THE weeds in the garden are growing, while I’m sitting here in the shade; I know that I ought to be hoeing and doing some things with a spade. I know that I shouldn’t be shirking in pleasant, arboreal nooks; I know that I ought to be working like good little boys in the books. They tell me that idling brings sorrow, and doubtless they tell me the truth; I’ll tackle that garden tomorrow—today I’ve a yarn by Old Sleuth!
The fence, so my mother reminds me, needs fixing the worst kind of way! So it does; but, alas! how it grinds me to wrestle with fence boards today! I ought to do stunts with a hammer, and cut a wide swath with a saw, and raise an industrial clamor out there at the fence by the draw. The punishing fires of Gomorrah on idlers, ma says, will rain down; I’ll fix up that blamed fence tomorrow—today there’s a circus in town!
I ought to be whacking up kindling, says ma, as she fools with the churn; the pile in the woodshed is dwindling, and soon there’ll be nothing to burn. There’s Laura, my sister, as busy as any old bee that you know, while all my employments are dizzy, productive of nothing but woe. I’ll show I’m as eager as Laura to make in the sunshine my hay! I’ll split up some kindling tomorrow—I planned to go fishing today!
I’ve made up my mind to quit fooling and do all the chores round the shack. Just wait till you see me a-tooling the cow to the pasture and back! I’ll show that I’m willing and able! I’ll weed out the cucumber vines, I’ll gather the eggs ’neath the stable, and curry the horse till he shines! A leaf from ma’s book I shall borrow and labor away till I fall! I’ll surely get busy tomorrow—today there’s a game of baseball!