Every one who has petted a favorite donkey will remember many
traits of its mental capacities; for, as in the case of the
domestic fool, there is far more knavery than folly about the
creature.--_Wood's Natural History._
It was a sunny spring day when I arrived in Kenton. After supper
with a young physician, on his invitation, I retired, and next day
set out for Ada, a village sixteen miles away. Toward evening,
being tired and almost without funds, I sat down to converse with
a farmer who was husking corn. He soon became interested in my
trip, and said if I would help him husk awhile he would feed me
and my animals. I gladly consented; Mac A'Rony and Don lent their
assistance, the donkey soon losing his appetite. After a delicious
supper with the farmer's family, I hastened on, reaching Ada long
after dark.
Ada is the seat of a Normal School, which is the seat of a large
number of other seats. Everybody seemed to be much concerned about
the great fistic bout to take place in Carson City that day; the
17th of March. It was "St. Patrick's Day in the morning," with the
weather threatening, when I started for Lima. My coat was
decorated with cabbage and lettuce leaves and paper imitations of
shamrock, and I looked like an animated vegetable garden. Finally
it rained; and the road became a mire.
I had just finished a heated argument on the Carson fight, and
began to question the story of how St. Patrick drove the snakes
out of Ireland, when I suddenly found myself on the ground. And I
saw the streak of daylight Mac threatened to kick into my brain.
An old man tried to drive a colt past my strange-looking outfit. I
called to him to hold his horse by the bit until I could lead my
donkey into the field. But no, he could handle the colt, or any
other horse, and I should mind my own business. On the rig came a
few yards nearer, when in the twinkling of an eye the colt whirled
and upset the buggy with its boastful driver. The man was not
hurt; but somewhat dazed. Several farmers soon arrived and were
loud in their abuse, saying Mac and I had no right on the highway.
It was an effort for the donkey to keep his mouth shut. I replied,
civilly, that I was sorry the thing occurred, and explained how I
had warned the stranger.
Then I whipped up my unjustly abused partner, and left the old man
pulling his beard thoughtfully in the midst of the sympathetic
group. All day I strode far in advance of my donkey and led
untrained, untamed, and frightened horses past.
Next day being stormy, I devoted the morning to writing my
newspaper article and answering some urgent letters; then, failing
to arrange for a lecture, I left Lima for Delphos, and tramped
fifteen miles in mud and rain without lunch.
We spent Saturday night in Van Wert, and Sunday afternoon resumed
the journey in sunshine, people crowding their front windows and
doorways to see us leave town. We had not proceeded far when I met
an odd trio who had run half a mile across lots to speak to me.
One boy had a twisted foot; another, a hand minus five or six
fingers; and the third acknowledged that as soon as he caught
sight of us he lost his head. Considering their crippled
condition, I thought they deserved credit for such activity.
It was eight miles to Convoy. There was no bottom to the road.
Seeking a footing along the fence, I ground innumerable land crabs
into the mud, while the peepers in the swampy clearings piped
their dismal music. At dusk we waded into the village where a
curious throng awaited the sensation of the day. And there we
spent the night.
The nearer I approached the Indiana border, the more impoverished
appeared the farms and their struggling proprietors. Every other
farm-house was the primitive log-cabin, and the barns and
outbuildings generally tallied with the house.
A thunderstorm awoke me at day-break; the prospect for my day's
tramp was most dismal. After walking six miles, I stopped to talk
with a party of gypsies, in camp. Presently a black-eyed gypsy
girl issued from a heap of bedding under a tree, and inquired if
Mac A'Rony was an ostrich. Her heavy jet-black hair fell in a mass
over her shoulders, and her sparkling eyes did their level best to
enchant me, as she asked to tell my fortune.
"How much?" I asked.
Her grizzled sire said fifty cents; the daughter corrected him,
saying one dollar. That was too steep for me. I gave Mac the rein
and proceeded some distance when the girl called to me, "Twenty-five
cents! Come back!" This was an alluring proposition, and I
returned. At once dismissing the bystanders, she reached over the
fence for my hand, told me to place a quarter in it, then to close
and open it. I no sooner obeyed than the coin disappeared, and the
gypsy began in a charming manner, as follows:
"That line shows you will live to a good old age. You are to enjoy
your best days in the future. Understand me? If your pocket was
as big as your heart you would make many others happy. Understand
me?" She surely must mean creditors, I thought. "Yes," I answered.
"Shows it in your face," said she. "You have for a long time
disliked your business" (that was no lie), "and want to change it.
Understand me? You make friends easily, and wherever you go you
are invited to come again. Understand me?" I nodded. "Shows it in
your face." I began to think she was reading my countenance
instead of my hand.
"Are you married?" she asked. "No, but want to be," I replied.
"Shows it in your face," said she. "A widow lady is in love with
you. She has written you, and you will get her letter soon. Her
name is Sarah. Understand me?"
"I do not," said I; "I know but one woman named Sarah. Heaven help
me if she is after me!"
"Shut your hand now, and make a wish," said the girl.
I did as she bade, and wished long and hard.
"Now open," said she. Her black eyes seemed to pierce my very
soul. "You wish to make fame and fortune. Understand me?"
"True, I do," I said to her; that's just what every man wishes, I
said to myself. Then she continued:
"You will make fame and fortune in the business you are now in.
Shows it in your face." I wasn't satisfied with that prediction; I
preferred the fortune to be in my pocket.
"A kiss is awaiting you from a black-haired girl within two weeks'
time. She loves you. A lot of girls want you, but they can't have
you. Understand me?"
"I confess that I don't quite," I answered. "But I wish those poor
girls did." And I looked real serious.
"Shows it in your face," she repeated. That fortune teller
puzzled me. The quarter's worth of seance at an end, I plodded on
toward the Hoosier country with my mute comrades, wondering how
much of the fortune would come true.
Soon afterward we got out of the mud area and came to a hard,
smooth, broken-stone road. I stopped my donkey and sat down to
take off my rubber boots. Just when I got the first shoe on, Mac
began to move down the level turnpike. I called, "Whoa, Mac! Huh!!
You long-eared Mephisto!" The jackass paid no heed, but galloped
on, shaking his head and kicking up his heels merrily with the dog
in front of him, barking as if he enjoyed Mac's practical joke. By
this time I was speeding after the runaway, a boot on one foot, a
shoe on the other, and chased a half mile before I caught him.
Then I led him back for my footgear.
Two miles beyond we again struck mud, thick and deep. Observing a
little mound covered with long dried grass, I sat down again to
change my footgear. Mac turned and eyed me mischievously, and
wobbled his ears, then nodded to Don. I was so absorbed with the
idea that he intended to lead me another chase that I failed to
hear an ominous sound emanating from underneath my seat. Not until
something seemed to burn me did I rise to the occasion, and light
out, this time stocking foot, but making less speed through the
black and sticky highway than on my former run.
Something less than a million bees swarmed about my head. I ran!
Oh, how I ran! And I would be running still, perhaps, had not a
farmer seen me and knocked down the swarm with a section of a rail
fence. I was quite out of breath. The hero had only spared my life
for future tortures.
[Illustration: "_I scrutinized his hat inquisitively._"]
After considerable search, I found boots and shoes, but failed to
see either dog or donkey. Putting on my boots, I hung my shoes on
the fence, and set out on the trail of the fugitives, which
appeared to have gone into the brush. I waded into the thicket,
calling Don all the time, and at last was rewarded. He leaped at
me delightedly, and barked, and tugged at my trouser legs, and
piloted me to the terrified donkey which I found tangled in a mass
of wild raspberry bushes, his head tucked between his forelegs,
and his back doubled up like a cat at bay. There were no bees on
Mac.
That was a hot experience, for a raw March day. I plodded on
through the mire to the house, whose proprietor had come to my
rescue. The dooryard was filled with hives.
"Regular bee ranch," I remarked, pleasantly, though I burned
uncomfortably.
"Yas. Right smart business," the man returned.
"You're right; bees do a smart business."
"Lived on 'em nigh ten years."
"You must find them a hot diet!" I said. "I lived on a nest of
them less than half a minute and nearly burned up."
"I reckon so," he replied with a chuckle. "I saw yer scorchin'."
It was 2:30 P. M. when we crossed the state line. The first sight
that greeted my eyes in Indiana was a flock of Ohio geese just
ahead of us, being driven by a hoosier.
"Fine drove of geese you've got there," I said to the man.
"Yaw," he answered. "But Ohio geese is peculiar. Gooses won't run
with th' ganders."
"No?" I queried. "What's the reason they won't?"
"Wall, jest th' way they's built. Won't run--jest fly, er waddle."
"What most all geese do, don't they?" I asked, much amused.
"Yaw," reiterated the hoosier, grinning; "jest fly, or waddle."