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Show Cured1 :J i just as well accept the fact. That would be tossed in at a sale, too. Next going up the social scale was the scoop shovel, a very bright and shining implement indeed. This was used to scoop the fresh-shucked corn into the crib; when all the corn was in and the season's crop was over, the scoop shovel was put in the crib and used to get the corn into the feeding baskets. Sometimes it would bang into a nailhead on the floor and get bunged up; then it would be taken to the grindstone and smoothed till it was sharp and even again. Oh, it was an aristo-cratl aristo-cratl When a public sale came along, the auctioneer would hold it up so that everybody could see how bright and shining and sharp it was. But there was a sad and realistic touch. If it was kept long enough and used enough, it would fall to pieces and end up as a manure shovel. It made a fellow stop and think. One day when Pa came home from town and I raced out to get the mail, I saw on the bottom of the wagon a kind of spade I had never seen before. It was, I found later, seventeen inches long and five inches wide; it was dished like the palm of my hand. There were three spades, all ominously oiled. I asked him what they were and, when he said they were tiling which was long and tough and which would cu4 your fingers like a sickle blade. We used it for "topping" our stacks. The cattle didn't like it; if they ran out of timothy they'd eat it. But they didn't fancy it. When the spring rain came, the water would spread out over the slough till it was a quarter of a mile wide; sometimes the cattle would be caught on the other side sometimes some-times calves would be caught. Sometimes Some-times a foaling mare. Pa had set out a row of stakes and we began to run a ditch through the thick, matted million-year-old roots. The cattle came up and sniffed the black earth and the birds flocked down and feasted. We worked close enough to visit, but it was hard, grueling labor. At noon I would be so weary I would fall asleep on the floor; it seemed to me my eyes would hardly close till Pa would be calling me, and Mr. Shannon would be at the pump. Day after day we worked. At last it was finished, and there it was, like a gash In a human body. Little did I realize what, later, would happen. Every so often there would be an important event in our lives our visit to see Wadley Brothers, our harness makers. Pa would go in and say "Tom, do you suppose you can turn me out a set of rope harness?" har-ness?" which was his humorous way of asking if Tom could make him a good set of harness. Tom would say, "Have you got the money to pay for 'em, Amos?" which was his humorous way of pretending that he wouldn't even trust Pa for a set of rope harness. He sat on a stool without any back, but also he had a rocking chair and now and then he would move over and rock. He smoked a pipe as he worked; when he finished a bowlful, or got tired of smoking, he would knock the pipe and hang the pipe on a rack he had made. The store had a delightful leathery smell . . . ds there anything In the world like such a pleasant, stimulating odor as fresh-cut leather? On the floor around him were the cuttings from his work, like hair around a barber chair. When he had a great many of these he would sweep them up and mould them into a horse collar. col-lar. On the walls were the most fascinating pictures in the world, it seemed to me; the famous racers rac-ers and trotters and pacers of their day Maude S., Dan Patch. When he spoke of them he spoke tenderly and reverently. "I would like to go an' see them run sometime," he would say. Pa would glance at me and wait a moment because horse racine was THE STORY THUS FAR: Amoj Croy settled on a farm In Missouri, where he married and a son. Homer, was born. Sunday meant church, company for din. ner and steer weight guessing. Dehorning Dehorn-ing of the calves, curing of hams, weaning wean-ing of calves and sausage making were Jobs that Homer helped with. He always looked forward to helping Newt, a neighbor. neigh-bor. In breaking the mules. Qulltlng-day was a day for the ladles. It lasted all day and they would take turns at earing. Homer began to try his literary talents, he entered and won a contest by submitting submit-ting a letter about his most unusual dream. He won a SI prize. His father did not think as much of this as he did the Item about the calf. CHAPTER X Pa didn't think much of anybody who would drive a fresh-broke mule to a spring-wagon with women in it. That was the difference between Pa and Newt. Pa was always safe and conservative, but Newt wasn't. Newt'd do anything, as Pa put it. But Newt never got hurt and nobody was ever killed. In a few minutes our yard would be filled with laughing and talking people, and Kaiser would be barking bark-ing bis head off, just as excited as I was to have company. The women would go into the bouse to change into their swimming swim-ming clothes, while the men sat on the front porch and on the benches and talked. When the womenfolks were ready, we would all start down through our orchard to the horse pond which was two or three times as wide as a bouse and eight feet deep. It was supplied by a spring and by water pumped from the windmill and was the only one in the neighborhood. People said we Were lucky to have a pond. When the women would start in they had to inch, because their Mother Hubbards would fill with air and go straight over their heads if Ihey didn't watch out. If one of the Mother Hubbards went a little too high, the men would screech with delight. It was manners, when all the women were in, for the men to go back to the house and let the women swim alone. After a while we would hear the women coming through the orchard. It was all right to walk down to the pond with the women, but it wouldn't do to see the women until Ihey had changed into dry clothes. After the women were in the house, Pa would say, "I guess we'd better go down and see if they splashed ell the water out," and down through the orchard we'd go. The men would peel off their clothes. Newt would give a run and go In with a terrific plop! but Pa would walk slowly in, because he wasn't wild like Newt. Now and then, when there wasn't any splashing, splash-ing, we could hear a night bird go by with a swish of its wings, or a calf would bawl, or the bull would give a short little run toward a cow. At last the swim would be over nd we'd start back through the orchard or-chard to the house. The women would be sitting on the porch, and everybody would begin to talk at once. Pa'd say, "Homer!" and I'd go down into the cave and begin bringing up the melons. Ma and Phebe would light the lamps and set them on the porch and Pa would hang our lantern in the cherry tree. I could hardly wait. He would rest the point of his knife on the melon and say, "Is it going to be ripe, or not?" It was always ripe, because Pa knew melons. mel-ons. As the slices were finished they'd go into the wash boiler. More work for me tomorrow. When everybody had had all they could eat, they would sit around and talk, me still able to take a few more nibbles. At last it would be time to go. Pa would still be worrying worry-ing about Newt's mule. "Don't you think, Newt, it's kind of risky to drive him at night loaded with women?" wom-en?" "Mules ain't as much inclined to run at night as they are in the day, Amos." At the very bottom was the manure ma-nure shovel which hung on a peg tn the stable and was dull and dirty nd foul and never cleaned from one year's end to another a pariah. pa-riah. Sometimes a mule would step on it; but that didn't matter. Sometimes Some-times he would break off the handgrip. hand-grip. That was all right, too; we'd go ahead using the shovel anyway. Sometimes the handle would become loose and we'd nail in any sort of tick. No one had any respect for a manure shovel; in fact, I'm sure it didn't have any respect for itself. When a farmer had a sale, he wouldn't even put it up; it'd be tossed in with a lot of other odds and ends; sometimes the man who had bought it wouldn't even take the thing home. A step above this but only a step was the long-handled general utility util-ity shovel. It was never cleaned and never sharpened and was left standing any old where. Sometimes it would be left in the granary, sometimes it would even get into the smokehouse. Sometimes it would be left lying on the ground and a wagon wheel would cross it. But it didn't matter It was just "the shovel " And that was the way It was always referred to. as if there bad to be o p i farm and we had i Mr. Shannon was the newsman of the neighborhood. spades, my heart hit the bottom of the wagon. The only tile we had ever put in was a row to drain the cellar, and we had used our everyday every-day spade for that. Why should Pa be getting tiling spades? It was not long till I found out that a tiling spade has two uses. One, of course, is for laying tile; the other is well, I was to find out pretty quick. "Mr. Shannon is coming Monday and we'll get to put these to use." "Get to put these to use!" But Pa was that way. Especially when it had to do with me working. And always al-ways with a twinkle in those wonderfully won-derfully blue eyes of his. Monday morning Mr. Shannon came walking down the road in his floppy old hat with matches standing stand-ing up in the band. We always called him "Mr." Shannon, but we called Jim Vert "Jim" and we called Newt Kennedy "Newt," although either ei-ther Jim or Newt could buy and sell Mr. Shannon. He was the neighborhood neighbor-hood general utility man. He farmed only forty acres, so had to "work out." He never stayed overnight, so after a day's work he would go down the road he had come along that morning, walking slower now. Sometimes Pa would urge him to stay overnight, but he always said, "I expect I'd better go. The woman don't like to be alone," and off he would trudge. He was the only one who worked for cash; the rest "swapped work." If you came into a neighborhood and found one man worked for cash and the rest exchanged work, then you would know he was a small farmer. Mr. Shannon was the newsman news-man of the neighborhood, for he worked first here, then there, and knew all that was going on. When he arrived in the morning and went to the well to pump up a drink. Ma would come to the kitchen door and ask him the news. He'd tell us and throw out the last of the water and the chickens would come running to see if it was something to eat. Then he'd fill up the jug and swing it up on his shoulder and go off to work. At noon Ma would have thought of other questions, and Mr. Shannon would think of news he'd forgot So. the tiling spades on our shoulders, shoul-ders, we started for the "slough." Our section of Missouri was called I the "rolling prairies"; there were the hills where a million buffalo must have stood, and between these hills were what we called the "sloughs." pronounced "siews" low flat land as rich as you could wish to put your foot on. The sloughs were covered with "slough grass." wicked, "So would I," he would say, almost with a sigh. There would be a little silence, then Tom would say, "How're the roads out your way, Amos?" Tom had much to be thankful for. He took immeasurable pride in his work and he and his brother were their own employers. Tom wore a leather apron, like a blacksmith's, except it wasn't burned full of holes. He was an artist in his line, and was proud of his handiwork; farmers farm-ers would say, "That's a set of Wad-ley Wad-ley Brothers harness," and there was no higher praise. He had surprisingly sur-prisingly few tools, but in some amazing way he got results. On one end of his workbench were sheets of leather from which he could quickly and skillfully cut off the pieces he needed. I delighted to see him take his knife with its sharp curved blade and draw it through a piece of leather and get exactly the kind of piece he wanted. He loved his work and took great pride in doing it well and he loved to have the farmers come in and discuss with him the kind of harness they wanted. "What about the britching, Amos? What kind of britching you got in mind?" "I want good heavy britching. Tom. I don't need it so much in the fields, but when I get out on the hard roads with a load of corn, then I need heavy britching." "I'm getting more and more calls for heavy britching." Tom would say, and then they would discuss the details as carefully as a tailor and a client making decisions on a suit. "You want any money down. Tom?" "Not from you. Amos!. You come in in about a week and have a first look at the harness." Pa would go in from time to time, watching the progress of his set of harness. "What about white guttapercha gutta-percha rings, Amos? I'm gettin' lots of calls for gutta-percha rings." "They look all right while the harness har-ness is new, but they crack in the sun. Then they peel and show the iron. - Give me plain iron rings. Tom. After all, you can't beat iron." At last would come the day when the harness was done. There It would be on a great frame, black and shining from the oiling Tom had given it, and Pa and Tom would stand side by side, admiring it. I "Do you want a tossel for the , throatlatch. Amos?" j "1 don't believe 1 do. Tom. There ! ain't anything a mule colt likes to i t beuer'n tossel." "1 put on a suple hame-strap. ' Amos." . TO BE CONTINUED) |