And then bimeby along come a man that had sech a hefty, hefty bundle! ’Twas right ’tween his shoulders, and it sort o’ scrooched him down, and it hurt him in his back and in his feelin’s. The Head Man had put that bundle on the man hisself when he was a little bit of a feller. He’d made it out o’ flesh and skin and things. It was jest ezackly like the man’s body, so ’t when it ached he ached hisself. And he’d had to carry that thing about all his born days.
I don’t know why the Head Man done it, I’m sure, but I know how good and pleasant he was, and how he liked his folks and meant well to ’em, and how he knowed jest what oughter be and what hadn’t oughter be, so ’t stands to reason he’d done this thing a-purpose, and not careless like, and he hadn’t made no mistake.
I’ve guessed a lot o’ reasons why he done it. Mebbe he see the man wouldn’t ’a’ done so well without the bundle,—might ’a’ run off, ’way, ’way off from the Head Man and the work he had to do. Or, ag’in, p‘r’aps he wanted to make a ’zample of the man, and show folks how patient and nice a body could be, even though he had a big, hefty bundle to carry all his born days, one made out o’ flesh and skin and things, and that hurt dreadful.
But my other guess is the one I b’leeve in most,—that the Head Man done it to scrooch him down, so’s he’d take notice o’ little teenty things, down below, that most folks never see, things that needed him to watch ’em, and do for ’em, and tell about ’em. That’s my fav’rite guess. ’Tany rate, the Head Man done right,—I’m cert’in sure o’ that.
And it had made the man nicer, and pleasanter spoken, and kinder to folks, and partic’lar to creaturs. It had made him sort o’ bend down, ’twas so hefty, and so he’d got to takin’ notice o’ teenty little things nobody else scursely’d see,—mites o’ posies, and cunnin’ little bugs, and creepin’, crawlin’ things. He took a heap o’ comfort in ’em. And he told other folks ’bout them little things and their little ways, and what they was made for, and things they could learn us; and ’twas real int’restin’, and done folks good too.
And, deary me, he was that patient and good and uncomplainin’, you never see! No, I ain’t a-cryin’. This was a stranger, this man, you know, and I make a p’int o’ never cryin’ about strangers.
There was a lot and a lot more kinds o’ folks with bundles, but I’m only goin’ to tell ye about them four,—this time, any way.
Well, come pay day, these folks all come up afore the Head Man to be settled with. And fust he called up the man that had the bundle all made out o’ things that had pricked him, and tripped him up, and scratched him, and put him back on the road. And then he had up the man with the money weighin’ him down,—the money he’d kep’ away from poor folks and piled up on his own back. And then come the feller that was carryin’ the heavy bundle folks had put on him when ’t wa’n’t no fault o’ his’n, and that he might ’a’ got red of a long spell back, if he’d only rec’lected what the Head Man had said ’bout sech cases, and how they could be helped.
I ain’t a-goin’ to tell ye what he said to them folks, ’cause ’t ain’t my business, seems to me. Whether he punished either on ’em, or scolded ’em, or sent ’em off to try ag’in, or what all, never mind. Knowin’ ’s much as I do about the ways o’ that Head Man, I bet he made ’em feel terrible ashamed, any way.
But when he came to the man with the bundle made out o’ flesh and skin and things, he looks at him a minute, and then says he, the Head Man does, “Why,” he says, “that’s my own work! I made that bundle, and I fixed it on your back all myself. I hefted and I sized it, and I hefted you and sized you. A mite of a young one you was then. I made it jest hefty enough for you to carry, not a bit heftier, no more nor less. I rec’lect it well,” he says. “I ain’t forgot it. I never forgot it one minute sence I fitted in on, though mebbe you kind o’ thought by spells that I had. And now,” he says—No, I can’t tell ye what he says. It’s a secret, that is. But I don’t mind lettin’ ye know that the man was sat’sfied, perfec’ly sat’sfied. A Angel told me he was, and went on to say the man was dreadful pleased to find he’d been wearin’ a bundle the Head Man hisself had made and fixed on him, heftin’ it and sizin’ it, and heftin’ him and sizin’ him too, so’s ‘twa’n’t too much for him to carry. But he ain’t carryin’ it no more. The Angel said so.