The extra farm-hands were discharged,
and much of the work was left unfinished.
What was to be done?
The mother and daughter wept in secret. Their careers had been
interrupted. Desolation was out-of-doors, and desolation was in their
hearts. The earth lay in ragged heaps; beams and timbers leaned half
erect; barns were party-colored with the old paint and the new, and the
shrubbery was bare to the frosts. Joys which had smiled had fled into
the far distance, and now looked surly enough; all pleasures were
unhorsed, and hope was down.
It was under these circumstances that Fields wrote a second time to the
honorable board of directors to ask them to pay him better wages.
Friday came. There was a meeting, and Fields knew that his case must now
be receiving consideration.
At eleven o'clock the directors emerged from their parlor, and passed
by his desk in twos and threes, chatting and telling watery jokes, as
most great men do.
"They look as if they had entirely forgotten me," said Fields to
himself.
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