The cabin on the prairiePearson, C. H. (Charles Henry)
General
The cabin on the prairie
Pearson, C. H. (Charles Henry)
Frontier and pioneer life -- United States -- Juvenile fiction
"There, the last hill is dug, and I'm glad!" and Tom Jones leaned on
his hoe, lost in thought.
He was a stout lad of sixteen, with frowzy brown hair, crowned by a
brimless straw hat, and his pants looked as if they had been turned
inside out and outside in, upside down and downside up, and darned and
patched and re-darned and patched again, until time, and labor, and
cloth enough, such as it was, had been used to fabricate a number of
pairs of pants. As for boots,--for his lower extremities were not
wholly destitute of protection,--they might have come down to him as
an heir-loom from a pauper of a preceding generation. But what
mattered it to him that his clothes were threadbare, many-hued, and
grotesque? or that his boots let the deep, rich soil in at sides and
toes? Was he not a "squatter sovereign," or the son of one, free in
his habits as the Indian that roamed the prairies of his frontier
home? He had not heard of "the latest fashion," and paid no attention
to the cut of his garments, although, it must be confessed, he
sometimes wished them a trifle more spruce and comfortable. His home,
as I have hinted, was on the prairie. Nevertheless, the family domain
was an unpretending one. Less than an acre, fenced in the rudest
manner, enclosed the "farm and farm buildings," the latter consisting
of a small log house and log pigsty, the cabin, at the time our sketch
opens, being, it is evident, at least two seasons old--a fact which
serves to show the more plainly the poverty and thriftlessness of the
inmates; for they have had time, certainly, to cultivate quite a tract
of the easily-tilled land, had they enterprise and industry. But they
belonged to a class not famous for these virtues--the restless,
ever-moving class that pioneer the way towards the setting sun. But
perhaps we are leaving the boy propped too long on his hoe. Let us
take a more critical look at him. "Fine feathers don't make fine
birds," observes the old proverb. Forgetting the dress, then, please
study his face. A clear, deep-blue eye, delicately-arched eyebrows,
regular features, mouth and chin indicating decision and native
refinement, and a well-developed forehead. Ah, here may be a diamond
in the rough! Who knows?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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