"Almost," said Sam, hesitating.
"The wormwood-tea did you good, it seems; but you"re not quite well yet."
"I"ll soon be well," said Sam, hastily.
"I mean you shall be," said his visitor. "I"ve brought you some more medicine."
"Is it tea?"
"No, castor-oil."
"I don"t need it," said Sam, getting up quickly. "I"m well."
"If you are not well enough to go to work, you must take some oil."
"Yes, I am," said Sam. "I"ll go right out into the field."
"I don"t want you to go unless you are quite recovered. I"m sure the oil will bring you "round."
"I"m all right, now," said Sam, hastily.
"Very well; if you think so, you can go to work."
Rather ruefully Sam made his way to the potato-field, with his hoe on his shoulder.
"Tea and castor-oil are worse than work," he thought. "The old woman"s got the best of me, after all. I wonder whether she knew I was makin"
believe."
On this point Sam could not make up his mind. She certainly seemed in earnest, and never expressed a doubt about his being really sick. But all the same, she made sickness very disagreeable to him, and he felt that in future he should not pretend sickness when she was at home. It made him almost sick to think of the bitter tea he had already drunk, and the oil would have been even worse.
The deacon looked up as he caught sight of Sam.
"Have you got well?" he asked innocently, for he had not been as clear-sighted as his wife in regard to the character of Sam"s malady.
"Yes," said Sam, "I"m a good deal better, but I don"t feel quite so strong as I did."
"Mebbe it would be well for you to fast a little," said the deacon, in all sincerity, for fasting was one of his specifics in case of sickness.
"No, I don"t think it would," said Sam, quickly. "I"ll feel better by supper-time."
"I hope you will," said the deacon.
"I wish I had a piece of pie or somethin" to take the awful taste out of my mouth," thought Sam. "I can taste that wormwood jist as plain! I wonder why such things are allowed to grow."
For the rest of the afternoon Sam worked unusually well. He was under the the deacon"s eye, and unable to get away, though he tried at least once. After they had been at work for about an hour, Sam said suddenly, "Don"t you feel thirsty, Deacon Hopkins?"
"What makes you ask?" said the deacon;
"Because I"d jist as lieves go to the house and get some water," said Sam, with a very obliging air.
"You"re very considerate, Samuel; but I don"t think it"s healthy to drink between meals."
"Supposin" you"re thirsty," suggested Sam, disappointed.
"It"s only fancy. You don"t need drink railly. You only think you do,"
said the deacon, and he made some further remarks on the subject to which Sam listened discontentedly. He began to think his situation a very hard one.
"It"s work--work all the time," he said to himself. "What"s the good of workin" yourself to death? When I"m a man I"ll work only when I want to."
Sam did not consider that there might be some difficulty in earning a living unless he were willing to work for it. The present discomfort was all he thought of.
At last, much to Sam"s joy, the deacon gave the signal to return to the house.
"If you hadn"t been sick, we"d have got through more," he said; "but to-morrow we must make up for lost time."
"I hope it"ll rain to-morrow," thought Sam. "We can"t work in the rain."
At supper the wormwood seemed to give him additional appet.i.te.
"I"m afraid you"ll make yourself sick again, Samuel," said the deacon.
"There aint no danger," said Sam, looking alarmed at the suggestion.
"I feel all right now."
"The wormwood did you good," said Mrs. Hopkins, drily.
"I wonder if she means anything," thought Sam
CHAPTER VIII.
SAM"S TEMPTATION.
A month pa.s.sed, a month which it is safe to say was neither satisfactory to Sam nor his employer. The deacon discovered that the boy needed constant watching. When he was left to himself, he was sure to shirk his work, and indulge his natural love of living at ease. His appet.i.te showed no signs of decrease, and the deacon was led to remark that "Samuel had the stiddyest appet.i.te of any boy he ever knew. He never seemed to know when he had eaten enough."
As for Mrs. Hopkins, Sam failed to produce a favorable impression upon her. He was by no means her ideal of a boy, though it must be added that this ideal was so high that few living boys could expect to attain it. He must have an old head on young shoulders, and in fact be an angel in all respects except the wings. On these Mrs. Hopkins probably would not insist. Being only a boy, and considerably lazier and more mischievous than the average, there was not much prospect of Sam"s satisfying her requirements.
"You"d better send him to the poorhouse, deacon." she said more than once. "He"s the most shif"less boy I ever see, and it"s awful the amount he eats."
"I guess I"ll try him a leetle longer," said the deacon. "He aint had no sort of bringin" up, you know."
So at the end of four weeks Sam still continued a member of the deacon"s household.
As for Sam, things were not wholly satisfactory to him. In spite of all his adroit evasions of duty, he found himself obliged to work more than he found agreeable. He didn"t see the fun of trudging after the deacon up and down the fields in the warm summer days. Even his meals did not yield unmingled satisfaction, as he had learned from experience that Mrs. Hopkins did not approve of giving him a second slice of pie, and in other cases interfered to check the complete gratification of his appet.i.te, alleging that it wasn"t good for boys to eat too much.
Sam took a different view of the matter, and felt that if he was willing to take the consequences, he ought to be allowed to eat as much as he pleased. He was not troubled with the catechism any more.