A monthly Sunday however, was the
golden period looked forward to in his day-dreams, for it had been
stipulated by his parent, that on Saturday evening every four weeks,
he was to come home, and stay all the next day. And when the time
arrived, how nimbly did he get over the ground that stretched
between him and the goal of his wishes! How much he had to tell! But
as soon as he began to complain, his mother would say cheerfully,
although her heart bled for the hardships of her child,
"Never mind, you will get used to work, and after awhile, when you
grow up, you can rent a farm, and take me to keep house for you."
This was the impulse that prompted to action. No one can be utterly
miserable who has a hope, even a remote one, of bettering his
condition; and with a motive such as this to cheer him, Johnny
persevered; young as he was, he understood the necessity. But how
often, during the four weary weeks that succeeded, did the memory of
the Saturday night he had spent at home come up before his mental
vision! The fresh loaf of rye bread, baked in honour of his arrival,
and eaten for supper, with maple molasses--the very molasses he had
helped to boil on shares with Farmer Thrifty's boys in the spring.
What a feast they had! Then the long evening afterwards, when the
blaze of the hickory fires righted up the timbers of the old cabin
with a mellow glow, and mother looked so cheerful and smiled so
kindly as she sat spinning in its warmth and light.
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