the iron puddler-第4节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



He　gave　me　a　good　strapping；　and　I　went　home　in　rebellion。　I　told　my　father。　I　wanted　him　to　whip　the　teacher。　Father　said：

〃I　know　the　teacher　is　a　good　man。　I　have　known　him　for　years；　and　he　is　honest；　he　is　just；　he　is　kind。　If　he　whipped　you；　you　deserved　it。　You　can　not　see　it　that　way；　so　I　am　going　to　whip　you　myself。〃

He　gave　me　a　good　licking；　and；　strange　to　say；　it　convinced　me　that　he　and　the　teacher　were　right。　They　say　that　the　〃hand　educates　the　mind；〃　and　I　can　here　testify　that　father's　hand　set　my　mental　processes　straight。　From　that　day　I　never　have　been　lawless　in　school　or　out。　The　shame　of　my　father's　disapproval　jolted　me　so　that　I　decided　ever　after　to　try　to　merit　his　approval。

To…day　there　is　a　theory　that　the　child　ought　never　to　be　restrained。　Solomon　said：　〃Spare　the　rod　and　spoil　the　child。〃　We　have　no　corporal　punishment　at　Mooseheart；　but　we　have　discipline。　A　child　must　be　restrained。　Whenever　a　crop　of　unrestrained　youngsters　takes　the　reins　I　fear　they　will　make　this　country　one　of　their　much　talked　of　Utopias。　It　was　an　unrestricted　bunch　that　made　a　〃Utopia〃　out　of　Russia。

Anyhow；　my　father　lived　his　life　according　to　his　simple　rules。　He　is　living　to…day；　a　happy　man　in　the　cozy　home　he　won；　by　his　own　work。　The　things　he　taught　me　I　have　seen　tested　in　his　long　life；　proved　true。　He　never　expected　any　gift　from　life。　I　thought　once　to　surprise　him。　I　wanted　to　buy　a　fine　house　and　give　it　to　him。　He　wouldn't　have　it。　He　stayed　in　his　own　little　cottage。　It　was　not　in　his　theory　of　life　that　a　house　should　come　to　him　as　a　gift。　It　was　a　sound　theory；　and　like　a　true　Welshman；　he　hangs　on　to　it　to　the　end。　He　is　a　good　man；　and　the　fruits　that　his　life　of　labor　has　brought　forth　are　good　fruits。



CHAPTER　IV

SHE　SINGS　TO　HER　NEST


From　my　mother　I　learned　to　sing。　She　was　always　working　and　always　singing。　There　were　six　children　in　the　house；　and　she　knitted　and　sewed　and　baked　and　brewed　for　us　all。　I　used　to　toddle　along　at　her　side　when　she　carried　each　day　the　home…made　bread　and　the　bottle　of　small　beer　for　father's　dinner　at　the　mill。　I　worshiped　my　mother；　and　wanted　to　be　like　her。　And　that's　why　I　went　in　for　singing。　I　have　sung　more　songs　in　my　life　than　did　Caruso。　But　my　voice　isn't　quite　up　to　his！　So　my　singing　has　brought　me　no　returns　other　than　great　chunks　of　personal　satisfaction。　The　satisfaction　was　not　shared　by　my　hearers；　and　so　I　have　quit。　But　my　heart　still　sings；　and　always　will。　And　this　I　owe　to　my　mother。

I　can　see　her　yet　in　our　tiny　Welsh　cottage；　her　foot　on　a　wooden　cradle　rocking　a　baby；　my　baby　brother；　her　hands　busy　with　her　knitting；　her　voice　lifted　in　jubilant　song　for　hours　at　a　time。　And　all　her　songs　were　songs　of　praise。

She　thanked　God　for　life　and　for　strong　hands　to　labor　for　her　little　ones。　In　those　days　furniture　was　rare；　and　few　were　the　pieces　in　a　worker's　home。　It　took　a　dozen　years　for　her　to　acquire　two　feather　beds。　And　when　at　last　we　owned　two　bedsteads；　we　rated　ourselves　pretty　rich。　We　boys　slept　five　in　a　bed。　Why　were　bedsteads　in　those　days　harder　to　get　than　automobiles　are　to…day？　Because　the　wooden　age　still　lingered；　the　age　of　hand　work。　And　it　took　so　long　to　make　a　bed　by　hand　that　people　came　into　the　world　faster　than　beds。　But　within　my　lifetime　the　iron　mills　have　made　possible　the　dollar　bedstead。　The　working　man　can　fill　his　house　with　beds　bought　with　the　wage　he　earns　in　half　a　week。　This；　I　suppose；　is　one　of　the　〃curses　of　capitalism。〃

I　have　heard　how　〃the　rights　of　small　peoples〃　have　been　destroyed　by　capitalism；　and　if　the　right　to　sleep　five　in　a　bed　was　prized　by　the　little　folks；　this　privilege　has　certainly　been　taken　away　from　them。　At　the　Mooseheart　School　we　are　pinched　for　sleeping　room　for　our　fast…growing　attendance。　I　suggested　that；　for　the　time　being；　we　might　double　deck　the　beds　like　the　berths　in　a　sleeping　car。　〃No；〃　cried　the　superintendent。　〃Not　in　this　age　do　we　permit　the　crowding　of　children　in　their　sleeping　quarters。〃　So　this　is　the　slavery　that　capitalism　has　driven　us　to；　we　are　forced　to　give　our　children　more　comforts　than　we　had　ourselves。　When　I　was　sleeping　five　in　a　bed　with　my　brothers；　there　was　one　long　bolster　for　five　hot　little　faces。　The　bolster　got　feverish　and　a　boy　sang　out：　〃Raise　up。〃　We　lifted　our　tired　heads。　〃Turn　over。〃　Two　boys　turned　the　bolster。　〃Lie　down。〃　And　we　put　our　faces　on　the　cool　side　and　went　to　sleep。

Those　were　not　hardships；　and　life　was　sweet；　and　we　awoke　from　our　crowded　bed；　like　birds　in　a　nest　awakened　by　their　mother's　morning　song。　For；　as　I　have　said；　my　mother　was　always　singing。　Her　voice　was　our　consolation　and　delight。

One　of　the　most　charming　recollections　of　my　boyhood　is　that　of　my　mother　standing　at　our　gate　with　a　lamp　in　her　hands；　sending　one　boy　out　in　the　early　morning　darkness；　to　his　work；　and　at　the　same　time　welcoming　another　boy　home。　My　brother　was　on　the　day　shift　and　I　on　the　night；　which　meant　that　he　left　home　as　I　was　leaving　the　mills；　about　half　past　two　in　the　morning。　On　dark　nightsand　they　were　all　dark　at　that　hourmy　mother；　thinking　my　little　brother　afraid；　would　go　with　him　to　the　gate　and；　holding　an　old…fashioned　lamp　high　in　her　hands；　would　sing　some　Welsh　song　while　he　trudged　out　toward　the　mills　and　until　he　got　within　the　radius　of　the　glare　from　the　stacks　as　they。　belched　forth　the　furnace　flames。　And　as　he　passed　from　the　light　of　the　old　oil　burner　into　the　greater　light　from　the　mills；　I　walked　wearily　out　from　that　reflection　and　was　guided　home　by　my　mother's　lamp　and　song　on　her　lips。

Happy　is　the　race　that　sings；　and　the　Welsh　are　singers。　After　the　tiring　labor　in　the　mills　we　still　had　joy　that　found　its　voice　in　song。　When　I　was　six　years　old　I　joined　a　singing　society。　The　whole　land　of　Wales　echoes　with　the　folk　songs　of　a　people　who　sing　because　they　must。

The　memory　of　my　mother　singing；　has　made　my　whole　life　sweet。　When　blue　days　came　for　me；　and　hardship　almost　forced　me　to　despair；　I　turned　my　thoughts　to　her；　singing　as　she　rocked　a　cradle；　and　from　her　spirit　my　own　heart　took　hope　again。　I　think　the　reason　I　have　never　cared　for　drink　is　this：　the　ease　from　mental　pain　that　other　men　have　sought　in　alcohol；　I　always　found　in　song。



CHAPTER　V

THE　LOST　FEATHER　BED


I　didn't　care　very　much　for　day　school。　The　whipping　that　I　got　there　rather　dulled　the　flavor　of　it　for　me。　But　I　was　a　prize　pupil　at　Sunday…school。　Father　had　gone　to　America　and　had　saved　enough　money　to　send　for　the　family。　I　asked　my　mother　if　there　were　Sunday…schools　in　America；　but　she　did　not　know。　In　those　days　we　knew　little　about　lands　that　lay　so　far　away。

My　boy　chums　told　me　we　were　going　to　Pennsylvania　to　fight　Indians。　This　cheered　me　up。　Fighting　Indians　would　be　as　much　fun　as　going　to　Sunday…school。　A　trip　to　America　for　such　a　purpose　was　a　sensible　move。　But　when　mother　exploded　the　Indian　theory　and　said　we　were　going　to　work　in　a　rolling　mill；　I　decided　that　it　was　a　foolish　venture。

This　shows　how　much　my　judgment　was　worth。　I　thought　it　foolish　to　go　to　America　merely　to　better　our　condition。　But　I　thought　it　a　wise　move　to　go　there　and　kill　Indians　to　better　the　living　conditions　of　the　Americans。　I　know　grown　men　to…day　with　the　same　kind　of　judgment。　They　are　unwilling　to　do　the　simple　things　that　will　save　their　own　scalps；　but　they　are　glad　to　go　fight　imaginary　Indians　who　they　believe　are　scalping　the　human　race。　〃Capitalism〃　is　one　of　these　imaginary　Indians。　And　Lenin　and　Trotsky　are　the　boy　Indian…fighters　of　the　world。　These　poor　children　are　willing　to　go　to　any　country　to　help　kill　the　Indian　of　capitalism。　Meanwhile　their　own　people　are　the　poorest　in　the　world；　but　they　do　nothing　to　better　their　condition。　Such　men　have　minds　that　never　grew　up。

When　our　household　was　dissolving　and　we　were　packing　our　baggage　for　America；　I　tried　to　break　up　the　plan　by　hiding　under　the　bed。　Mother　took　the　feather　ticks　off　the　two　bedsteads　and　bundled　them　up　to　take　to　America。　Then　she　reached　under　the　bedstead　and　pulled　me　out　by　the　heels。　She　sold　the　bedsteads　to　a　neighbor。　And　so　our　household　ended　in　Wales　and　we　were　on　our　way　to　establish　a　new　one　in　a　far　country。

As　I　said　before；　the　feather　beds　were　mother's　measure　of　wealth。　Before　she　was　married　she　had　begun　saving　for　her　first　feather　bed。　It　had　taken　a　long　time　to　acquire　these　two　tickfuls　of　downy　goose　feathers。　The　bed　is　the　foundation　of　the　household。　It　is　there　that　the　babies　are　born。　There　sleep　restores　the　weary　toiler　that　he　may　rise　and　toil　anew。　And　there　at　last　when　work　is　done；　the　old　folks　fall　into　a　sleep　that　never　ends。

We　traveled　steerage　to　Castle　Garden。　Having　passed　the　immigrant　tests；　we　found　ourselves　set　out　on　the　dock；　free　to　go　where　we　pleased。　But　our　baggage　had　disappeared。　Some　one　had　made　off　with　our　precious　feather　beds！

This　was　the　first　real　tragedy　of　my　mother's　life。　All　the　joy　of　setting　foot　in　the　new　land　was　turned　to　dismay。　The　stored…up　pleasure　with　which　she　awaited　the　greeting　of　her　husband　was　dashed　in　a　moment；　like　sweet　water　flung　upon　the　ground。　Whe