"Johnny, I don't know. I'd rather not give an opinion," she added, looking right before her into the moon, as if seeking for one there. "Of course he is not old enough or big enough, practically speaking; but on the other hand, where there are so many mouths to feed, it seems hard not to let him earn money if he can earn it. The root of the evil lies in there being so many mouths--as was said at Mr. Jacobson's this afternoon." * * * * * It was winter before I heard anything more of the matter. Tod and I got home for Christmas. One day in January, when the skies were lowering, and the air was cold and raw, but not frosty, I was crossing a field on old Jacobson's land then being ploughed. The three brown horses at the work were as fine as you'd wish to see. "You'll catch it smart on that there skull o' yourn, if ye doan't keep their yeads straight, ye young divil." The salutation was from the man at the tail of the plough to the boy at the head of the first horse. Looking round, I saw little Mitchel. The horses stopped, and I went up to him. Hall, the ploughman, took the opportunity to beat his arms. I dare say they were cold enough. "So your ambition is attained, is it, Dick? Are you satisfied?" Dick seemed not to understand. He was taller, but the face looked pinched, and there was never a smile on it. "Do you like being a ploughboy?" "It's hard and cold. Hard always; frightful cold of a morning." "How's Totty?" The face lighted up just a little. Totty weren't any better, but she didn't die; Jimmy did. Which was Jimmy?--Oh, Jimmy was after Nanny, next to the babby. "What did Jimmy die of?" Whooping cough. They'd all been bad but him--Dick. Mother said he'd had it when he was no older nor the babby. Whether the whooping-cough had caused an undue absorption of Mitchel's means, certain it was, Dick looked famished. His cheeks were thin, his hands blue. "Have you been ill, Dick?" No, he had not been ill. 'Twas Jimmy and the t'others. "He's the incapablest little villain I ever had put me to do with," struck in the ploughman. "More lazy nor a fattened pig." "Are you lazy, Dick?" I think an eager disclaimer was coming out, but the boy remembered in time who was present--his master, the ploughman. "Not lazy wilful," he said, bursting into tears. "I does my best: mother tells me to." "Take that, you young sniveller," said Hall, dealing him a good sound slap on the left cheek. "And now go on: ye know ye've got this lot to go through to-day." He took hold of the plough, and Dick stretched up his poor trembling hands to the first horse to guide him. I am sure the boy _was_ trying to do his best; but he looked weak and famished and ill. "Why did you strike him, Hall? He did nothing to deserve it."