“Have thy tools ready and God will find thee work,” Pa yelled, as he removed his belt from his britches and walloped my hin’ end. “I’ve told you time and time ag’in that you that you has to git the tools clean after you uses ‘em.” Pa was a big ol’ giant of a feller and I cringed as he backhanded my mouth, causing a little trickle of blood to run down my chin.
“But Pa,” I said, “I was goin’ to clean ‘em but you was in town fer a spell so I stops choppin’ the wood, thinkin’ I gonna clean the axe after I goes to the ol’ swimmin’ hole with Bubba. It was so dang hot! I thought I’d scrub it afore you got back!”
“There aint’ no excuse for sloth,” snarled my Pa. “If you want to be ‘round here a little longer, you has best learn to min’ your manners and take care of yo work if you be wantin’ some vittles."
Well, I shore was hongry so I decides to do what he tells me until I be grown. I’se already eight so thas only ‘bout six more years. In this here country, tha’s considered ol’, fer sure.
I bides my time, doin’ mos’ all of the work, cleanin’ the tools and tryin’ to make ol’ Pa happy or at leas’ not stompin’ mad all the time.
But I’se angry inside, I kin feel it boilin’ aways. One day I decides I can’t take it no mo’ so I do what I has to do! But I clean the tools after, until they shines, not a speck of blood, jes like ol’ Pa always sez to do. I had my tools ready and God did find me work so hallelujah and Praise the Lord.