July 17, 2025 • 8 mins
Dive into Warners engaging and humor-filled memoir as he shares his experiences growing up on a farm in Charlemont, Massachusetts. Narrated by Mark Penfold, this podcast will transport you back to a simpler time and place.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter twelve of Being a Boy by Charles Dudley Warner.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by
Mark Penfold, Chapter twelve, The Lonely farm House. The winter
evenings of the farmer boy in New England used not
to be so gay as to tire him of the
(00:22):
pleasures of life before he became of age. A remote
farm house, standing a little off the road, banked up
with sawdust and earth to keep the frost out of
the cellar, blockaded with snow, and flying a blue flag
of smoke from its chimney, looks like a besieged fort
on cold and stormy winter nights to the traveler warily
dragging along in his creaking sleigh. The light from its
(00:43):
windows suggests a house of refuge and the cheer of
a blazing fire, But it is no less a fort
into which the family retire when the New England winter
on the hills really sets in. The boy is an
important part of the garrison. He is not only one
of the best means of communicating with the outer world,
but he furnishes half the entertainment and takes two thirds
of the scolding of the family circle. A farm would
(01:06):
come to grief without a boy on it. But it
is impossible to think of a farm house without a
boy in it. That boy brings life into the house.
His tracks are to be seen everywhere. He leaves all
the doors open. He hasn't half filled the wood box,
he makes noise enough to wake the dead. Or he
is in a brown study by the fire and cannot
be stirred. Or he has fastened a grip into some
(01:28):
crusoe book which cannot easily be shaken off. I suppose
that the farmer boy's evenings are not now what they
used to be, that he has more books and less
to do, and is not half so good a boy
as formerly, when he used to think the Almanac was
pretty lively reading, and the comic Almanac, if he could
get hold of that, was a supreme delight. Of course,
he had the evenings to himself, and after he had
(01:50):
done the chores at the barn, brought in the wood
and piled it high in the box, ready to be
heaped upon the great open fire. It was nearly dark
when he came from school. With it continuation of snowballing
and sliding, and he always had an agreeable time stumbling
and fumbling around in barn and woodhouse in the waning light.
John used to say that he supposed nobody would do
(02:11):
his chores if he did not get home till midnight,
and he was never contradicted whatever happened to him, and
whatever length of days or sort of weather was produced
by the almanac. The cardinal rule was that he should
be at home before dark. John used to imagine what
people did in the dark ages, and wonder sometimes whether
he wasn't still in them. Of course, John had nothing
(02:33):
to do all the evening after his chores except little
things while he drew his chair up to the table
in order to get the full radiance of the tallow
candle on his slate or his book. The women of
the house also sat by the table, knitting and sewing.
The head of the house sat in his chair tipped
back against the chimney. The hired man was in danger
of burning his boots in the fire. John might be
(02:55):
deep in the excitement of a bear story, or be
hard at writing a composition his greasy slate, But whatever
he was doing, he was the only one who could
always be interrupted. It was he who must snuff the
candles and put on a stick of wood, and toast
the cheese, and turn the apples and crack the nuts.
He knew where the fox and geese board was, and
he could find the twelve men Morris. Considering that he
(03:18):
was expected to go tobout at eight o'clock, one would
say that the opportunity for study was not great, and
that his reading was rather interrupted. There seemed to be
always something for him to do, even when all the
rest of the family came as near being idle as
is ever possible in a New England household. No wonder
that John was not sleepy at eight o'clock. He had
been flying about while the others had been yawning. Before
(03:40):
the fire. He would like to set up, just to
see how much more solemn and stupid it would become
as the night went on. He wanted to tinker his skates,
to mend his sledge, to finish that chapter. Why should
he go away from that bright blaze and the company
that sat in its radiance, to the cold and solitude
of his chamber. Why didn't the people who were sleepy
go to bed? How lonesome the old house was, how
(04:02):
cold it was away from that great central fire in
the heart of it. How its timbers creaked, as if
in the contracting pinch of the frost. What a rattling
there was of windows, What a concerted attack upon the
clap birds. How the floors squeaked, And what gusts from
round corners came to snatch the feeble flame of the
candle from the boy's hand. How he shivered as he
(04:23):
paused at the staircase window to look out upon the
great fields of snow, upon the stripped forest, through which
he could hear the wind raving in a kind of fury,
and up at the black flying clouds amid which the
young moon was dashing and driven on like a frail
shallop at sea. And his teeth chattered more than ever
when he got into the icy sheets, and drew himself
up into a ball in his flannel nightgown, like a
(04:44):
fox in his hole. For a little time he could
hear the noises downstairs, and an occasional laugh. He could
guess that now they were having cider, and now apples
were going round, And he could fill the wind tugging
at the house, even sometimes shaking the bed. But this
did not last long. He soon went away into a
country he always delighted to be in a calm place
(05:05):
where the wind never blew, and no one dictated the
time of going to bed to anyone else. I like
to think of him sleeping there in such rude surroundings, ingenious, innocent, mischievous,
with no thought of the buffeting he is to get
from a world that has a good many worse places
for a boy than the hearth of an old farmhouse
and the sweet, though undemonstrative affection of its family life.
(05:28):
But there were other evenings in the boy's life that
were different from these at home, and one of them
he will never forget. It opened a new world to
John and sent him into a great flutter. It produced
a revolution in his mind in regard to neckties. It
made him wonder if greased boots were quite the thing
compared with blacked boots, And he wished he had a
long looking glass so that he could see as he
(05:49):
walked away from it, what was the effect of round
patches on the portion of his trousers. He could not
see except in a mirror, and if patches were quite
stylish even on everyday trousers. And he began to be
very much troubled about the parting of his hair, and
how to find out on which side was the natural part.
The evening to which I refer was that of John's
first party. He knew the girls at school, and he
(06:12):
was interested in some of them, with a different interest
from that he took in the boys. He never wanted
to take it out with one of them for an
insult in a stand up fight, and he instinctively softened
a boy's natural rudeness when he was with them. He
would help a timid little girl to stand, erect and slide.
He would draw her on his sled till his hands
were stiff with cold, without a murmur. He would generously
(06:35):
give her red apples into which he longed to set
his own sharp teeth. And he would cut in two
his lead pencil for a girl when he would not
for a boy. Had he not some of the beautiful
auburn tresses of Cynthia Rudd in his skate, spruce gum
and winter green box at home, And yet the grand
sentiment of life was little awakened in John. He liked
(06:55):
best to be with boys, and their rough play suited
him better than the amusements of the shrim drinking, fluttering
timid and sensitive little girls. John had not learned then
that a spider web is stronger than a cable, or
that a pretty little girl could turn him round her
finger a great deal easier than a big bully of
a boy could make him cry. Enough, John had indeed
(07:15):
Bennett's spelling schools, and had accomplished the feat of going
home with a girl afterwards. And he had been growing
into the habit of looking around in meeting on Sunday
and noticing how Cynthia was dressed, and not enjoying the
service quite as much if Cynthia was absent as when
she was present. But there was very little sentiment in
all this, and nothing whatever to make John blush at
(07:36):
hearing her name. But now John was invited to a
regular party. There was the invitation in a three cornered
billet sealed with a transparent wafer. Miss c Rudd requests
the pleasure of the company of et cetera, all in
blue ink and the finest kind of pin scratching writing.
What a precious document it was to John. It even
(07:57):
exhaled a faint sort of perfume, whether of lavender or
carroway seed, he could not tell. He read it over
a hundred times, and showed it confidentially to his favorite cousin,
who had bow of her own, and had even sat
up with them in the parlor. And from this sympathetic
cousin John got advice as to what he should wear
and how he should conduct himself at the party. End
(08:21):
of chapter twelve. Recording by Mark Penfold
Chapter twelve of Being a Boy by Charles Dudley Warner.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by
Mark Penfold, Chapter twelve, The Lonely farm House. The winter
evenings of the farmer boy in New England used not
to be so gay as to tire him of the
(00:22):
pleasures of life before he became of age. A remote
farm house, standing a little off the road, banked up
with sawdust and earth to keep the frost out of
the cellar, blockaded with snow, and flying a blue flag
of smoke from its chimney, looks like a besieged fort
on cold and stormy winter nights to the traveler warily
dragging along in his creaking sleigh. The light from its
(00:43):
windows suggests a house of refuge and the cheer of
a blazing fire, But it is no less a fort
into which the family retire when the New England winter
on the hills really sets in. The boy is an
important part of the garrison. He is not only one
of the best means of communicating with the outer world,
but he furnishes half the entertainment and takes two thirds
of the scolding of the family circle. A farm would
(01:06):
come to grief without a boy on it. But it
is impossible to think of a farm house without a
boy in it. That boy brings life into the house.
His tracks are to be seen everywhere. He leaves all
the doors open. He hasn't half filled the wood box,
he makes noise enough to wake the dead. Or he
is in a brown study by the fire and cannot
be stirred. Or he has fastened a grip into some
(01:28):
crusoe book which cannot easily be shaken off. I suppose
that the farmer boy's evenings are not now what they
used to be, that he has more books and less
to do, and is not half so good a boy
as formerly, when he used to think the Almanac was
pretty lively reading, and the comic Almanac, if he could
get hold of that, was a supreme delight. Of course,
he had the evenings to himself, and after he had
(01:50):
done the chores at the barn, brought in the wood
and piled it high in the box, ready to be
heaped upon the great open fire. It was nearly dark
when he came from school. With it continuation of snowballing
and sliding, and he always had an agreeable time stumbling
and fumbling around in barn and woodhouse in the waning light.
John used to say that he supposed nobody would do
(02:11):
his chores if he did not get home till midnight,
and he was never contradicted whatever happened to him, and
whatever length of days or sort of weather was produced
by the almanac. The cardinal rule was that he should
be at home before dark. John used to imagine what
people did in the dark ages, and wonder sometimes whether
he wasn't still in them. Of course, John had nothing
(02:33):
to do all the evening after his chores except little
things while he drew his chair up to the table
in order to get the full radiance of the tallow
candle on his slate or his book. The women of
the house also sat by the table, knitting and sewing.
The head of the house sat in his chair tipped
back against the chimney. The hired man was in danger
of burning his boots in the fire. John might be
(02:55):
deep in the excitement of a bear story, or be
hard at writing a composition his greasy slate, But whatever
he was doing, he was the only one who could
always be interrupted. It was he who must snuff the
candles and put on a stick of wood, and toast
the cheese, and turn the apples and crack the nuts.
He knew where the fox and geese board was, and
he could find the twelve men Morris. Considering that he
(03:18):
was expected to go tobout at eight o'clock, one would
say that the opportunity for study was not great, and
that his reading was rather interrupted. There seemed to be
always something for him to do, even when all the
rest of the family came as near being idle as
is ever possible in a New England household. No wonder
that John was not sleepy at eight o'clock. He had
been flying about while the others had been yawning. Before
(03:40):
the fire. He would like to set up, just to
see how much more solemn and stupid it would become
as the night went on. He wanted to tinker his skates,
to mend his sledge, to finish that chapter. Why should
he go away from that bright blaze and the company
that sat in its radiance, to the cold and solitude
of his chamber. Why didn't the people who were sleepy
go to bed? How lonesome the old house was, how
(04:02):
cold it was away from that great central fire in
the heart of it. How its timbers creaked, as if
in the contracting pinch of the frost. What a rattling
there was of windows, What a concerted attack upon the
clap birds. How the floors squeaked, And what gusts from
round corners came to snatch the feeble flame of the
candle from the boy's hand. How he shivered as he
(04:23):
paused at the staircase window to look out upon the
great fields of snow, upon the stripped forest, through which
he could hear the wind raving in a kind of fury,
and up at the black flying clouds amid which the
young moon was dashing and driven on like a frail
shallop at sea. And his teeth chattered more than ever
when he got into the icy sheets, and drew himself
up into a ball in his flannel nightgown, like a
(04:44):
fox in his hole. For a little time he could
hear the noises downstairs, and an occasional laugh. He could
guess that now they were having cider, and now apples
were going round, And he could fill the wind tugging
at the house, even sometimes shaking the bed. But this
did not last long. He soon went away into a
country he always delighted to be in a calm place
(05:05):
where the wind never blew, and no one dictated the
time of going to bed to anyone else. I like
to think of him sleeping there in such rude surroundings, ingenious, innocent, mischievous,
with no thought of the buffeting he is to get
from a world that has a good many worse places
for a boy than the hearth of an old farmhouse
and the sweet, though undemonstrative affection of its family life.
(05:28):
But there were other evenings in the boy's life that
were different from these at home, and one of them
he will never forget. It opened a new world to
John and sent him into a great flutter. It produced
a revolution in his mind in regard to neckties. It
made him wonder if greased boots were quite the thing
compared with blacked boots, And he wished he had a
long looking glass so that he could see as he
(05:49):
walked away from it, what was the effect of round
patches on the portion of his trousers. He could not
see except in a mirror, and if patches were quite
stylish even on everyday trousers. And he began to be
very much troubled about the parting of his hair, and
how to find out on which side was the natural part.
The evening to which I refer was that of John's
first party. He knew the girls at school, and he
(06:12):
was interested in some of them, with a different interest
from that he took in the boys. He never wanted
to take it out with one of them for an
insult in a stand up fight, and he instinctively softened
a boy's natural rudeness when he was with them. He
would help a timid little girl to stand, erect and slide.
He would draw her on his sled till his hands
were stiff with cold, without a murmur. He would generously
(06:35):
give her red apples into which he longed to set
his own sharp teeth. And he would cut in two
his lead pencil for a girl when he would not
for a boy. Had he not some of the beautiful
auburn tresses of Cynthia Rudd in his skate, spruce gum
and winter green box at home, And yet the grand
sentiment of life was little awakened in John. He liked
(06:55):
best to be with boys, and their rough play suited
him better than the amusements of the shrim drinking, fluttering
timid and sensitive little girls. John had not learned then
that a spider web is stronger than a cable, or
that a pretty little girl could turn him round her
finger a great deal easier than a big bully of
a boy could make him cry. Enough, John had indeed
(07:15):
Bennett's spelling schools, and had accomplished the feat of going
home with a girl afterwards. And he had been growing
into the habit of looking around in meeting on Sunday
and noticing how Cynthia was dressed, and not enjoying the
service quite as much if Cynthia was absent as when
she was present. But there was very little sentiment in
all this, and nothing whatever to make John blush at
(07:36):
hearing her name. But now John was invited to a
regular party. There was the invitation in a three cornered
billet sealed with a transparent wafer. Miss c Rudd requests
the pleasure of the company of et cetera, all in
blue ink and the finest kind of pin scratching writing.
What a precious document it was to John. It even
(07:57):
exhaled a faint sort of perfume, whether of lavender or
carroway seed, he could not tell. He read it over
a hundred times, and showed it confidentially to his favorite cousin,
who had bow of her own, and had even sat
up with them in the parlor. And from this sympathetic
cousin John got advice as to what he should wear
and how he should conduct himself at the party. End
(08:21):
of chapter twelve. Recording by Mark Penfold
Popular Podcasts
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Law & Order: Criminal Justice System - Season 1 & Season 2
Season Two Out Now! Law & Order: Criminal Justice System tells the real stories behind the landmark cases that have shaped how the most dangerous and influential criminals in America are prosecuted. In its second season, the series tackles the threat of terrorism in the United States. From the rise of extremist political groups in the 60s to domestic lone wolves in the modern day, we explore how organizations like the FBI and Joint Terrorism Take Force have evolved to fight back against a multitude of terrorist threats.