My happy tones and eulogies of farm life may lead my readers to wrong conclusions. It is true that there was an abundance to eat, plenty of fuel with which to keep warm, and any amount of healthful exercise without my one requiring the horizontal bar, although that would have lifted one from the sense of slavery could I have had it. But I think I can truthfully say that the farm is no place to go to to find money, unless you could own your own estate and become a wheat "miner" in Alberta; yet even that might not do for you in the days when the governments of the world find that too much wheat is growing, and consequently reducing prices.
I must come to a darker side of my farm life. At the beginning I had my supplies of clothing which I had brought from England; they were made of good material and lasted well. The boots especially -- what a grief it was to my heart -- what a piece of sacrilege it appeared -- that these boots with English leather for the uppers, with steels on the heels, and lines of hobnails all over the soles, must be hung up on a pole over by the beehives and ash leech, and must hang there summer and winter year after year, because they were too heavy and rough to come into the house! I had counted on them so much! They were to be my friends in winter to enable me to enjoy the sport of sliding in a land where Nature provided an abundance of ice. But, no. Those ugly nails would tear up the carpet on the dining room; they would cut up the painted kitchen floor. There was nothing to be done with them but to hang them up for public reprobation out doors. Then oh so much against my pride, and sense of dignity, I who had never touched an English street with my bare feet, and who terribly resented the word "street-arab", was required in spring, summer and autumn weather to run about the farm bare footed. That meant going into pasture fields where thistles grew, and into fields where the grain stubble had been left, to bring home the cows. At night my feet had to have a careful washing so that the bedclothes might not be soiled. In place of the discarded boots a pair of Canadian "cowhide" made with tops rising to my knees were purchased for me, and I was required to keep them frequently well greased with tallow so that the leather would resist the water, and the boots would wear the longer. After I had once put them on I quite fancied myself to be in line with the English hunting squire; but I only entertained this feeling on Sunday -- other days I had to be satisfied with looking at the boots, unless it was that I was sent on some errand to a neighbour's.
I had been on the farm two years, and nothing had been said to me about money -- I was given a cent piece to put in the collection plate every Sunday, and that was all that I needed of money. I had no letters to write and I did not visit village stores. So I lived peacefully in a state where money, so far as I was concerned, did not count. I was entered upon my third year when the elder, being alone in the house called me to his desk. I had already learned that he was a magistrate. At times, when elections were under way, the home was visited by politicians, and thus I had some knowledge of men like the Hon Edward Blake, and the local member of parliament W L Biggar, men who usually read the Scriptures at night and so ended the day with prayer. When therefore the magistrate called me to his desk, and I saw many papers, I confess to feeling overawed. He produced a book of accounts against myself. I expressed myself as sorry that I had neglected the matter, but I had been quite busy -- too much so to give the subject much thought! He made me think myself a great debtor. There was the cost of a pair of boots; there was a straw hat or two for summer; there was a pair of mittens (which I said I could easily do without) for winter. There was a shirt which had been made over from one of his; there was a new tie which was more in keeping with the Canadian fashion -- and so on down a long list. Finally -- "I have been paying you Twenty Dollars a year, which you see is all used up. This third year, if you are good, I will pay you Twenty-six Dollars" "Yes, Sir. Thank you."
Oh, I was actually earning some money! Twenty Dollars a year! How long would it take to buy a farm? Twenty-six Dollars this year! What should I think? What could I think? Do I not do some thinking nowadays! Oh, yes, I was learning farming; I was an apprentice; but the master was not entitled to any credit for charitableness -- he received back full value for his money.
My third year brought Twenty-six dollars; the fourth year, Thirty Dollars; the fifth year Thirty-six Dollars. I am not giving these figures as commending them or as showing the high class of remunerations which Canada could afford to give, and actually gave, both then, and does at my time of writing. Things have greatly changed since those days. Government investigations have been conducted since then and a proper scale of wages for young people, who though young were often made to do all of the work which mature people would have accomplished has been established; but in the days of which I write the principal interest of governments on both sides of the Atlantic was expressed in contributions for the removal and introduction of the young life -- a transportation that was greatly to the advantage of the young life and for the new country was more to its advantage than has been the introduction of people of older years, as children become more readily acclimatised than do adults, and they have much less to forget. It certainly was a good step when the governments of Britain and Canada co-operated not to stop child emigration, but to regulate and supervise it so that the child might have fair play, and receive proper reward for service rendered which was often equal to that of adults -- a supervision that substituted the State as guardian, in place of the defunct parents.
At the time of which I write, while an annual visit was made by a representative of Marchmont Home, the farmer was allowed to state his own terms of payment, and there was no disposition on the part of the visitor to remove a child from a home if the child appeared to be well cared for in other respects. A visitor might make a memo in his visiting book to the effect -- "Visited A.B. Found him well liked. Apparently fond of farming. Looked fat and well. Employer had a good report to give of him. Has not been convenient to send him to school. Wages being increased six dollars this year. (Think the wages small in comparison with what others in the neighbourhood are receiving but the farmer thought this was all that he could afford, and it is better for A.B. to receive less money and have Christian influence around him, than to be drifting around the country into undesirable homes for the sake of more money. A.B. is made of material anyway which soon or later is bound to come to the top. Recommend no interference. Family has family worship every day, church every Sunday, Sunday School in summer months, and A.B. always accompanies the family.)"
My year on the farm began and ended in September. Apparently the fifth year ended without the calendar being noted; it passed on into the winter, and I was too much taken up with my interest in the feeding of stock, the threshing of the summer crop of peas, and the chopping and hauling of the summer supply of wood for use in the kitchen stove. Every day was well filled with labour; in my evenings I had books to read, also newspapers from Toronto, and a magazine and monthly paper from Montreal; I was also given to art cultivation and frequently used my watercolors and other methods of art. So the winter passed along and I supposed that my wages were going on in the progression that they had been following, automatically. I have since learned that it does not do to assume too much even with a Christian man to deal with you; it is always best to have a good understanding, even if it is only in a good pair of boots. For to my surprise, and without warning, in the month of April the farmer precipitated a question one day as we wrought together in the woods:- "How much will you ask for your work this summer?" In a flash I saw that all my winter work had gone for no more than my keep. I quickly replied that other boys in the neighbourhood were receiving Twelve Dollars a month, and my work and duties were quite equal to theirs. "I cannot give that" he replied. "This farm will not allow me to pay more than Six Dollars a month for eight months. You can have two weeks to think it over". I did do some thinking, and I felt rebellious. On Sunday I met my chums at church, and the general consensus of opinion was that I should leave and go elsewhere for fair treatment. On the second Sunday I made a discovery -- the situation had evidently become known to all surrounding landowners -- one of them let me into that knowledge -- and this family with which I had lived for so many years was so important in the neighbourhood that no one would take away their help. I saw that to leave that farm meant also to leave the neighbourhood, and that meant drifting into the sea of an unknown world. I feared what might happen to my personality; accordingly when the hour of decision arrived I decided to accept the terms of eight months work for six dollars per month, or Forty Eight Dollars as my years earnings. But, oh, it did go against the English grain!
Of course I did not go to town, nor even village barber shop (on the farm the barbering was done by the farmer), so I had no occasion to spend money, except as a few clothes were bought, notably a big straw hat, a pair of brown duck pants and a smock to match for summer, and a pair of boots for the year; a new suit of clothes lasted two or three years. My total expenses as recorded in a book of the following year were Eighteen Dollars. At that rate money meant very little to me.
I was to receive Forty Eight Dollars; and I began to estimate how much I could put in the bank; but my unhatched chickens came to a rude ending. "Chloie" was a big black galloway cow whom I had milked for some time, and it was decided in the previous autumn that she had done duty long enough; for the following winter she was stalled and it became my duty day by day to feed her on ground grain, turnips and hay, until by the month of April she had become a fine specimen of a beef. I was justly proud of my work. She weighed at least twice her weight when first put into the stall, and her black coat shone like oil.
"I wish some one would come along and buy her", the owner said one day, as we both stood surveying her fine haunches. "How much do you want for her?" I asked. It was a most unfortunate question for me to ask as the sequel will show. "0h I think she ought to be worth Fifty Dollars; don't you?" I agreed.
Now it came to pass early in the month of May that the farmer and his wife had gone for a weekend visit to her people down country. I was alone with everything. On Monday morning at ten o'clock a cattle buyer, looking for fat beeves, drove into the yard, having come some twenty miles to see the cow of which he had in some way heard; and he insisted on seeing this cow. She suited his fancy so well that he decided to wait until the owner might arrive home. Dinner time came and I entertained him. Two o'clock arrived; strangely enough, the people who had never before delayed their return beyond twelve o'clock had not returned. Oh, if those had been the days of telephones! What a world of trouble I might have been saved! Four o'clock arrived, but no people. Then the buyer said:- "I must be going; it is twenty-two miles to town. How much does he ask for that cow?" "Fifty Five Dollars", I said, putting on five dollars, and thinking I was doing well. "Well, I must be getting back to town, and that cow will have to go slowly. I will give you the Fifty Five, and I must get away".
Shortly after the cow had gone the farmer returned home. He was surprised, and apparently well pleased that the cow had been sold, and for five dollars more than he had stipulated. Of course he had to trust to my honesty as to whether or not I had received more, or had given him the full amount; and therein as a proxy I had put myself in a doubtful position. It was late that evening when the old father came driving into the yard from a village midway between us and the destination of the butcher. The cow had passed through that village, had been weighed there, and another butcher had said:- "I would have given Seventy Five Dollars for that cow". The father had come to see why the cow had been sold for Fifty Five. To this day I can think no other than that if I had sold it for one hundred dollars, the farmer would have claimed all of the price; as it was, I sold for more than he stated. Because some one else proposed a price irresponsibly and hypothetically, I was regarded as one who had done an injustice. It was my misfortune that I was too anxious to promote the welfare of another -- that has been my misfortune all through life -- I should really have had power of attorney to cover me in a transaction of that kind. Now I had passed into a whirlwind and storm. What would be the outcome? Nothing was said to me until the day that my eight months wages of Forty Eight Dollars fell due, and then it was said:- "You know I lost twenty dollars in the sale of the cow, and I shall have to take that out of your wages".
So my income for that year was Twenty Eight Dollars only, but as I have always lived within my income I kept my expenditures at Eighteen Dollars. I believe that my farmer friend tried to rectify what I regard as an injustice, for long years afterward when I had become a servant of farmers in a different way, he sent me, for a number of years, an annual gift of a barrel of pears, or apples, or selected vegetables; so that I felt eventually that full restitution was made, but allusion to the former transaction was never mentioned.
In my seventh year I received an engagement for six months at Ten Dollars per month; and in my eighth year I wrought for six weeks and received Twenty Five Dollars. As I have written before, I went to the village but once a year, and consequently had little to provoke my buying qualities, unless it might be for clothing. It was twenty-one days less than eight years when I left that farm, and when I did so it was for other purposes than farming. But this brings me to a new and wider phase in my story.
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