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    Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880 An Illustrated Monthly
    Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880 An Illustrated Monthly
    Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880 An Illustrated Monthly
    Ebook130 pages1 hour

    Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880 An Illustrated Monthly

    By Various Various

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880 An Illustrated Monthly

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      Book preview

      Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880 An Illustrated Monthly - Various Various

      Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880, by Various

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Harper's Young People, November 30, 1880

             An Illustrated Monthly

      Author: Various

      Release Date: August 15, 2013 [EBook #43474]

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE ***

      Produced by Annie R. McGuire

      A GOOD DAY'S WORK; OR, HOW THE WIDOW'S APPLES WERE GATHERED.

      BY FRANK H. TAYLOR.

      I say, mother, Bill Joyce has run away! cried Eddie Stevens, rushing into the kitchen swinging his school-bag over his arm.

      Has he, indeed? Well, I'm not very much surprised, for he has behaved very badly ever since his father died. I'm sorry, though, for poor Mrs. Joyce. She'll be all alone now, and I don't know how she'll get through the winter.

      She wanted Bill to pick the apples, an' he wouldn't, an' so he jes' got his best clothes, an' went down the road to Moorfield Station, an' he told Sammy Brown he was a-goin to sea; an' he had lots of money, for Sammy Brown seen it, an' I seen Mrs. Joyce a-sittin' by the—

      Stop! stop! Eddie, say 'saw,' not 'seen,' said his mother.

      Well, I saw Mrs. Joyce a-sittin' by the winder, an' a-cryin' like a house a-fire, an' I guess Bill stoled—

      Stop again, interposed Mrs. Stevens. Say 'I think' and 'stole.'

      Well, anyhow I guess—I mean, I think—he's got her money.

      Poor woman, she has trouble indeed. A drunken husband, who dies and leaves the place mortgaged for more than it's worth; a fire that burns her barn; and now a bad son, who runs away with what little she has saved to get through the winter with. I'll go and see her tomorrow.

      The next afternoon when Eddie came home his mother looked very thoughtful. She said, Don't you think you could persuade the boys to pick Widow Joyce's apples on Saturday?

      Eddie said nothing, but looked very dubious, for the widow was not liked by the boys.

      Do you think you will ever become so bad that you will want to run away, Eddie? and his mother looked into his eyes anxiously.

      No, indeed, mother. But you ain't like Bill's mother. She used to lick him awful, replied Eddie.

      Say 'whip,' and 'very hard,' my son.

      Yes, mother.

      Well, will you ask the boys?

      I'll try 'em, ma.

      When Eddie started for school the next day his mind was full of the mission his mother had given him to the boys.

      What ye lookin' so serus about, Ed? 'Pears like ye'd lost all yer best friends, exclaimed the blacksmith, as Eddie passed his open door.

      Tom the smith and the little boy were excellent friends, despite the former's remark, and Eddie told him all about Bill, and the widow, and his mother's wish.

      Well, now, ef that ain't a right good idee! You tell the boys ef they'll git the apples onto the ground in piles, I'll hitch up to one of these wagons an' fetch 'em to the mill.

      Can we all go an' see 'em grinded into cider?

      See here, Ed, your mother'll scold you for usin' sech langwige. What makes ye say 'grinded'? I have to despise folks as don't treat their grammar proper.

      No, mother won't scold me, neither, Tom. She says she rules with love; an' when she talks to me after I've done anythin' bad, it's worse 'n bein' licked. Did your mother lick you when you was little, Tom?

      Somehow the sturdy smith was the sober one now, and he only answered, Jest you get along to school, and mind you let me know ef the boys are agreed.

      Before Eddie had gone far, however, the smith whistled and beckoned him back.

      "Sit here a minnit, Ed, I want to tell you somethin'. When I was a little feller I lived on t'other side of the sea, an' one day my mother kept me in, an' that night I did jest what Bill Joyce's done—I run away. I went to sea, too, jest like most little fools as believe all the stuff they read about 'life on the ocean wave.' I had mighty hard times, and often wished I could die. It was nigh eight years afore I got money enough to git home with, an' then I found strangers in the house, Ed, who thought I was a tramp. My mother was in her grave, an' the rest was scattered. I never seen none of 'em since."

      Say 'saw,' not 'seen,' Tom, said Eddie, mindful of his own teaching at home.

      Tom did not heed, however, but continued. "I want you to look me in the

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