CHAPTER XXII THE SUMMER VACATION If I were to pick out the happiest time of my life, I should name the first few days of the summer vacation after the district school was out. In those few rare days all thoughts of restraint were thrown away. For months we had been compelled to get up at a certain time in the morning, do our tasks, and then go to school. Every hour of the day had been laid out with the precision of the clock, and each one had its work to do. Day after day, and week after week, the steady grind went on, until captivity almost seemed our natural state. It was hard enough through the long fall and winter months and in the early spring; but when the warm days came on, and the sun rose high and hot and stayed in the heavens until late at night, when the grass had spread over all the fields and the leaves had covered all the twigs and boughs until each tree was one big spot of green, when the birds sang on the branches right under the schoolhouse eaves, and the lazy bee flew droning in through the open door, then the schoolhouse prison was more than any boy could stand. In the first few days of vacation our freedom was wholly unrestrained. We chased the squirrels and chipmunks into the thickest portions of the woods; we roamed across the fields with the cattle and the sheep; we followed the devious ways of the winding creek, clear to where it joined the river far down below the covered bridge; we looked into every fishing-pool and swimming-hole, and laid our plans for the summer campaign of sports just coming on; we circled the edges of the pond, and lay down on our backs under the shade of the willow-trees and looked up at the chasing clouds, while we listened to the water falling on the wheel and the dozy hum of the grinding mill. In short, we were free children once again, left to roam the fields and woods to suit our whims and wills. But even our liberty grew monotonous in a little while, as all things will to the very young,—and, for that matter, to the very old, or to anyone who has the chance to gain freedom and monotony. So in a short time we thought we were ready to do some work. We wished to work; for this was new, and therefore not work but play.