Owing to the frailties of poor human nature, it often happens that even the most docile of husbands when disciplined, justifiably, of course, by their life partners, will seem to resent it. This is no doubt due to a yet remaining trace of that philosophy of the stone age which made the husband regard his wife as being subject to correction by himself. Of course with most enlightened husbands this quality, if it exists, is merely atavistic.
“Pete” was pretty well Americanized, but under stress of a little excitement was apt to have relapses of his early struggles with his verbs, singulars and plurals, etc. He was an estimable citizen in many ways and fully appreciated by his wife, a buxom lady who could, however, show a terrorizing sense of indignation on occasions when “Pete” had lingered too long with the bottle.
One of these interviews had just occurred and his wife’s disapproval had reached a new high record. A neighbor happened along just as the lecture was finished and “Pete” ambling somewhat uncertainly and disgustedly toward his barn was heard muttering to himself:
“Ought to be a war for the womens; too many womens; kill off some of the womens.”
But Pete was always glad to accept the olive branch and with his own natural good sense and the loyal regard and good judgment of his wife as factors, domestic felicity was always restored as soon as the sobering up process was ended.
Thus it appears that conjugal life, often looked upon with great skepticism by certain unmarried people, too cautious for their own good, as being monotonous in the extreme, is very frequently much the reverse; also that, generally speaking, husbands, especially of advanced age, will agree that they have deserved most of the wifely discipline they have experienced in their married lives, although they may, especially if in a certain part of New England, quote to prospective husbands, from the old time song:
The unusual mental twist which frequently escapes notice in the crowded city, is often the center of interest in a rural neighborhood. Those who thus excite morbid curiosity in their youth are indeed unfortunate and often suffer keenly from the semi-ostracism which sometimes follows. But the elderly who have developed unusual characteristics seem on the contrary to rather pride themselves upon their peculiarities, holding the view of the ancient Quaker who is reported to have said one day to his wife: “Everyone is queer but me and thee; and thee is some queer.”
Of the various minor misfortunes to which the elderly are subject, perhaps deafness is the most to be dreaded. This is illustrated in the case of the elderly country merchant.
Mr. H— was the prosperous owner of a general store and had about everything he needed except normal hearing. He was deaf, unmistakably deaf, but with the pathetic obstinacy of some thus afflicted, he would not admit it.
Late one afternoon a well-known citizen called at the store on an errand for his wife. Others were waiting as the following transaction was pulled off, and not strange to say, seemed to find it rather amusing.
“I want a half pound of cream tartar.”
The storekeeper seemed unusually impressed.
“Freem Parker,” said he. “What’s happened to him?”
Freeman Parker was a well known and popular citizen of the vicinity.
“A half pound of cream tartar, I said,” the customer replied, raising his voice.
“Freem Parker is dead,” said the merchant.
“Why, when did it happen?”
“I want a half pound of CREAM TARTAR,” was the reply in a very loud voice.
“Oh! you want cream tartar, do you,” said the dealer in icy tones.
“You don’t need to yell at me. I’m not deaf.”
As before suggested, it is good policy in a rural district to cultivate reasonably cordial relations with one’s neighbors. Therefore it was probably poor tactics for a certain exasperated farmer to set a bear trap in his corn crib. To be sure, he was eminently successful, finding an exceedingly undesirable citizen the next morning securely fastened by one hand in the savage jaws of the trap. But it may be taken for granted that the farmer, who released the man at once, must have felt easier when the man left the neighborhood which it is hoped he soon did. Another farm owner was much more diplomatic.
In this instance there was an exhibition of forbearance and strategy much to be admired.
Finding the barn door open one morning in the late winter, the farmer was at a loss to understand how the fastenings became loosened. Further inspection showed that hay had been thrown down from the loft. Still further examination revealed signs that hay had been carried away, presumably in a bundle on somebody’s shoulders.
A couple of mornings later there was further evidence of the same petty thieving. The farmer decided to watch and see what happened. As it was fairly comfortable sleeping on the hay rolled up in a blanket, the adventure assumed a considerable degree of entertainment.
About midnight the farmer was aroused by someone carefully opening the barn door. It was too dark to identify the intruder and in fact the farmer did not want to know who of his nearby acquaintances could stoop to anything so contemptible.
The thief had a long rope which in the dim light he laid upon the floor of the barn. He next piled on as much hay as he could well carry on his shoulders, and tying it up with the rope, he hastened away.
The farmer watched the man crossing the field. Suddenly an idea came to him; he did not want to have trouble with a neighbor and he did not want to lose any more hay. Following at a little distance behind the thief, his footsteps naturally unheard because of the rustle of the hay, the farmer struck a match and held it up to the bundle for an instant and then dodged behind a tree. A moment later the hay burst into flames. The thief dropped his rope and, screaming with terror, rushed from sight. It was evident that he regarded the fire as of supernatural origin. The farmer lost no more hay.
Another farmer met a similar problem in a rather different manner. He was not overburdened with tender solicitude for ne’er-do-wells, as the following record will show.
Jim Green was the sort of agriculturalist who worked hard by day and slept hard by night. It therefore required several successive attempts one very early morning before his more wakeful wife succeeded in arousing him.
“Wake up! wake up!” said she, in a loud whisper, meanwhile nudging her sleeping husband vigorously.
“Why—why, what’s the matter?” said Jim.
“There’s somebody in the cellar,” she whispered, “I’ve been hearing strange noises for several minutes.”
Jim was now wide awake and hastily slipping on a few clothes, he made his way to a window and in the dim light soon made out the figure of a man crouched down by the cellar window, evidently working with a partner. Further strain of the eyes revealed a pile of what Jim’s experienced vision showed him to be salt pork, lying on the ground at the man’s elbow. Jim tiptoed to a side door, opened it quietly and made his way as silently as possible to where the man was kneeling. But the slight rustle of his clothing or the jar of his footsteps alarmed the watcher at the window and, glancing over his shoulder, he hastily dodged around the corner of the wood shed.
Jim promptly took the missing man’s place by the cellar window and awaited developments. Shortly thereafter a man in the cellar came to the window by which Jim was crouching and passed out several pieces of very damp salt pork which Jim received silently.
“I’ve got all there is in the barrel,” he whispered, “except the last layer. Probably we better leave that so the folks here won’t be entirely out of pork.”
“No,” Jim whispered, “pull it all out; what do we care whether they have any pork or not?”
The man in the cellar went back and, plunging his arm deep in the clammy brine, succeeded in digging up the last layer of pork which he brought to the window, passing it up to the owner outside. He then climbed out of the cellar window himself, where he was promptly collared by Jim and identified as a shiftless farm laborer of the neighborhood. He was soon released, however, after he had revealed the name of his partner, another bird of similar feather.
Not until long after the two prowlers had removed from the neighborhood, did Jim tell the story. Neighbors then remembered that when Jim Green needed farm help, the two pork thieves always responded promptly.
Comparatively few city born people realize how important a factor the weather is in the daily routine of the farmer. They know that a long-continued drought causes short crops and that floods sometimes do considerable damage in certain valleys. Of the inconvenience caused by unwelcome showers which sometimes become epidemic in busy seasons, they have no knowledge. In a certain thriving farming section, there had been a series of sudden thunder showers which had been very discouraging to hay makers.
“Lote” Platt had grown somewhat irascible in his old age and weather eccentricities had gradually become a personal matter with him. When unceremonious thunder showers had soaked a certain crop of clover hay about the third or fourth time, Lote began to feel peevish. However, he spread the hay out to dry and after one wet surface had responded to the sun’s rays, he turned the other side up and early in the afternoon found the clover in prime order to go in the barn.
He hastened to rake it into long windrows and was just preparing to send his hired man after the oxen and cart when he heard the grumbling of thunder and felt the coolness of the rain breeze. Another shower was coming!
The hired man started on the run to get the oxen, but Lote soon realized that the shower, and apparently a very wet one too, was going to reach the hay field long before the oxen could be gotten there.
“Boo-boo,” said Lote, as an unusually loud peal of thunder made the air vibrate. “I’ll show you something you never thought of.”
Lote was at the extreme windward side of the field and the long rows of freshly raked hay stretched out before the strong breeze, the forerunner of the approaching storm. Dropping on one knee, Lote scratched a match, shielded it a moment with his old straw hat and then held the blaze to the end of the windrow. Fanned by the wind, the fire followed the long row of dry hay across the field. Then another blaze followed by others also, and when the shower arrived, the clover which had cost so much labor to be fitted for the hay mow, had ceased to be a problem.
When the proverbially amiable citizen bursts forth in rage, it is astonishing to those who look on, and apt to be quite disconcerting to a perfectly innocent victim. It certainly was to the lumberjack who was “bawled out” by Uncle Jimmy Ryan.
A logging enterprise was under way back along the edge of the mountain and Uncle Jimmy’s wife was induced by the boss to board some of the help. A newcomer had joined the gang and was informed at quitting time that arrangements had been made for him to join the others at Uncle Jimmy’s.
The new recruit made his way with a half dozen other husky workers to the little low roofed farm house and going into the combined kitchen, dining and living room, dropped his bag in a corner, tossing his overcoat on one end of what seemed to be a large chest along the wall back of the cooking range.
Uncle Jimmy, a short and roly-poly man of sixty-five or so, was moving blandly about, speaking to one and then another of the “guests,” when suddenly his eye fell on the overcoat, hanging over one end of the chest. Rushing forward, he caught the coat and turning to the astonished man who owned it, proceeded to express great indignation, although in his excitement he had lapsed into the Irish brogue of his early days so that what he said was unintelligible.
Finally the wife who had kept serene during her husband’s tirade, made the matter clear.
The “chest” was an old-fashioned “settle” with an adjustable back. It contained a mattress and at about five o’clock every day Uncle Jimmy’s mother of ninety or more went to bed in the settle, the wooden back of which was shut down, closing tightly. A circular opening in the end, near the old lady’s face, provided air circulation.
The lumberman had unknowingly closed the opening. The offender apologized and harmony was restored.
There is no place like the farm for those unfortunates whose ability to perform crude manual labor is their chief asset. The farmer who must exercise a never failing forbearance in the management of horses and cattle often extends his sympathetic supervision over the mentally defective ones who can be utilized in providing the necessary hand labor. Thus it came about that one of those grown up children had found a comfortable home at Mr. Hubbard’s.
Thomas was socially inclined and the boys of the community were too kindly disposed to exclude him from their company.
The owner of a nearby farm had been “seeding down” a stumpy addition to his pasture, and early in the summer some boys, including Thomas, wandered in that direction one Sunday afternoon, discovering a small wooden harrow with iron “teeth,” which had been left on the field until a more convenient season. The shrinking of the wood in the summer sun had loosened these teeth and a few of them had dropped out. Thus it came about that the boys were afflicted with a wonderfully funny idea.
A few mornings later Mr. Perry, the owner of the harrow and incidentally of several farms in the neighborhood, had occasion to drive up to Mr. Hubbard’s place on business. It was but a short distance and he could easily have walked, but for the fact that he was very lame.
Mr. Hubbard was at home, and receiving his visitor very cordially, they entered into an earnest conversation. The child of misfortune, Thomas, came around the corner of an outbuilding and seeing the two men so busily occupied, stopped at once. He seemed to be much agitated.
The conversation continued, the two neighbors, however, subconsciously watching the boy. Suddenly he rushed forward.
“You old lame cuss!” said he, addressing the astonished visitor.
“You old lame cuss! I don’t know anything about your harrow teeth.” He then dodged back out of sight.
The two men looked at each other in amazement.
“What do you suppose he means?” said Mr. Perry.
“I don’t know,” was the reply, “but I intend to find out.”
“Here, you, Thomas!” he called, “come back here.”
The boy came reluctantly forward, and after some questioning revealed that the boys in their holiday spirit of mischief had concealed the loose harrow teeth in a hollow stump near where the harrow lay as a joke on the Perry boys—a trifling matter in itself but which had assumed great and terrifying importance to poor unfortunate Thomas.
To speak of the childish wrath of the aged is misleading in its suggestiveness. More properly we should refer to the childish wrath of the old man; for it is an undeniable fact that elderly women exhibit much greater patience with the inevitable annoyances of life than old men do.
A popular cartoonist has frequently exhibited these sudden tactics of impotent wrath in a very amusing way. But his imagination never has suggested anything more violent in its explosiveness than Uncle Reuben’s rage at a balky “salt shake.”
Uncle Reuben and his more amiable wife were visiting with relatives. His hostess was one of the New England type who never could do enough for her guests.
Uncle Reuben who was quite advanced in years and whose habitual irritability had proportionally increased, was feeling unusually peevish this morning. It was midsummer and exceedingly warm and humid.
The contents of the glass salt shake allotted to this peevish old gentleman had become, like everything else, affected by the prevailing humidity. The most vigorous shaking failed to produce any results. After repeated attempts, Uncle Reuben paused and quietly examined the salt shake which he held in his hand. His amiable wife, knowing his characteristics, looked anxious. His kindly hostess, also well acquainted with the aforesaid characteristics, looked deeply concerned.
Finally Uncle Reuben spoke in those tones of forced calmness which are usually associated with some great crisis.
“Pauline,” said he, “I wish to buy this salt shake.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t sell it,” replied his hostess, “you may have it, and welcome.”
“No, I want to buy it!” said Uncle Reuben in dramatic tones.
“I want to buy it. I want to take it out to the stone pile and grind it to powder.”
Just because a man has to be supported as a public charge by the town he lives in, is no reason why he should not have some definite ideas about correct dress.
“Uncle Timmy” may have seen better days, but it was so far back in his history that no one remembered anything about it. He was supplied with board in a private family at the town’s expense, the poor master incidentally providing two other urgent necessities, viz., wearing apparel and chewing tobacco, the latter being purchased in quantity and “doled out” to Uncle Timmy little at a time, as otherwise the expense of this luxury would have reached a very large item in the course of a year.
About once in so often Uncle Timmy would happen around to see the poor master to talk things over. He was very sociable indeed and would go into all the details as to the menu at his boarding place, which was very seldom satisfactory.
One day Uncle Timmy appeared, and after he had given a report of how he was enjoying his present boarding place, it occurred to the poor master that a certain pair of misfit shoes, which were of no special value to anyone, might be utilized by this long-time guest of the community. So he brought out the shoes and suggested that Uncle Timmy take them home with him.
The old man turned the shoes over and over and examined them carefully. When it was suggested that he try them on, as apparently they would fit him, he shook his head.
“No,” said he. “I guess I won’t take them. You better give them to some poor boy.”
There is no doubt that Uncle Timmy was naturally an aristocrat.
Those sections of rural New England which have possessed natural advantages sufficient to restrain the young people from their common propensity to emigrate to the cities or to the western states, are rich in family legends which show that frequent persistence of family traits which is exceptionally pronounced in the six little states of the northeast.
A well-known family had occupied a prominent position in a certain New England town for several generations. During all this period certain pronounced characteristics had afforded amusement to the people of the community, especially those of the father and daughter whose mental processes are illustrated by the following narratives.
The father had reached quite an advanced age, and although very amiable, had become exceedingly economical. There were people who would have said he was stingy—a common enough accusation against the aged. Besides his commodious house in town, he had a small farm and every spring he looked about and engaged some young man to undertake the double rôle of handy man around the house and farm laborer. The boy who took that job could be always sure of steady occupation; he was expected to rise early and work late.
One spring the old gentleman succeeded in securing a perfect treasure. A boy of eighteen years or thereabouts was engaged from a distant farm and came to town prepared to enjoy, what was to him, metropolitan life. A naturally willing worker, he soon found that there was little opportunity for recreation, at least during the daylight hours. In time he gradually made acquaintances who soon confirmed his own opinion that he was being imposed upon. He was still in awe of his employer, however, but finally an occasion developed when he could restrain himself no longer. On a very hot evening, after a hard day on the farm, he was directed to go into the wood shed and saw up some very dry fire wood of various uneven lengths. This was too much, and with a fluency which absolutely astonished both himself and listener, he proceeded to tell his employer just what he thought of his stinginess. For several minutes the old man stood perfectly amazed, the boy meantime hastening to his room, where he put on his best clothes and went up town. He naturally expected to be discharged, but such was not the case. After thinking the matter over a few minutes, the old man began to chuckle to himself, after which he shuffled off up the street, telling one citizen after another of his recent extraordinary experience.
“I like that boy,” said he. “He has speerit.”
This old gentleman had a wife who was in delicate health and a middle-aged daughter who was not delicate. She was a very capable housekeeper and as a rule not socially inclined. She stayed at home month after month, year after year and finally her married sister and sister-in-law, neither of whom were reluctant to point out the path of duty to their amiable parent, insisted that it was only right that “Sally” should have a vacation. They pictured out the need of change of scene, incidentally laying particular stress upon the even greater need of a replenished wardrobe. The old gentleman was very reluctant to yield to their persuasions, especially in the matter of the appropriation for clothes. It gave him a pang to pass over the money necessary for the outfit, but under such effective concurrent pressure, the outcome can easily be imagined. He finally resigned himself to the inevitable, wrote a handsome check and costumers were put to work.
While these numerous family discussions were going on, “Sally” had seemed to show but a languid interest. This was attributed by her sisters to the fact that she had stayed at home so long that she didn’t want to go anywhere else. In the light of subsequent events it would appear that their diagnosis was correct.
After the first pangs of separation from the cash, the father began to take an extraordinary interest in the outfitting process. He passed his judgment on the different fabrics, the styles into which they were to be made up and seemed to be looking forward with anticipation to the time when “Sally” would start out on her vacation trip with a wardrobe equal to that of any woman who had left that town in a long time.
Finally the outfit of new dresses, coats, hats, and other essential articles was complete and the day was set when the vacation should begin.
According to the plans, Sally was to go to New York to meet a family friend, visiting other points of interest as her impulses might suggest. The day of departure arrived, and Sally’s father was alive to the situation. A maid had been secured for a certain limited engagement and she was called early and told to prepare breakfast. The old man knocked vigorously on Sally’s door to make sure that she didn’t oversleep. Breakfast was ready and Sally did not appear. Her father began to be anxious lest she miss the train. He sent the maid up to knock at the door, who returned saying that Sally had answered, “All right.” Still she did not appear and it began to be certain that if she went that day she would have to go on a later train. Her father was indignant at her unwarranted indolence. He went up stairs and pounded once more on Sally’s door, which she opened, clad in her usual kitchen apparel. The old man demanded an explanation which was promptly forthcoming.
“I didn’t have the slightest intention of going to New York any of the time, but I knew that the only way I could ever get you to furnish me with any decent clothes, was to pretend I was going. Now I have the clothes and I am glad to have them, and I am going to stay at home and you can pay up that maid and let her go about her business.”
It must be regretfully stated that no record has been preserved of what Sally’s feminine relatives had to say to her.
In certain social circles astonishing heraldic pedigrees make their appearance, heretofore all unsuspected by the average list of acquaintances, but there can be no camouflage about family pedigrees in a strictly rural neighborhood. An eminent financier in a New England town had a relative who did not add any prestige to the family escutcheon. Having little inclination to work and a very moderate earning power even when he did work, a small annuity which he received was greatly appreciated by this scion of a lofty family. For a short time after his quarterly allowance arrived, “Lafe” lived in luxury.
A widely known hotel man of the community had as a side interest, a small but well equipped livery stable, which in the days before the automobile, was a handy source of income. On a certain sultry summer day who should ramble into the livery stable but Lafe. The owner happened to be at the office and Lafe negotiated with him for the use of a horse and buggy, for a couple of hours. Knowing his man, the proprietor suggested that he had better pay in advance, as he himself might not be there when Lafe returned. This was but an agreeable detail to the man who was just then in funds and he passed out the money without any hesitation whatever, after which he took his seat in the buggy which had been run out of the barn preparatory to harnessing the horse to it.
As stated before, it was sultry and Lafe was not only oppressed by the heat, but also by several drinks he had enjoyed shortly before. He fell asleep. Therefore, when the horse was led out, it was decided that he better be led back into the barn again for a time and await developments. Lafe slumbered on, finally arousing himself just about the time when the two hours were up that he had contracted for. The livery stable man was not a trickster, but he greatly enjoyed a joke. He informed Lafe that he had had his ride so far as he was concerned, having occupied the buggy and having been in a position to use the horse, if he so desired. Lafe saw the joke, and being a good loser he promptly went away with a broad grin on his face, resolving to “get even.” The livery stable man industriously spread the story which came to Lafe’s ears quite frequently.
Some months afterwards the stable owner happened to be about sixty miles away taking a train for home and behold there was Lafe, also taking the train. The memory of that unenjoyed but paid for ride was still lingering in Lafe’s mind, so he asked the practical joker if he would not advance the money to pay his railroad fare.
“Why should you pay any railroad fares, when your cousin is a big owner in the railroad?” was the reply. “You just tell the conductor who you are and he will pass you without any ticket.”
“Will you back me up, if I do tell him?” asked Lafe.
“Certainly,” was the answer. “That will be all right.”
A SHADY DRIVE “DOWN EAST”
Whereupon Lafe took his seat in the front end of the day coach, the livery stable man being seated with a friend in the back part of the same car. Enter the conductor. He approached Lafe, demanding a ticket. Then followed a brief but animated conversation as a result of which Lafe turned and made a signal to the man in the rear of the car, who promptly nodded his head. The conductor therefore proceeded about his duties, collecting fares from various passengers, until he approached the livery man, who, stating his destination, handed him a mileage book. The conductor took the book and promptly detached two fares instead of one. When the owner of the mileage book asked the reason, he was informed by the conductor that he had been told by the man down in front that he would get his fare at the other end of the car and that he had confirmed the arrangement.
It may be taken for granted that among the habitues of the hotel and livery stable, the foregoing transactions were fully appreciated. Lafe was temporarily a hero, and no one enjoyed the joke better than the livery man did.
While it was regarded absolutely essential in small town life to be able, in New England phrase, to “take a joke,” there was of course a reasonable limit. A joke ceases to be a joke when there is any evidence of ill nature or maliciousness back of it. Just where the dividing line comes in of course varies with the circumstances.
In a certain rural town there was a young man whose tendency to slow wit was counter-balanced by a very amiable disposition. It is not surprising therefore that there should have been those who were inclined to take advantage and subject him to ridicule. This was less annoying to the victim of these jokes than to some of his friends.
One election day, in early September, the amiable young man in question, after depositing his ballot and going down the stairs from the hall where the election was held, was intercepted by some local clown who, taking him entirely off his guard, kicked him down the last few steps of the stairway to the floor below, where he landed in a very undignified attitude. With unruffled amiability the victim of horse play scrambled to his feet, brushed the dust from his clothes, and joined heartily in the empty laughter of the onlookers.
His close friends had not happened to witness this episode, but heard of it before leaving the hall. On their way home they expressed themselves very indignantly and asked the amiable victim why he submitted to such abuse, assuring him that he could easily make short work of the other man and there was no reason why he should put up with any such treatment. This put the matter in an entirely new light to the man who had shown such remarkable good nature a short time before. He thought deeply and said nothing.
The year rolled around and another September found the same assemblage at the town hall for the election. Everyone had forgotten the stairway incident of the year before, with one exception, and that was the victim. To the absolute amazement of all present, he hunted up his astonished antagonist of the year before and it required the combined efforts of all the young man’s friends to keep him from committing serious assault on the joker. He was restrained with some difficulty and taken to one side of the hall where his friends proceeded to explain to him that his grievance was now outlawed.
The trademark has become no small factor in modern business. Its imitation by rival firms is not only frowned upon as a breach of ethics, but in most civilized or even semi-civilized countries, it is illegal.
There was one such violation, however, many years ago in a small town, none of whose inhabitants perhaps had ever before heard of such a thing as a “trademark” in its modern meaning.
One of the chief sources of income to farmers in that section was butter-making. At that time all butter was put down in wooden tubs, which were mostly hand made. An old growth spruce tree of good size and of a certain grain would be sawed into right lengths. These would be split with great care into staves. These in turn would be shaved down as smoothly as possible, enclosed in ash hoops and fitted out with a cover, the rim of which was likewise an ash hoop.
An old man who had become quite skillful in manufacturing these butter packages, finally acquired such pride in his work that upon finishing each tub he would take a soft lead pencil and write his initials in large flourishing characters. As he was practically illiterate, his monogram was all the more amusing to others.
These packages were not only supplied to certain farmers, but were furnished to a nearby country store to be carried in stock. There were other builders of hand-made butter tubs who were not so careful about the finish of their articles.
One evening this creator of artistic butter tubs meandered to the village store. A waggish individual who saw him there and enjoyed his self-satisfied and expansive manner in the store, had one of those bright ideas which so frequently afflict humanity. In the back room of the store there were some butter packages manufactured by a rival of the artist before mentioned. These tubs were a little more uncouth in their getup than usual. The maker of this brand of packages had the excellent taste not to identify himself with his completed product by any monogram. Selecting one of the roughest looking of these packages, the joker borrowed a pencil and soon produced a crude imitation of the well known initials. He then walked into the inner store, handed the butter tub to the rival manufacturer and asked him how he ever had the face to put out such coarse looking work as that. The artist indignantly denying any responsibility for the tub, or even knowledge thereof, his attention was immediately called to the trademark on the bottom.
This was the last straw and the creator of masterpieces in the butter-tub making art, nearly produced a riot. He accused the storekeeper of connivance and a gross fraud on the community and threatened dire proceedings in other directions. The disgusted proprietor of the store finally succeeded in explaining the matter. The perpetrator of the joke slipped out of the store by the back way and eventually the rumblings of wrath and outraged culture subsided.
It has been before stated that the satisfaction of living on fairly amicable terms with one’s neighbors in a farming region tends to develop not only much forbearance but diplomacy as well. This was illustrated in a certain case where the bone of contention was a line fence.
A certain man who lived on a small farm had a perfect mania for lawsuits. This was not so uncommon in earlier days, as it was rather in the line of policy of certain pettifogging lawyers to encourage litigation.
Between his farm and the adjoining one there was a division fence which seemed to be always falling to pieces. The man who lived on this adjoining farm suspected that the cattle were not altogether to blame for the frequent breaches in the fence. The cattle continued to come over onto his land and he finally decided to devote one whole day, if necessary, to watchful waiting. He therefore established himself in a clump of bushes where he had a pretty good view of quite a stretch of the fence, and not very long afterwards he saw the half grown son of the belligerent neighbor approach the division line and loosen some of the rails to such an extent that it would be an easy matter for the cattle to get across.
The man on guard was puzzled for a moment just what to do, but realized the importance of avoiding hostilities with his neighbor, if it were possible. Finally he had an inspiration.
The boy who had done the mischief was well known in the neighborhood as somewhat defective mentally. Hastily removing his old coat, which had a very dilapidated lining, the resourceful observer turned it inside out and again put it on, dragging his old felt hat down over his eyes. Next he rubbed a handful of black dirt over his face, after which with blood curdling yells, he started down the hills toward the boy. One glimpse was enough for the youngster who fled to the house panic stricken. A little later on the diplomatist, resuming his normal appearance, apparently happened along in a leisurely way, repaired the fence and went home.
By a perhaps not unexplainable coincidence, the cattle remained on their own side of the fence thereafter.
In another locality there were four brothers whose personal traits were so markedly individual as to make the family stand out somewhat prominently in the community. All these amiable peculiarities were of course thoroughly understood by the local inhabitants. First one of the brothers and then another would figure in some transaction in a way to bring out the same family characteristic.
The oldest one of the four brothers bore the biblical name of Noah, and was a carpenter. Another brother often assisted him at the same trade. Still another brother was a farmer, while the fourth had no settled occupation.
These amusing details of the various activities of these brothers finally inspired a local humorist to sum up the doings of the four in the following luminous example of rural verse:
In the ordinary processes of trade the Yankee is a firm believer in the old Roman Law of “caveat emptor” or “let the buyer beware.” While there may be occasional instances of neighborhood disapproval where this principle has been worked out to the discomfiture of the too confiding, in general it is held in respect as the only basis for sound business. That there can be a new dispensation whereby business can be carried on safely on the basis of a tender altruistic regard for the financial safeguarding of those who lack the ability to think for themselves, and thus produce that utopia which certain enthusiasts would seem to regard as possible, has yet to be demonstrated.
There was a man who wished to buy a cow. There was another man who had cows to sell. When the prospective buyer, known locally as “Ed,” looked over the herd of the seller, his eye rested upon a certain cow which the latter was especially anxious to dispose of. He had indicated what he would take for several other cows, but had carefully refrained from making any reference to the particular cow. Noting this omission, the buyer gave the animal in question very special attention and asked the price. He was told that this cow was not for sale as she belonged to “Hannah,” his wife. Ed immediately became convinced that Hannah’s cow must be a very superior animal and lost all interest in the other quotations. However, he made very little headway at first, but finally the owner said he would go in and talk with his wife and see if she would consent to sell her cow. He went in the house and was gone quite some time, but finally appeared and said that his wife had consented to let the cow go, although it was apparent from his tone that she was very reluctant to part with it. The trade was soon made and Ed drove the cow home in triumph.
Shortly after the animal was established in her new home it was time to do the milking, and the proud owner proceeded to begin the operation. He soon found that the cow was quite reluctant to be milked and when she had kicked the milk pail across the stable two or three times, he called on his hired man for help. Together they attempted to mollify the fractious animal but the results were far from satisfactory.
The next morning the same comedy was enacted and Ed became quite pessimistic. He decided that it was sort of a mean trick for a neighbor to wheedle a woman into giving up her favorite cow and he drove to the farm of the original owner and told him so. He carefully refrained from making any reference to the eccentricities shown by the cow, believing that by a master stroke of diplomacy in showing such consideration for the other man’s wife, he might negotiate an exchange. The former owner listened to his remarks and again said that he would talk the matter over with his wife. Ed waited anxiously for the result. After an interval of ten or fifteen minutes the devoted husband once more made his appearance and informed Ed that Hannah had “got over feeling bad” and decided she would not be selfish in the matter.
The new owner of the temperamental cow greatly regretted his haste in concluding the bargain before he had inquired more definitely as to the cow’s disposition. But, realizing that a trade was a trade, he made the best of the matter and no doubt derived enough amusement by telling the incident to his numerous acquaintances to offset his financial loss. Had he asked the original owner the plain question if the cow objected to being milked, he would have been told the facts without doubt. But, noticing his eagerness to buy, irrespective of all ordinary rules of prudence, the original owner could not resist the temptation to drive a hard bargain.
In the earlier days of agriculture in New England, no farm of any size was regarded as properly equipped without a stalwart yoke of oxen, which were best adapted to the rough stumpy fields and relatively uneven highways. Although money was scarce, time was in adequate supply. There followed the necessity of that great empire building vehicle, the ox-cart.
There was a well-known resident of a certain rural community commonly referred to as “Uncle Reuben.” Being a natural mechanic, he acquired an enviable reputation as a wheel-wright who could turn out better cart-wheels than anyone in that region.
All the average farmer needed was the two wheels, which were built exactly alike; he could do the rest of the work himself in his spare time, the pole or “neap,” as it was locally designated, being a simple affair, as also was the cart body.
To this master builder of cart-wheels there came one day a farmer from a remote mountain side and bargained for a pair which were to be paid for at some future time in farm products. The wheels were to be ready for delivery on the following Saturday week.
Uncle Reuben proceeded leisurely about his task, as work was rather slack, but completed his job on the Friday preceding the promised date and turned out a rather better job than usual. That very afternoon a well-to-do farmer from a nearby valley drove up to engage a pair of cart-wheels and as soon as he entered the shop, his eyes fell upon those just completed. They were exactly what he wanted and he insisted upon having them. Uncle Reuben told him the wheels were already sold and who was to have them. The man of affluence was urgent. Uncle Reuben could make the mountain farmer another pair and as a clinching argument proposed to pay cash for the wheels. Uncle Reuben hesitated but the temptation of ready cash payment instead of merchandise was too much. He accepted the offer, the money was paid and that evening the purchaser sent his man for the wheels.
All the next day Uncle Reuben worked feverishly on another pair of cart-wheels for the original purchaser. As he worked he formulated the excuse he must offer to allay the other man’s disappointment. Along in the afternoon the mountaineer appeared to get his wheels. He did not get the wheels of course, but he carried away a most unique excuse.
In his blandest manner Uncle Reuben explained the matter very clearly.
“Do you know,” says he, “I don’t see how in the world I could have done it, but when I had got the wheels all finished I found I had gone and built two right-hand wheels. A man came along who thought he could use them and I let them go.”
There is probably no more effective form of the so-called “pitiless publicity” than that which throws its calcium moral rays upon the unconventional resident of a rural community in New England. There can be little that transpires that is not only well known but carefully weighed in the balances. There is an illuminating legend which tells of an unwise battle with rural public opinion.
A woman who with her husband and child had taken up her abode in a remote district was at first well received. She became interested in the little church and being of a bland disposition and an alert mind succeeded in passing the censorship with comparative credit. Unfortunately for herself and child the husband died and soon there were rumors that she was not showing a proper sense of bereavement. The local atmosphere became chilly and she decided that she must do something to indicate proper devotion to her husband’s memory.
About fifteen miles away, there was a distant cousin of her late husband who was a dealer in monuments. To him she appeared one day and mournfully announced her desire to erect a monument to her late husband. She admitted that she had no money to pay for it, but said she had a piece of land with a house upon it and that she would willingly sacrifice that property to ensure the creation of a suitable memorial. The dealer and incidental relative was very favorably disposed, not only to the ingratiating widow, but to what apparently was a promising venture. A trade was soon made, the widow departed and in a short time the monument was properly erected in the cemetery. Nothing was said at that time as to a transfer of the real estate, but some weeks later the dealer being in the town where it was located, decided to take a look at his new property. He found a small irregular patch of rocks and bushes with a tumbledown rough board shanty upon it. A few inquiries soon made it clear that the joke was on him and he never made any move to secure a title. After a time the humor of the transaction overcame his disgust at the trick and he told the story on himself, to the great joy of those better acquainted with the characteristics of the widow.
It must be regretfully chronicled, however, that even the monument failed to reinstate the lady in the good graces of her feminine neighbors. She was lonely, very short of cash and possessed of an inventive mind; naturally there were developments. For years there was no lack of conversational topics in that community, at least among the women.
Shortly after the monument episode there appeared an imposing looking sign on the front of the widow’s residence, containing her name with the very unusual title, “Doctress.” Such medical knowledge as she possessed was not claimed to be the result of any special study but rather the evidence of some extraordinary intuition. There were plenty of similar instances in the days before the practice of medicine was legally restricted. It soon became apparent that the widow’s patients were chiefly resident boarders, generally one or two lonely old widowers. In a vague sense, therefore, it may be seen that the widow had forecast in her mind the general idea of the sanitarium, then practically unknown. The hum of gossip reached a high crescendo and the sanitarium project was soon abandoned—not however, because of the gossip but for lack of sufficient clinical material to pay expenses. Thereupon the people of the township began to wonder what would happen next. They didn’t have long to wait.
Although the possessor of extraordinary gifts in the healing art, the widow had other talents which were not kept in obscurity. She “dickered” in real estate in a necessarily small way and was a horse trader of recognized ability. But her ambition at this time was in the medical field and having removed to commodious quarters she announced her great discovery, “The Mountain Envigorator.”
Although this panacea was widely heralded as calculated to relieve most of the physical ills of mankind, and although Emerson, the Sage, has pictured in graphic language the great procession of people who would eagerly penetrate the trackless wilderness to do business with the inventor of a better mouse trap than the one probably in use at the Philosopher’s Concord residence, there was singular apathy manifest regarding the Envigorator. Sales were very, very slow and expenses large.
However, the widow was resourceful. She fitted out a two-horse pedlar’s cart and engaged an assistant to travel about with her and help introduce her remedy.
Thereupon for a season the money began to flow back to the widow’s purse. But such prosperity was too obvious to the assistant who soon began to clamor for an exorbitant salary. It was a crisis and must be met and was met.
At this time the widow’s personal charms had become somewhat mellowed with age, but she decided to exercise them. The young man with a fortune in sight soon succumbed and they were married.
It will probably occasion no surprise to relate that the husband’s financial demands soon exceeded his most preposterous claims as an employee. Dissensions arose, the business languished and the bridegroom departed. The widow also went away, never to return, but before leaving she accomplished a master stroke which aroused the admiration of the most censorious women of the countryside.
In a nearby village there was a woman who had succeeded in making herself feared for her vindictive type of gossip. She had long specialized on the widow’s affairs. Not content with revealing what she knew, she finally surpassed herself with a story which could easily be shown to be false. The victim saw her opportunity and the romancer was given her choice of an immediate retraction or jail. A day or two later the widow and the gossiping dame made the rounds of the village and adjacent farms. At each call the hostess was informed by the widow that her companion had an explanation to make. Whereupon the woman of the poison tongue would proceed to relate that in telling the story in question, she had drawn wholly upon her imagination. Before the housewife could recover from her astonishment at such an unprecedented narrative, the widow and her victim would have departed to convey the glad tidings elsewhere.
While there are few who can surpass the typical New England Yankee as a natural shrewd trader, there are numerous residents of that section of Canadian-French, Irish or Italian ancestry, who are amply qualified to hold their own. A conspicuous example of this type of shrewdness is recorded in which an Irishman, widely known as “Tim,” took the leading part.
“Tim” had a large farm and always had cows to sell to buyers, provided he could get his price, which was usually a stiff one. To replace animals thus disposed of, he would travel around the surrounding country, securing a cow here and there, as they could be picked up at his price. A fortunate sale left him very short of dairy cows, and hearing of a farmer living some distance away, who had some to sell, he lost no time in appearing on the scene.
The farmer in question had twenty good looking animals, but even Tim, with all his experience and judgment, could not for the life of him make up his mind which were the most desirable for his purpose. As he saw the farmer did not know who he was, he assumed the guise of the confiding novice. He asked the farmer to put a price on ten cows, as he might select from the herd. After some hesitation the seller named a figure which was a very fair price for good cows but a high price for most any other kind. Every herd has its star performers and just how to get the best from the herd was a problem. After much discussion and innocent talk on his part, Tim finally asked the farmer to recommend the cows that would be likely to be satisfactory to him, if he was to accept his offer. This idea seemed to be attractive to the seller, and he proceeded to point out a cow here and there in the herd until he had finally named the ten to make up the order. Tim’s decision was immediate.
“All right,” said he, “I’ll take the other ten.”
This was an unexpected turn of affairs to the seller, but he was a man of his word and Tim drove his ten best cows away with that deep sense of satisfaction which the skillful trader always experiences when things have come his way.
It may be assumed therefore that the modern form of sentimentalism, of which we hear so much in certain circles, whereby the energetic and thrifty are held in disapproval because they do not show a tender solicitude for the indolent and incapable, is not widely prevalent in rural New England. Every real Yankee who gets the losing end of a trade, under fair circumstances, accepts the results of his own incapacity and resolves to be more cautious in the future. As an example of this give and take state of public opinion may be mentioned the case of the man who had contracted with a mechanic for a new milk sled.
The mechanic was well qualified. It could be taken for granted that a finished article from his hands would be satisfactory. The only difficulty was in getting him to complete the job. Being occupied with various details he was inclined to procrastinate. In this instance he made an excellent start, had the sled well near completion, and then for some unaccountable reason could not seem to get the time to finish it. The customer would inquire every day or two as to the prospects. There was an abundance of promises but very little action. Several weeks went by. The situation became very exasperating.
The builder of sleds had an excellent article of his own employed in his collateral enterprises. One day the customer whose old sled was now in the last stages of dilapidation, saw the mechanic on his way to town and came to an instant decision. He drove to the latter’s home, changed his horses to the mechanic’s sled and proceeded about his business. When he saw the owner he told him he could have his property back when he had finished the job promised weeks before. The mechanic grinned appreciatively, and in a very short time the contract was completed.
One of the strongest potential arguments in favor of the so-called “back to the farm” movement, is seldom appreciated by city dwellers, viz., the opportunity thus afforded for companionship with the domestic animals.
To the average person there are horses, cattle, dogs and cats; but those, especially farm people, who are in intimate daily contact with these animals, realize that every horse, cow, dog and cat has a separate individuality. Children brought up in such associations soon recognize all these distinctive traits and thereby acquire a much more broad understanding of the general manifestations of nature than is possible to the children brought up to look upon such animals with contempt, if not with dread.
People of average attainments in business, or socially, seldom appreciate how much contact with domestic animals has to do with the development of practical common sense and self-reliance among those who have been fortunate enough to spend their early days in an agricultural environment.
On every farm of any importance, the daily routine must to a certain degree take into account the varying individual traits and capacities of the farm animals. The boy who has grown up in these surroundings and who has been taught to restrain his impatience, to exercise forbearance and to help induce the sense of felicity and general comfort among the domestic animals on a farm, which is essential to their well-being, has incidentally laid the foundations for the development of that good judgment which usually determines the difference between success and failure.
The sheep is generally regarded as a very uninteresting animal, but occasionally there is an exception.
A man who had a small farm, stocked mostly with cattle, had a few sheep which he kept in a small pasture by themselves. Among this flock was a young masculine who had gradually acquired the opinion that he was an unusually brilliant and promising sheep. In order to exhibit the good opinion he had of himself he developed a pugnacious tendency and a disposition to wander about. Escaping from the pasture, he was reported one day as being a trespasser on the farm of a near neighbor.
The following evening the owner of the young sheep proceeded to the neighbor’s farm to reclaim the wanderer and put him back where he belonged. It had been a showery day and everything was saturated with rain. Approaching the farmyard where the strayed sheep was reported to be, the owner saw the wife of the farmer engaged in milking a cow. Incidentally, he saw the sheep on the other side of the cow from the matron. And almost immediately he saw other developments. The sheep had been regarded with strong disfavor by the strange cows with which he was surrounded and with a spirit of resentment he suddenly started head down at the cow being milked. Although the lady who was busily engaged in the milking process was totally unconscious of what was happening, it was not so with the cow. Just at the psychological moment, the cow sprang forward and the sheep came in violent contact with the lady and the milk pail. The impact was so great that the woman was thrown over backward in the soft mud of the barnyard, the contents of the pail being liberally distributed about her robust person.
Although the physical injury was not serious, the damage to the lady’s dignity was such that the owner of the sheep decided that it was a very inappropriate time to claim his missing property and hastily beat his retreat to make his reappearance when the lady’s wrath had somewhat subsided.
While the lady sheep is a model of amiability under practically all circumstances, as before suggested, the male of the species develops egotism at a very early date; he also develops a tendency to resent anything and everything that reflects upon his dignity. So, while it is entirely appropriate to emphasize the educational advantages of farm life to growing boys and girls as calculated to develop many desirable qualities, it is easily possible for such contact to result disastrously to the young male sheep as evidenced by the following depressing incident.
Another young and somewhat self-centered male sheep had been tantalized by small boys until his dignity was deeply wounded. He was one of two or three that followed a herd of cows around a large pasture on a dairy farm. In a certain portion of this enclosure there were some wild raspberry bushes, and a certain estimable scrub woman of the neighborhood went to the pasture one day to pick some berries. There was something about this woman that didn’t meet with the approval of the young sheep and he made a sudden attack which resulted in the loss of the berries and incidentally produced a few bruises. The woman escaped from the pasture and went to the farmhouse and expressed her indignation that any such wild beast should be allowed to be at large to commit assaults on the neighbors. The owner of the sheep, a very amiable man, apologized profusely and directed that the animal be kept in confinement, at least until the berry season was over. He was therefore confined in a ramshackle stable, tied behind a loose board.
Enter the villains of this tragedy! four small boys, each armed with a small, harmless, but otherwise objectionable birch stick. The prisoner glared at them, whereupon one after another they advanced and tapped the young ram playfully on the nose with their sticks. In violent resentment he would lunge forward against the loose board, making a tremendous racket. Although this enterprise only lasted a few minutes before it became tiresome to the gamins in question, it was sufficient to completely wreck whatever might have been previously left of this sheep’s amiability. He became an anarchist then and there.
The next morning was rainy and there was no probability that any berry pickers would visit the pasture, so the sheep which had expressed his dissatisfaction by many loud protests during the previous days, was gladly released to be allowed to go at large. It was here that Grim Tragedy stalked forth. The farmyard was a quagmire as a result of the rain and as one of the older “boys” started to carefully pick his way through the mud with two brimming milk pails, the sheep caught sight of him and decided that this was the time to avenge some of those insults of the day before. Just as the young man was crossing the deepest portion of the bog, he was made the victim of a rear attack. The result can easily be imagined. In his great wrath, extricating himself, he cornered the pugnacious sheep and changed him into mutton in a very few seconds.
It has been stated before that contact with the various animal inhabitants of a well equipped farm is in itself an educational process of no small value; it may be added that there is often as much diversion as education in these experiences.
Much has been written of geese and their superior mental qualities as compared with other fowl. It is true that they are wise in certain ways and that the average hen is very stupid by comparison. But the hen is a never-ending source of amusement to many people, especially when zealously engaged in bringing up a brood. It might be almost assumed that the hen has reasoning power at times, as for example:
A collie puppy was added to the equipment of a certain farm and after a few days he began to make a general tour of investigation. He seemed to find the young chickens about as interesting as anything and while doing them no injury he would nose them about to the terror of the chickens and the great indignation of the mother hens. At a time of emergency some noble figure should always step forward and this emergency was no exception. Early one morning the pup was seen flying across the yard, uttering the most agonizing cries, one of the maternal hens standing squarely in the middle of his back, incidentally giving him her opinion of dogs in general and himself in particular. The hen hopped off and went back to the chickens and the puppy was absolutely cured. He had no further curiosity in that direction.