Yesterday she had been so proud, so happy. She had had such a
hard time bringing it into the world, too. Martin had been
obliged to tie a rope to its protruding legs and pull with all
his strength. It didn't seem fair to think that the trusting-eyed
little fellow had been snatched from her so soon, as if her pain
had been an entirely negligible incident. Already, after six
short weeks, he was hanging, drawn and quartered, in one of
Fallon's meat-markets.

"I hate this place!" burst out the boy passionately. "I hate it!"

"All farms are cruel," agreed his mother quickly. "But I suppose
they have to be. People must have milk and they must have veal."

At nine, though his fingers would become cramped and his wrists
would pain him, Bill had three cows to account for twice a day.
At five in the morning, he would be shaken by Martin and told to
hurry up. It would be dark when he stepped out into the chill
air, and he would draw back with a shiver. Somewhere on these six
hundred acres was the herd and it was his chore to find it and
bring it in. He would go struggling through the pasture, unable
to see twenty-five feet ahead of him, the cold dew or snow
soaking through his overalls, his shoes becoming wet. Often he
would go a mile north only to have to wander to another end of
the farm before he located them. Other times, when he was lucky,
they would be waiting within a hundred yards of the barn. Oh, how
precious the warm bed was, and how his growing body craved a few
more hours of sleep! He had a trick of pulling the sheet up over
his head, as if thus he could shut out the world, but always his
father was there to rout him out from this nest and set him none