A Strike

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Oct 14, 1915

THE snow was deep in the paths, the barn door hard to open, and the ax was dull on the morning when Phil and Harold decided to strike.

“I’m tired of chores,” said Harold. “Bill and Jack Lee never have anything to do out of school.”

“But isn’t that because they live upstairs in a flat, and there’s nothing to do?”

“I don’t care why ’tis. I only know I’ve had enough of chores. Lessons out of school are enough for any boy. Sam Dunn could just as well do them all the time. Let’s strike,” said Harold. “Father’s away. It would be a good time.”

“Strikes are all the go,” admitted Phil.

“Let’s do it,” said Harold. “We can see how it works anyway, and declare it off if it doesn’t work well.”

So on the following morning, as the boys left for school, a placard was posted outside the kitchen door with the words: “A strike is on. No more chores for boys. Phil and Harold.”

Nora, the maid in the kitchen, called Mrs. Allen to see it, and the two in some amusement made arrangements which seemed to involve something like a strike of their own.

So when the young strikers returned at noon, they found the house quiet, the key of the back door under the mat, as always understood at times when there was nobody at home. It was easy to guess that mother had gone on a visit to her parents, who lived at the other end of the town; but there appeared no reason for the absence of Nora, and there was some grumbling as the two realized that no preparation had been made for dinner.

“Never mind; we can find plenty to eat.”

They ate a cold lunch, and at supper time devoured what was left of it.

“Boys don’t need to be so particular, pampering themselves up,” Harold assured his brother.

“No, indeed! Fancy if we were camping. Things would be a good deal rougher than they are here.”

But it was rather comfortless to find their bed unmade and their room in the confusion in which they had left it on rising. And when in the morning they went to the kitchen with its array of unwashed dishes from their meals of the day before, they were quite ready to agree that it was like camping with the fun left out. Other parts of the house were warm, for Sam Dunn took care of the furnace; but there was no fire in the kitchen.

“I’m not going to eat cold stuff this morning,” declared Phil. “It’s odd if we can’t get up a breakfast for ourselves. Here are some eggs; anybody can cook eggs. And we’ll have milk toast.”

“But where’s the milk?” said Harold. “I’ve been looking for some, but there’s only a drop left from last night.”

“I wonder if anybody’s looking after milking the cow, now that Nora’s taken herself off,” said Phil in great discontent. “Well, we’ll have coffee.”

After a laborious three quarters of an hour they sat down to a muddy mixture they called coffee, missing sorely the fresh milk which Sam Dunn, under instruction, had carried away with him when he milked.

“Can’t you make better toast than this?” growled Phil. “One side is burned, and the other side is raw.”

“Well, you boiled the eggs, and they’re like bullets.”

“If we waited for them to boil soft, we’d be late for school.”

Phil presently pushed back his chair in disgust, and asked, “How long do strikes last?”

“I’m thinking this one has lasted about long enough for me.”

“Me, too. It hasn’t worked well at all.”

The paths were cleared of snow, kindling cut, and other small duties attended to. Then another placard was hastily prepared: “Strike’s off. Phil and Harold.”

As the two strikers guessed might be the case, on their return at noon Nora was in the kitchen, having much enjoyed her short holiday. Everything was in pleasing preparation for a comforting meal. Mother sat down to it with them, looking as if nothing had been going on; but the boys felt a little foolish.

“We—we didn’t calculate on you and Nora going on a strike, too,” at length said Phil.

“I suppose not,” said mother. “But you must acknowledge that it was a good time for us to do it, when there were no boys ready to bear their own little share of the everyday burdens. Things, you know, cannot run smoothly unless each one does his faithful, willing best in the business of home making.”

“I think we both know that,” said Phil.—Exchange.