Pa's Brickyard.

Maoriland Worker, Volume I, Issue 1, 15 September 1910, Page 13

Pa's Brickyard.

" What place is this, pa?" " Thie, my child, is a brickyard." "Whose brickyard is it, pa?" " Oh, it belongs to mc, my child." " Do those big piles of bricks belong to you, pa?" " Yes?' "Do those dirty men belong to you, ." No, there is no slavery in this country ; those are free men." " What makes them work so hard, pa?" " They are working for a living." "Why do they work for a living?" " Because they are poor and are obliged to work." " How is it they are so poor when they work so hard, pa?" " I don't know." " Don't somebody steal from them what they earn, pa?" " No, my child. What makes you ask such ridiculous questions?" " I thought perhaps some of that dirty clay got in their eyes and blinded them. But, pa, don't the bricks belong to them after they have made them?" " No, they belong to mc, my eon." " What are the bricks made of, pa?" " Clay, my son." " What! That dirt I see down there, pa?" " Yes, nothing else." " Whom does the dirt belong to, pa?" "It belongs to mc." " Did you make the dirt, pa?" " No, my child. God made it." " Did He make it for you especially?" " No, I bought it." "Bought it off God, pa?" " No; I bought it like I buy anything else." " Did the man you bought it off buy it of God?" "I don't know my son; ask mc something easier. " Anyway, it is a good thing you've got the land, isn't it, pa?" *' Why, my eon?" " Because you'd have to make bricks for a living, like those horrid men. Shall I have to work for a living when I'm a man, pa?" " No, my boy. I'll leave the land to you when I die." "Don't people turn into clay when they're dead, pa?" " What remains of them is clay." " When are you going to die, pa?" "I don't know. Why do you ask." "Nothing. Only I was thinking what a hard old brick your clay would make." __^^^__ mk _ mm _ mmmmmmmmmm