Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 August 1875 — SOW WHAT YOU WOULD HEAP. [ARTICLE]

SOW WHAT YOU WOULD HEAP.

BY ISADORE ROGERS.

It was harvest time at Farmer Dobson’s, and half a dozen stalwart men stood around the well, washing their hardened hands and bathing their sweat-stained faces, preparatory to going to dinner. They were all there, snatching a moment’s rest before the first summons to the noonday meal, except the very weakest and weariest of them all. Tommy Dobson, the farmer’s son, had reached his fourteenth year, and was expected to do a man’s work in the harvest field; and although there are plenty of lazy boys who have too little energy to hurt themselves, or allow anyone else to, when it is said that a boy is doing a man’s work it generally means that he is doing a great deal more. The long, warin days, with their hard labor, were rather trying to Air. Dobson, and he felt that, early rising was not beneficial to him, and one rests so well in the cool morning hour that he thought best to take advantage of it And now that Tommy was old enough to attend to little matters about the premises there was no reason why he should not indulge in tlie luxury of an extra hour’s rest, and so Tommy was called at four o’clock in the morning to get up and make the fire, and milk the cows, and feed the calves, and carry swill to the hogs, and feed, water and harness the horses, and attend to things in general, like a dutiful son, while his father refreshed himself with a morning nap. On this particular morning, after Tommy had been busy for not less than two hours before any other hand commenced work, they proceeded to a field about half a mile from the house. As Air. Dobson was about to start the reaper something was found to be slightly out of order, and upon looking in the tool-box for the wrench it was found to be missing. “ Tom, you've had that wrench; what did you do with it ?” asked Mr. Dobson. “ I haven’t seen it, father.” “ Where’s it gone to, then? Of course you have, or it would be here. Go to the barn and hunt it up, and be lively about it, for we can’t afford to wait Tong.” “ I don’t know where to look, father.” “ Look where you had it; in the wagon, for instance,” said Mr. Dobson, suddenly recollecting of using and laying it there himself; and the boy started back, while the strong, unwearied men sat down under a tree to wait for him. When the reaper started Tommy bound with the rest, and although he did no more than any other hand it . taxed his strength more severely, and he was the weariest one in the lot when the bell sounded for dinner. The men went directly to the house, leaving the boy to unharness and feed the team, and it was not until they were half through eating that he found time to go to the table. When they had finished the meal they went out and sat under the trees to rest for half an hour before going to the field again. Tommy had scarcely swallowed the last mouthful when Mr. Dobson called: ‘‘ Tom, bring out the tobacco box and some matches. I forgot to bring in that jug,” he said, as Tommy made his appearance with the desired articles. “ Tom, you’ll have time to go and get it before we go to work again,” and for the third time that day the boy started off through the hot sun to the farthest corner of the farm.

“ Why, how long you have been,” said Mr. D., as Tommy came walking slowly and wearily back to where they were resting. “ When I was of your age I could have walked that distance in half tlie time. Hurry up, now, and harness the horses. Take the other span this time; half a day is long enough, for one team to draw that reaper—not but that they could do it well enough, but my horses are in good condition and I mean to keep them so. Go in the house and get my hat first. I’ll fill the jug. You’ve been gone so long that you won’t have time, and I can’t keep half a dozen hands waiting on your slow motions.” “ Tommy, bring in an armful of wood,” said Mrs. Dobson, as he entered the house. “ Oh, mother, lam so tired; I do wish I could sit down just a little while.” “So am I tired, but I can’t stop for that; it is the busy season, now, you know, and we all have to work if we are tired.” “If I should ever be a man I won’t work on a farm if there’s anything else I can do,” said the boy, as he laid thewood carefully into the box. “ Why, it’s tlie pleasantest life in the world,” said Mrs. Dobson. “I hope you won’t be getting such notions as that into your head, after all that we have done for you. It is your duty to stay and care for us in our old age? 1 —-—u- i . “ It isn’t living on a farm that is so hard, maybe, but being a boy is the worst part of it. If I was a man I could go out there under the trees and sit down and have a little rest, perhaps,” muttered Tommy, taking his father’s hat from its accustomed place and going out He brought the horses round, and Mr. Dobson said: “ Tom, did you carry any swill to the hogs since you came from the field ?” “ No.”

“You careless boy, you wouldn’t do anything if I didn’t attend to it. Give me the lines and I’ll drive on, and you can go and give them a couple of pailfuls and overtake us before we get to work.” And if Tommy Dobson does not take care of his parents in their old age he will be considered a very undutiful son. And let me ask every parent who expects such a sen ice from their children one question: Do you deserve it? Of course every child owes a duty to its parents, but do not the parents also owe a duty to the child? Have you any right to recruit your own strength and take your own ease by imposing "an extra burden upon your child? Did you ever consider that the half-grown limbs were not made of cast-iron, but could grow weary as well as your own? I have seen men, and women too, that seemed to consider that the sole object of their children's existence was to serve them, and if the qualities of love and tenderness and sympathy and consideration are not among the principles which govern the conduct of the parent in the helpless years of the child’s dependence, how can he expect all these qualities to spring spontaneously from the heart of his offspring as soon as he has outgrown his childish "dependence and his father’s iflthority, and be freely lavished upon the parent who has never bestowed them? Who can expect to reap what he has not sown? Recollections of injustice and thoughtless cruelty will not fade from the memory at will, but continue to haunt the mind that fain would banish them through all the long years that intervene between the cradle and the grave. Every parent should be entitled to the respect of his children, but if he sees fit to wrap himself in a mantle of selfishness and exercise his authority, not for the good of the child, but for the purpose of securing his own ease and comfort, and through an abuse of his almost unlimited power tramples upon rights fust as sacred as his own, how can he expect the strong man to turn back from his own pursuits and inclinations and lift him in his arms

and cany him over the rugged spots in his second childhood with a tendemess which never was bestowed upon tlie son in his boyhood » Right here in this very neighborhood are two living examples of the principles to which this article has reference. At Hickory Grove resides an old gentleman who is fast approaching his ninetieth year. His mind is yet strong, and his conversation is full of wisdom. His kindly, genial nature wins the goodwill of all with whom he comes in,contact, and the name ot Grandpa Whiting is reverently mentioned by old and young. Two of the most valuable and beautiful arms lie side by side, sheltered by the grove on one side and washed by the lowa River on the other, and living upon these are his two sons. Tlie younger longs to join a party equipped for the Black Hills, and with all that eager desire for adventure and exploration among the exciting scenes of the far West, with no other tie to bind him, he remains willingly with his parents, kindly and lovingly helping his brother to remove every shadow of care and perplexity from the remainder of their earthly pilgrimage. Although wealth might secure him from mere physical want, could it buy the still greater blessing of filial affection? And is it not evident that they are only reaping as they have sown ? The other is a feeble old man who wandered aimlessly up and down the road leading from Amsterdam to Belmont, stopping wherever he could obtain shelter, anywhere rather than with his son, a strong and healthy man, abundantly able, as far as physical strength was concerned, to provide for his aged parent, but for some reason failing to do so, until the community wearied of his frequent visits, provided him a shelter or home at their own expense; and during his visits at our own house I learned enough of his past life to believe that, pitiable as w-as his condition, he also w-as reaping as he had sown. —Ohio Farmer.