FARM EXPERIENCES. THE BAD BOY WORKS ON A FARM FOR A DEACON--
HE KNOWS WHEN HE HAS GOT ENOUGH--HOW THE DEACON MADE HIM
FLAX AROUND--AND HOW HE MADE IT WARM FOR THE DEACON.
“Want to buy any cabbages?” said the bad boy to the grocery man, as
he stopped at the door of the grocery, dressed in a blue wamus, his
breeches tucked in his boots, and an old hat on his head, with a hole
that let out his hair through the top. He had got out of a democrat
wagon, and was holding the lines hitched to a horse about forty years
old, that leaned against the hitching post to rest, “Only a shilling
apiece.”
“O, go 'way,” said the grocery man. “I only pay three cents apiece.” And
then he looked at the boy and said “Hello, Hennery, is that you? I have
missed you all the week, and now you come on to me sudden, disguised as
a granger. What does this all mean?”
“It means that I have been the victim of as vile a conspiracy as ever
was known since Cæesar was stabbed, and Marc Antony orated over his
prostrate corpse in the Roman forum, to an audience of supes and scene
shifters,” and the boy dropped the lines on the sidewalk, said, “whoa,
gol darn you,” to the horse that was asleep, wiped his boots on the
grass in front of the store and came in, and seated himself on the old
half bushel. “There, this seems like home again.”
“What's the row?--who has been playing it on you?” And the grocery man
smelled a sharp trade in cabbages, as well as other smells peculiar to
the farm.
“Well, I'll tell you. Lately our folks have been constantly talking of
the independent life of the farmer, and how easy it is, and how they
would like it if I would learn to be a farmer. They said there was
nothing like it, and several of the neighbors join'd in and said I had
the natural ability to be one of the most successful farmers in the
state. They all drew pictures of the fun it was to work on a farm where
you could get your work done and take your fish-pole and go off and
catch fish, or a gun, and go out and kill game, and how you could ride;
horses, and pitch hay, and smell the sweet perfume, and go to husking
bees, and dances, and everything, and they got me all worked up so I
wanted to go to work on a farm. Then an old deacon that belongs to our
church, who runs a farm about eight miles out of town, he came on the
scene, and said he wanted a boy, and if I would go out and work for him
he would be easy on me because he knew my folks, and we belonged to the
same church. I can see it now. It was all a put up job on me, just like
they play three card monte on a fresh stranger. I was took in. By gosh,
I have been out there a week, and here's what there is left of me. The
only way I got a chance to come to town was to tell the farmer I could
sell cabbages to you for a shilling a piece. I knew you sold them for
fifteen cents and I thought that you would give a shilling. So the
farmer said he would pay me my wages in cabbages at a shilling apiece
and only charge me a dollar for the horse and wagon to bring them in. So
you only pay three cents. Here are thirty cabbages, which will come to
ninety cents. I pay a dollar for the horse, and when I get back to the
farm I owe the farmer ten cents, besides working a week for nothing. O,
it is all right. I don't kick, but this ends farming for Hennery. I know
when I have got enough of an easy life on a farm. I prefer a hard life,
breaking stones on the streets, to an easy, dreamy life on a farm.”
“They _did_ play it on you, didn't they,” said the grocery man. “But
wasn't the old deacon a good man to work for?”
“Good man nothing',” said the boy, as he took up a piece of horse radish
and began to grate it on the inside of his rough hand. “I tell you
there's a heap of difference in a deacon in Sunday school, telling about
sowing wheat and tares, and a deacon out on a farm in a hurry season,
when there is hay to get in and wheat to harvest all at the same time.
I went out to the farm Sunday evening with the deacon and his wife, and
they couldn't talk too much about the nice time we would have, and the
fun; but the deacon changed more than forty degrees in five minutes
after we got to the farm. He jump'd out of the wagon and pulled off his
coat, and let his wife climb out over the wheel, and yelled to the hired
girl to bring out the milk pail, and told me to fly around and unharness
the horse, and throw down a lot of hay for the work animals, and then
told me to run down to the pasture and drive up a lot of cows. The
pasture was half a mile away, and the cows were scattered around in the
woods, and the mosquitos were thick, and I got all covered with mud and
burrs, and stung with thistles, and when I got the cattle near to the
house, the old deacon yelled to me that I was slower than molasses in
the winter, and then I took a club and tried to hurry the cows, and he
yelled at me to stop hurrying, 'cause I would retard the flow of milk.
By gosh I _was_ mad. I asked for a mosquito bar to put over me next time
I went after the cows, and the people all laughed at me, and when I
sat down on the fence to scrape the mud off my Sunday pants, the
deacon yelled like he does in the revival, only he said, 'come, come,
procrastination is the thief of time. You get up and hump yourself
and go and feed the pigs.' He was so darn mean that I could not help
throwing a burdock burr against the side of the cow he was milking, and
it struck her right in the flank on the other side from where the deacon
was. Well, you'd a dide to see the cow jump up and blat. All four of
her feet were off the ground at a time, and I guess most of them hit the
deacon on his Sunday vest, and the rest hit the milk pail, and the cow
backed against the fence and bellered, and the deacon was all covered
with milk and cow hair, and he got up and throwed the three-legged stool
at the cow and hit her on the horn and it glanced off and hit me on the
pants just as I went over the fence to feed the pigs. I didn't know a
deacon could talk so sassy at a cow, and come so near swearing without
actually saying cuss words. Well, I lugged swill until I was homesick to
my stomach, and then I had to clean off horses, and go to the neighbors
about a mile away to borrow a lot of rakes to use the next day. I was so
tired I almost cried, and then I had to draw two barrels of water with
a well bucket, to cleanse for washing the next day, and by that time
I wanted to die. It was most nine o'clock, and I began to think about
supper, when the deacon said all they had was bread and milk for supper
Sunday night, and I rasseled with a tin basin of skim milk, and some
old back number bread, and wanted to go to bed, but the deacon wanted
to know if I was heathen enough to want to go to bed without evening
prayers. There was no one thing I was less mashed on than evening
prayers about that minute, but I had to take a prayer half an hour long
on the top of that skim milk, and I guess it curdled the milk, for I
hadn't been in bed more than half an hour before I had the worst colic a
boy ever had, and I thought I should die all alone up in that garret,
on the floor, with nothing to make my last hours pleasant but some rats
playing with ears of seed corn on the floor, and mice running through
some dry pea pods. But how different the deacon talked in the evening
devotions from what he did when the cow was galloping on him in the
barnyard. Well, I got through the colic and was just getting to sleep
when the deacon yelled for me to get up and hustle down stairs. I
thought may be the house was on fire, 'cause I smelled smoke, and I got
into my trousers and came down stairs on a jump yelling 'fire,' when the
deacon grabbed me and told me to get down on my knees, and before I knew
it he was into the morning devotions, and when he said 'amen' and jumped
and said for us to fire breakfast into us quick and get to work doing
chores. I looked at the clock and it was just three o'clock in the
morning, just the time Pa comes home and goes to bed in town, when he is
running a political campaign. Well, sir, I had to jump from one thing to
another from three o'clock in the morning till nine at night, pitching
hay, driving reaper, raking and binding, shocking wheat, hoeing corn,
and everything, and I never got a kind word. I spoiled my clothes, and
I think another week would make a pirate of me. But during it all I had
the advantage of a pious example. I tell you, you think more of such a
man as the deacon if you don't work for him, but only see him when he
comes to town, and you hear him sing 'Heaven is my Home,' through his
nose. He even is farther from home than any place I ever heard of. He
would be a good mate on a Mississippi river steamboat if he could swear,
and I guess he could soon learn. Now you take these cabbages and give
me ninety cents, and I will go home and borrow ten cents to make up
the dollar, and send my chum back with the horse and wagon and my
resignation. I was not cut out for a farmer. Talk about fishing, the
only fish I saw was a salt white fish we had for breakfast one morning,
which was salted by Noah, in the ark,” and while the grocery man was
unloading the cabbages the boy went off to look for his chum, and later
the two boys were seen driving off to the farm with two fishing poles
sticking out of the hind end of the wagon.