McGuffey enjoyed, but I'll say this for him--he knew more about
the laws of hydraulics than McGuffey ever dreamed.
And there was Peter Hurdle, the ragged lad who engaged in a long
but tiresome conversation with the philanthropic and inquisitive
Mr. Lenox, during the course of which it developed that Peter
didn't want anything. When it came on to storm he got under a
tree. When he was hungry he ate a raw turnip. Raw turnips, it
would appear, grew all the year round in the fields of the favored
land where Peter resided. If the chill winds of autumn blew in
through one of the holes in Peter's trousers they blew right out
again through another hole. And he didn't care to accept the dime
which Mr. Lenox in an excess of generosity offered him, because,
it seemed, he already had a dime. When it came to being plumb
contented there probably never was a soul on this earth that was
the equal of Master Hurdle. He even was satisfied with his name
which I would regard as the ultimate test.
Likewise, there was the case of Hugh Idle and Mr. Toil. Perhaps
you recall that moving story? Hugh tries to dodge work; wherever
he goes he finds Mr. Toil in one guise or another but always with
the same harsh voice and the same frowning eyes, bossing some job
in a manner which would cost him his boss-ship right off the reel
in these times when union labor is so touchy.
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