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Show C j irfCROY At first tho onlf wouldn't ,niy nnirh "ttt'ntum to tho saw1, but Jim's noma would lio working tmok niui dirtli unit tho likulo would lip Kolni! Kill K'h-H K'h-H ill. TIumi nil of II timlilon tho onlf would hoi;in to pitoh Hint kW'k nnil tn'lluw niui whllo slohhor would rim down on my himil. "Hold him, holit lilml" Jim woulil punt, his elbows working. Oil woulil come n horn nnil blooil wouhl snuiit out of tho liolrs In the soft horn part of the heml. Then Jim wouUi lonii over further anil start on the other horn . . . Jim woulil take out a stick he had padded with cloth, daub It Into his tar can nnd swab It on the spurting horns. Little by little the blood would stop. "I always wait till they stop bleeding. The teache. looked capable, I'll say thnt for her.'' "You can't tell by talking to em," Pa would say. "That's a fact. Let him go." Harve would raise the heavy U-shaped board and the cnlf would stumble out, shaking his head and bellowing. "The best thing Is to ask for their recommendations. Even then you've got to take a chance," Jim would say. "Still she was a nice lookin' girl." "That don't mean she would be a good teacher." "It sure don't," Jim would say and give another shove on the saw. All morning It would go on, the number of calves In the pen grow- VtIK M'OKY Tilt s r.Nl A miis Cmy. j flirmer serncaiit In the Ctvtl War, li'tl j Ohio aiul irltlril near MArytvllte. Ml- ; Bourt. tie mftrrlril Sunn Sewett, rtAUKh- ler of anolhtT covered wnKon pioneer, ' and toon a son, Homer, was born. Uo- 1 mer's earliest reeolteetlon was of a ey- 1 clone nhu-h Mew the sod b;irn down ' and wrecked the orchard. Sunday welRh- , lot was an Institution of the Oroy farm. I The neighbors nould itather after dinner and gness the weights of the steers. Amos usually won. Ho was an excellent farmer and had an exceptionally keen i mind. His one aim was to be a good farmer and develop Homer Into a real farmer. Amos believed that the farm j was the only place worth while. j j CHAPTER IV "Will It mean supper?" ! I don't think so. I think all you need count on Is dinner." Then Ma would say, "Jim always likes chicken. I'll have Homer run down a chicken." Tuesday morning we'd be up early ! nd get the chores taken care of and the horses turned out to pasture, ; as we wouldn't need them today. i Then we'd all go out on the front porch to wait. Pretty soon we would see one of the neighbors coming ' across the field and Pa would say, "Go out and wave. Homer," and I would go out to the fence and wave my hat. In a moment, Harve would wave back. Pretty soon he would be at the front porch and Pa would say, ; "Have you got your gloves?" and Harve would slap his hip pocket and i ay, "Right here." We would talk neighborhood news and crops. Harve would say, "I've I got lots ol down corn." And Pa would say, "It was that wind of July twelfth." And Harve would say, "It seems to me we get more down corn than we used to." Pa would say, "One good thing about it, it inatures Just as well." Ma would say, "How is your wife ; getting along with her grapes?" and Harve, would say, "She's got bags drippin' from everywhere. If I get ! vp in the night, I bang smack into ! one." Then we would all laugh. i "Her hands are all discolored. I don't know what she's goin' to do when Sunday comes." "The Lord will overlook that," Ma would say. Ma was strong for the Lord. Pa was for the Lord, too, but not ; just because somebody's hands were : stained. j It wouldn't be long before Jim ! Vert would come over the brow of ! the hill with his dehorning chute ,' rattling along on its two wheels, j Jim would be standing in the front ' part of the chute, his head not much , higher than the boards, j We would go out to meet him, all I except Ma, because she didn't like 1 to think what the dehorning chute ! stood for. I didn't either, but on a farm certain things have to be done. ! Jim would open up his toolbox and I get out his blood-stained jumper I with brass buttons on the sleeves. I Then he would get out his saw which had a steel frame, and a long thin, I vicious-looking blade. Then he ; would turn a thumbscrew till the j blade was so tight it would go ping! j when he picked it with his thumb- I nail. Jim would squint one eye and j sight along the blade as if it was a i gun barrel. "I think I'd better give I It a rip or two." j His hand would go into the box j and out would come a file and he would begin to dress the savage teeth. While he was doing this, we would exchange news. "How is your down corn?" Pa would say. "I've got lots of it. Just lots," Jim j would say as he sighted along the teeth. "It was that wind of July j twelfth." "That's what I told Harve," Pa j would say with satisfaction. I Jim would take his place at the front end of the chute with his saw, ; and Pa and Harve and I would start to drive the calves in closer and j closer. They'd throw up their heads and roll their eyes, because they knew something was the matter. ! The chute was shaped like the j letter V. There was a series of I holes on each side through which j poles could be pushed. We'd round j up the calves closer and closer, I sometimes one calf ahead, some- I times another. "Huey!" Pa would call and wave his hands and a calf j would fasten his eyes on the opening of the chute and start forward in a ; hopeful little trot. Then we'd make ! a dash and slam the poles behind I him. Jim would be watching his ! chance and take the big heavy j board, shaped like the letter U, and jam it down over the calf's neck so i the calf wouldn't move. There the calf would stand, kicking and bawl ing, his sides thumping In and out. I "Let him quiet down," Jim would ay. "It's always a good idea to ! let the first one quiet down. Gives ! the others confidence." We'd lean against the chute and let him quiet down. ! "A girl was around to see me j about the school," Jim would say. I "Did she come to see you, Amos?" "Not yet." "Well, I talked to her. But you can't tell anything from talkin' to 'em. I guess he's all right now." I Jim would give his sleeves a hitch, I and lean over the top of the chute. "Hold his nose till I get started, i Homer. Grab his nostrils." i roniii, Jim," unit J 1 1 it would any, "How much dlil you pny for your iiii'krf, Amos?" ami l'u would any, "Six-cli;hly, wasn't It, Snsmi?" Jim wn.s always a Kl'dit hand to know tho price of everything. As Jltn was rocking nnd picking, ho wouUi say, "Well, you H"t your numcy's worth. " Ma woulil come to the door tmil sny, "Is your wife coming to tho chapel Sumlay?" "1 expect so. She's a grout hand to fco to church." "I'll got to see her, then," Ma would say niui go Into the kitchen. At last Pa would say, "I expect we'd better go hnck," and we would nil get up and start, me a little in the rear. It wouldn't be long till the saw was again going grh-grh-grh. After a while the calves would oil be on the same side of the fence, walking around and shaking their heads and now nnd then giving a bellow. "How long you goln' to feed, Amos?" Jim would ask. "I'll hold ithem a year at lenst. I don't believe in turning light stock." "That's Just the way I ice It," Jim would sny nnd wipe off his saw and go to the tank. "I'll get the rest olT at home." "You want your check now?" Pa would ask. "If you wouldn't mind," Jim would sny politely and Pa would send nie to the house for his indelible in-delible pencil. We'd put the team on and the dehorning chute would rise out of the wheel holes. Scattered on the ground would be the horns; gome would have little patches of hair clinging to them. Pretty soon the chute would be swaying and teetering teeter-ing toward the road and Pa would begin picking up the horns and burying them so the smell of blood that night wouldn't keep the cows from giving down their milk. Dehorning day would be over. But after I went to bed I could still hear the calves giving their plaintive bellows, and I would feel sorry for them. At about this time I got my first 'lesson" in life. At least It is the first "lesson" I can remember: My mother raised chickens and, since she was not "strong," I had to help her. She liked to study them, and especially the way they treated one another. One day, . as we were sitting on the porch and the chickens were scratching In the yard, she said: "Chickens are just h'e people. They have ways of grading each other oth-er just as we have. They look up to some hens and they look down on others. The hen that keeps her feathers oiled and makes the best impression is the one they respect most. She's the one that gets the tidbits and she's the one that gets the last peck. "People are like that. The ones that put up the best appearance in the way of money, or home, or position, posi-tion, get the most respect. Every henyard is run that way and every human group is run that way. Now you watch, as you go through life, and see if it don't work out!" It was such a whimsical idea, I could hardly believe it; but my mother pointed out a hen that was the leader, and it was exactly as my mother said. This was not only true with the hens, but also with the roosters. We had a sort of head rooster who was really cock of the walk. Something had happened to his voice; there was a hoarse note. Early of a morning his voice would be the first one to go off; then the other roosters crowed in exact turn. We had a vivid illustration. A hen, that was a leader and got the last peck, was caught by a hog and her feathers were torn out so that she presented a lugubrious appearance. ap-pearance. That hen lost her leadership leader-ship and never got it back. Homely and simple as it was, my mother's bit of philosophy made a deep impression on me. In March my father would say, "Homer, it's time to clean out the smokehouse," and my heart would hit the floor. Work. I would have to move all the loose odds and ends out, knock down the mud-dauber nests, tighten the tin can lids that had been nailed over the knotholes, and sweep. The stove, from one season to another, was kept in a corner, cor-ner, and now I would have to haul it out and set it in the middle of the floor. When everything was ready, Pa would say, "All right now. we'll rub." More work. He would fill a candy bucket a third full of brine, and sit down on a little bench outside the smokehouse smoke-house and slosh the ham up and down; then he would pull the ham up on the bench and rub in salt and brown sugar so the ham would not develop "skippers." The meat had been salted down in January, after we had butchered, but he always gave it this extra rubbing Just to be "sure." He would take a butcher knife, which had been worn down to a point, and make a hole in the shank end of the ham, run a piece of heavy wire through and bend it into the form of an S-hook. ITO BE CONTINUED) Knock down the mud-daubers nests. ing smaller and the. number in the barn lot growing bigger. Finally Pa would pull out his watch by its leather strap and say, "Well, I expect ex-pect we'd better go to the house and see if there's anything on the table." Jim would put down his saw. "I'll go to the tank first." Jim would go to the galvanized iron tank by the windmill and get off the worst. Then we would all walk to the house over the corncobs, corn-cobs, and Pa would bring out a pan of hot water and put it on the wash bench in the yard. Jim would pick up the soap and scrub himself, leaning lean-ing over so the water would drip on the ground. When he finished he would go to the roller towel on the back porch, dry himself, and give the towel a pull to show how polite po-lite he was. We would all go in and sit down at the table. Pa always asked company to say the blessing, but that was on Sundays; this was a workday. If this had been Sunday and Jim had had on his good clothes, he could have asked the blessing. So Pa bent over his plate and thanked the Lord for what we were about to receive. re-ceive. By the time he finished, Jim would be looking over the table. "Homer was a big help to us this morning," Jim would say as he reached for the fried chicken. "I guess he'll be a help now," Pa would say and they'd all laugh a little. "Tall like his mother, ain't he?" Ma would straighten up a little. Then say, "How are your boys, Jim?" "Shuckin' today." "You've got a nice pair of boys there, Jim," Pa would say. "Good workers." "I guess they'll do," Jim would say modestly. Pa would mention some of the neighborhood news that Jim had told us, and Jim, to be obliging, would tell more. Ma would get the things off the range as quietly as she could so as not to miss anything. "My wife's tryin' out a new brooder," brood-er," Jim would say. "I told her she needn't do so much work, but you know how women are." "I know," Ma would say, then sit down, with a drop the last few inches. At the end of the meal, Jim would get out his quill toothpick and we would sit there talking more easily than at the beginning. Pa would lay. "Come in the front |
