Both were resolute, but they were indifferent choppers compared with those who usually grapple with forests, and the job looked so formidable that farmers and others passing along the turnpike were accustomed to halt and predict that Herbert would be a grown man before he saw the end of the job. But his fighting blood was up and he determined to plod along without rest until the work was accomplished. So they continued cutting trees and bushes, chopping up grown trunks into small lengths, digging out rotten pines from the soil where they had imbedded themselves, burning the brush and worthless sticks, and carting home such wood as served for fuel. So they persevered until the job was finally completed. Herbert received $200 for the work; and after paying the hired man the $60 that was his due he had $140 left to put in the family fund. There was still a balance to their credit. Herbert was very glad the work was finished. At times he felt that he would give way under the strain, but pluckily refused to do so. Frequently at night the sharp lances of the Canadian thistles had to be dug out of his festered feet with needles; but he had the stuff in him of which successful men are made. However, two years of this sort of toil were sufficient, and at the end of that time he cheerfully marked “the end” at the conclusion of his experience at farming.
CHAPTER VIII HERBERT BECOMES AMBITIOUS AND IS FASCINATED BY THE SMELL OF PRINTERS’ INK
From the time that he was first able to spell and connect one word with another, Herbert was fascinated by the sight of a printed page. If he saw a circular or a fragment of newspaper on the sidewalk he was impelled to pick it up and read its contents. The weekly paper was a rare treat to him and he perused its columns from the first page to the last, until he knew the contents almost by heart. The sight of a book of fiction or adventure or biography was one of the greatest joys on earth to him, and he eagerly devoured everything of that kind that came in his way. Early in his school-days he had written little essays which after being read in secret, many times, were finally consigned to the flames as being unworthy of publicity.
The town, among its other places and things of interest, possessed a weekly newspaper known as the Cleverly Banner. Herbert never passed the office of this newspaper without being filled with a wild desire to be on the inside instead of the outside of the building. Frequently he stood looking in the window watching the old-fashioned press as it slowly ground out the regular weekly edition. Once or twice he had occasion to call at the office of the Banner with reference to some printing that was being done there, and on such occasions he was thrown into transports of delight. The smell of the ink, the sound of the presses, and the sight of the freshly printed pages sent him into an ecstacy that was almost heavenly in its pleasure.