_HIGH JINKS IN THE BARN_
It was unquestionably a hot day; so hot, indeed, that John, the hired
man, said the thermometer had had to climb a tree to get high enough to
record the degree of the heat. Jimmieboy had been playing out under the
apple-trees for two or three hours, and now, "just for greens," as the
saying went, he had climbed into the old barouche in the barn, where it
was tolerably cool and there was a soft cushion to lie off on. He closed
his eyes for a moment, and then a strange thing happened.
The Wheelbarrow over by the barn door unmistakably spoke. "Say," it said
to the Farm Wagon, "there's one thing I like about you."
"What's that?" said the Wagon.
"You have such a long tongue, and yet you never say an unkind word about
anybody," replied the Barrow, with a creak of its wheel that sounded
very much like a laugh.
"That may be so," said the big gray Horse that was used with the fat old
bay to pull the farm wagon. "It may be just as you say, but that tongue
has come between me and one of my best friends many a time, I tell you."
"I couldn't help that," retorted the Wagon. "The hired man made me do
it; besides, I have a grudge against you."
"What's the grudge?" queried the Horse.
"You kicked me and my friend the Whiffletree that day you ran away down
in the hay field," replied the Wagon. "I was dreadfully upset that day."
"I should say you were," put in the Rake. "And when you were upset you
fell on me and knocked out five of my teeth. I never had such a time."
"You needed to have something done to those teeth, anyhow," said the
Sickle. "They were nearly all gone when that happened."
"Oh, were they?" retorted the Rake. "And why were they nearly all gone?
Do you know that?"
"I do not. I suppose you had been trying to crack chestnuts with them.
Was that it?"
"No, it wasn't," retorted the Rake. "They were worn out cleaning up the
lawns after you pretended to have finished them off."
"You think you're bright, don't you?" replied the Sickle, with a sneer.
"Well, if I was as dull as you are," returned the Rake, angrily, "I'd
visit the Grindstone and get him to put a little more edge on me."
"Come, come; don't be so quarrelsome," said the Hose. "If you don't
stop, I'll drown the whole lot of you."
"Tut!" retorted the Rake. "You look for all the world like a snake."
"He is a snake," put in the Curry-comb. "He's a water-snake. Aren't you,
Hosey?"
"I'd show you whether I am or not if the faucet hadn't run dry."
"Dear me!" laughed the Sled. "Hear Hosey talk! The idea of a faucet
running! It hasn't moved an inch since it came here. Why, I've got two
runners that'll beat it out of sight on the side of a hill."
"Yes, the down side," said the Pony. "Anything can run down hill. Even a
stupid old millstone can do that. But when it comes to running up hill,
I'm ahead of you all. Why, the biggest river or avalanche in the world
couldn't run up hill beside me."
"That's so," put in the Riding-Whip. "And you and I know who makes you
do it--eh?"
"I didn't say anything about that," said the Pony. "But I'll tell you
one thing: if you'll come down here where I can reach you with one of my
hind legs, I'll show you what nice shoes I wear."
"Much obliged," said the Whip. "I don't wear shoes myself, and am not
interested in the subject. But if any man who is interested in bugs
wants to know how to make a horse fly, I can show him."
"You are a whipper-snapper," said the Pony angrily.
"Ho! ho!" jeered the Whip.
"Anybody call me?" queried the Hoe, from the corner where he had been
asleep while all this conversation was going on.
Then they all burst out laughing, and peace was restored.
"They say the Fence is worn out," put in the Sickle.
"I should think it would be," replied the Rake. "It's been running all
around this place night and day without ever stopping for the last
twenty years."
"How many miles is that?" queried the Wagon.
"Well, once around is half a mile, but if it has gone around every night
and every day for twenty years," said the Grindstone, "that's one mile
every twenty-four hours--365 miles a year--3,650 miles in ten years, and
7,300 miles in twenty years. Quite a record, eh?"
"That's a good way for a Picket-fence to go," said the Wheelbarrow. "It
would kill me to go half that distance."
"Well, if you live until you do go half that distance," put in the
Hose, "you'll never die."
"Ho! ho!" jeered the Barrow.
"Somebody did call me that time!" cried the Hoe, waking up again. "I'm
sure I heard my name."
"Yes, you did," said the Rake. "We waked you up to tell you that
breakfast would be ready in about a month, and to say that if you wanted
any you'd do well to go down to the river and see if you can't buy its
mouth, because if you don't, nobody knows how you can eat it."
Here the loud and prolonged laugh caused Jimmieboy once more to open his
eyes, and as his papa was standing by the side of the carriage holding
out his hands to help him down and take him into the house to supper,
the little fellow left the quarrelsome tools and horses and other things
to themselves.