and
engaged in a short conversation in order to give
the younger boy an opportunity of admiring
him more leisurely. Nicholas gave him a moment to take in his new glory, and then asked,
condescendingly,
"How do you like this, Jack? I'm off for
the wars."
Jack gazed stupidly at the new uniform and
gilt buttons; he had heard of the war, but had
scarcely thought of it, and Nicholas's new clothes
caused him no envy.
"I'm a soldier now," said Nicholas. "The
country needs all her fighting men, and Farmer
Smith said Winter was coming on, and I might
as well go; may be it will all be over by Spring,
and perhaps I'11 come back a general."
"Will it take long," asked Jack, not knowing
exactly what to say.
"Will what take long?"
"To be a general."
"0! a fellow can't tell that," replied Nicholas; "you see it depends entirely upon luck;
every one has a chance."
"Perhaps you'11 be hurt," said Jack.
"0! not one man in fifty is hurt," said the
sanguine Nicholas. "It's a pity you can't go
now. I guess you are too young for any thing
but a drummer boy; you might go for that;
better drum for your country than go around
beating and knocking things about. I've heard
you often," he added, seeing that Jack looked
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