It was then that Bush showed the stuff of which he was made.  He returned one afternoon and told his mother, in his off-hand way, that he had engaged to work through the summer months for Mr. Ashton, who not only agreed to pay him six dollars a month, but would allow him to remain at home over night, provided, of course, that he was there early each morning and stayed late enough each day to attend to all the chores.

The tears filled the eyes of the mother as she pressed her little boy to her heart, and comprehended his self-sacrificing nature.

“You are too young, my dear child, to do this; we have enough left to keep us awhile, and I would prefer that you wait until you are older and stronger.”

“Why, mother, I am old enough and strong enough now to do all that Mr. Ashton wants me to do.  He explained everything to me, and it won’t be work at all, but just fun.”

“Well, I hope you will find it so, but if he does not treat you kindly, you must not stay one day.”

Bush never complained to his mother, but he did find precious little fun and plenty of the hardest kind of work.  The miserly farmer bore down heavily on his young shoulders.  He and his wife seemed to be continually finding extra labor for the lad.  The little fellow was on hand each morning, in stormy as well as in clear weather, at daybreak, ready and willing to perform to the best of his ability whatever he was directed to do.  Several times he became so weak and faint from the severe labor, that the frugal breakfast he had eaten at home proved insufficient, and he was compelled to ask for a few mouthfuls of food before the regular dinner hour arrived.  Although he always remained late, he was never invited to stay to supper, Mr. Ashton’s understanding being that the mid-day meal was the only one to which the lad was entitled.

But for his love for his mother, Bush would have given up more than once.  His tasks were so severe and continuous that many a time he was hardly able to drag himself homeward.  Every bone in his body seemed to ache, and neither his employer nor his wife ever uttered a pleasant or encouraging word.

But no word of murmuring fell from his lips.  He resolutely held back all complaints, and crept away early to his couch under the plea that it was necessary in order to be up betimes.  The mother’s heart was distressed beyond expression, but she comforted herself with the fact that his term of service was drawing to a close, and he would soon have all the rest and play he wanted.

Bush allowed his wages to stand until the first of September, when his three months expired.  He had counted on the pride and happiness that would be his when he walked into the house and tossed the whole eighteen dollars in his mother’s lap.  How her eyes would sparkle, and how proud he would be!

“Lemme see,” said the skinflint, when settling day arrived; “I was to give you four dollars a month, warn’t I?”