UNCLE TASCUS AND THE DEED

Uncle Peter Tascus Runnels has been feeble

some of late;

He has allus been a worker and he sartinly did

hate

To confess he couldn’t tussle with the spryest

any more,

—That he wasn’t fit for nothin’ but to fub

around an’ chore.

When he climbed the stable scaffold t’other day

he had a spell,

—Kind o’ heart-disease or somethin’—an’ I

heard he like to fell.

Guess the prospect sort o’ scared him; so, that

ev’nin’ after tea,

—After he had smoked a pipeful—pretty sol-

emn, then says he,

“Reckin, son, ye’ve noticed lately that your

dad is gittin’ old,

An’ your marm is nigh as feeble;—much as

ever she can scold!”

Uncle Tascus said so grinnin’; for the folks

around here know

That no better-natured woman ever lived than

old Aunt Jo.

“Now, my son,” said Uncle Tascus, “you’ve

been good to me an’ marm,

An’ you know we allus told ye, ye was sure to

have the farm.

An’ we like your wife Lucindy; there has

never been no touse

As is generly apt to happen with two famblys in

the house.

I can’t manage as I used to; mother’s gittin’

pretty slim,

An’ to hold our prop’ty longer is a whim, bub,

jest a whim!

So I’ll tell ye what I’m plannin’, an’ I know

that marm agrees,

We’ll sign off an’ make it over; then we’ll sort

o’ take our ease.

So, hitch up to-morrer mornin’—drive us down

to Lawyer True,

Me an’ marm will sign the papers, an’ we’ll

deed the place to you.”

Lawyer True looked kind o’ doubtful when

they told him what was on.

“I’ll admit,” said he, “that no one’s got a

better boy than John.

Now don’t think I’m interferin’ or am prophe-

syin’ harm,

When I warn ye not to do it; don’t ye deed

away your farm.

I have seen so many cases—heard ’em tried

most ev’ry term—

Where a deed has busted fam’lies, that, I swow,

it makes me squirm

If I’m asked to write a transfer to a relative

or son.

Tascus, please excuse my meddlin’, but—ye

hold it till ye’re done.”

Uncle Tascus, though, insisted. He was allus

rather sot.

He allowed he’d show the neighbors jest the

kind of son he’d got.

—Said he’d show ’em how a Runnels allus

stuck by kith an’ kin,

So the lawyer drew the papers—an’ they started

home agin,

Uncle Tascus held the webbin’s—he has allus

driv’ the hoss—

John he chuckled kind o’ nervous. Then said

he, “Wal, pa, I’m boss!

Now ye’ve never got to worry—I’m the one to

take the lead,

Things were gettin’ kind o’ logy—guess I’ll

have to put on speed.

An’ as now I head the fam’ly, an’ you’re sort

of on the shelf,

Guess I’ll”—John he took the webbin’s—

“guess I’d better drive, myself.”

Wal, s’r, Uncle Tascus pondered, pondered,

pondered all that day.

An’ that evenin’ still was pond’rin’, as he

rocked an’ smoked away.

John he set dus’ up t’ table, underneath the

hangin’ lamp,

Ciph’rin’ out that legal paper with its seal an’

rev’nue stamp.

Then he folded it an’ chuckled. “That’s all

right an’ tight,” he said,

“Lawyers tie things tighter’n Jehu. Dad, ye’d

better go to bed.

You an’ marm are gettin’ feeble; mustn’t have

ye up so late!

I’m the boss—” John sort o’ te-heed, “so I’ll

have to keep ye straight.

’Sides, I’ll need ye bright an’ early. In the

mornin’ hitch the mare,

Take that paper down t’ court-house. Have it

put on record there.”

Uncle Tascus took the writin’, pulled his specs

down on his nose,

Read it over very careful. Then says he, “My

son, I s’pose

You are jest as good’s they make ’em; I hain’t

got no fault to find,

You are thrifty, smart an’ stiddy; rather bluff,

but allus kind,

An’ I guess you’d prob’ly use us jest as well’s

ye really knew,

But I hain’t so awful sartin that I’m done an’

out an’ through!

—Tell ye, son, I’ve been a-thinkin’ since ye

took an’ driv’ that hoss,

—Since ye sort o’ throwed your shoulders an’

allowed that you was boss!

Hate to act so whiffle-minded, but my father

used to say,

‘Men would sometimes change opinions; mules

would stick the same old way.’”

Uncle Tascus tore the paper twice acrost, then

calmly threw

On the fire the shriv’lin’ pieces. Poof! They

vanished up the flue.

“There, bub, run to bed,” said Tascus, with

his sweet, old-fashioned smile.

“These old hands are sort of shaky, but I guess

I’ll drive a while.”