The wind was keen, and the stalks,
from recent rain, were wet, and filled with ice. His scanty clothing
scarcely afforded any protection from the cold, and his hands soon
became so numb that he could scarcely use them; but, if he stopped
one moment to rap them, or breathe upon them, in the hope of
imparting some warmth, the farmer who was close at hand, in warm
woollen clothes and thick husking gloves, would call out,
"Hurry up, hurry up, my boy! no idle bread must be eaten here!"
And bravely did Johnny struggle not to mind the cold and pain, but
it would not do; he began to cry, when the master, who never thought
of exercising anything but severity towards those who laboured for
him, told him sternly that if he did not stop his bawling in a
moment, he would send him home. This was enough for Johnny; anything
was better than to go back and be a burden on his mother; he worked
to the best of his ability until noon. At noon, he managed to get
thoroughly warm, behind the stove, while eating his dinner. Still,
the sufferings of the child, with his insufficient clothing, were
very great; but nobody seemed to think of the _hired boy_ being an
object of sympathy, and thus it continued. The rule seemed to be to
get all that was possible out of him, and his little frame was so
weary at night, that he had hardly time to feel rested, until called
with the dawn to renew his labour.
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