Boys in general would be very good farmers if the current notions about farming were not so very different from those they entertain.  What passes for laziness is very often an unwillingness to farm in a particular way.  For instance, some morning in early summer John is told to catch the sorrel mare, harness her into the spring wagon, and put in the buffalo and the best whip, for father is obliged to drive over to the “Corners, to see a man” about some cattle, to talk with the road commissioner, to go to the store for the “women folks,” and to attend to other important business; and very likely he will not be back till sundown.  It must be very pressing business, for the old gentleman drives off in this way somewhere almost every pleasant day, and appears to have a great deal on his mind.

Meantime, he tells John that he can play ball after he has done up the chores.  As if the chores could ever be “done up” on a farm.  He is first to clean out the horse-stable; then to take a bill-hook and cut down the thistles and weeds from the fence corners in the home mowing-lot and along the road towards the village; to dig up the docks round the garden patch; to weed out the beet-bed; to hoe the early potatoes; to rake the sticks and leaves out of the front yard; in short, there is work enough laid out for John to keep him busy, it seems to him, till he comes of age; and at half an hour to sundown he is to go for the cows “and mind he don’t run ’em!”

“Yes, sir,” says John, “is that all?”

“Well, if you get through in good season, you might pick over those potatoes in the cellar; they are sprouting; they ain’t fit to eat.”

John is obliged to his father, for if there is any sort of chore more cheerful to a boy than another, on a pleasant day, it is rubbing the sprouts off potatoes in a dark cellar.  And the old gentleman mounts his wagon and drives away down the enticing road, with the dog bounding along beside the wagon, and refusing to come back at John’s call.  John half wishes he were the dog.  The dog knows the part of farming that suits him.  He likes to run along the road and see all the dogs and other people, and he likes best of all to lie on the store steps at the Corners—­while his master’s horse is dozing at the post and his master is talking politics in the store—­with the other dogs of his acquaintance, snapping at mutually annoying flies, and indulging in that delightful dog gossip which is expressed by a wag of the tail and a sniff of the nose.  Nobody knows how many dogs’ characters are destroyed in this gossip, or how a dog may be able to insinuate suspicion by a wag of the tail as a man can by a shrug of the shoulders, or sniff a slander as a man can suggest one by raising his eyebrows.

John looks after the old gentleman driving off in state, with the odorous buffalo-robe and the new whip, and he thinks that is the sort of farming he would like to do.  And he cries after his departing parent,