“Boys, boys!” The Patriarch was rapping for order. “Don’t git quarrelin’ over the question of engynes. Fer my part the plain ole waterwheel beats ’em holly.”
The Miller tilted over on his nail keg and tapped the Loafer on the elbow.
“Tell me,” he said. “Where did ye git that idee? It sounds almanacky.”
“That idee was ginirated this mornin’ ez me an’ Tige was roamin’ ’round Gum hill tryin’ to start a rabbit. They bein’ no rabbits, me an’ Tige set down an’ gunned for idees. It was peaceful an’ nice there on the ridge. The woods hed the reg’lar cheery November rattle, like a dried up, jolly ole man. The wind was a-shakin’ the dead leaves, an’ they was a-chipperin’ an’ chirpin’. The pignuts was jumpin’ from the limbs, sloshin’ th’oo the branches an’ tumblin’ ’round the ground. Overhead a couple of crows was a-floppin’ about an’ whoopin’ like a lot of boys on skates, fer the air was bitin’ like, an’ put life in ye.
“Ez I set there on a lawg I minded a felly I oncet heard up to liter’ry society, who read a piecet ’bout how the year was dyin’ fer autumn was at hand. I noticed Tige ez he was rollin’ ’round chasin’ pignuts, an’ I sais to meself, sais I: ‘Dyin’? Why, no. It’s only in its second chil’hood.’ An’ I looked down the hill into the gut an’ seen the smoke curlin’ up th’oo the trees in the ole Horner clearin’. That’s where I got the Missus. Then it was that that idee ’bout engynes an’ weemen blossomed.
“Before the first time I ever seen that clearin’ I kind o’ lived in jerks. Sometimes I’d run hard an’ fast, an’ ’ud make a heap o’ noise, an’ smash all the machinery. Then I’d hev to lay off a month or so to git patched up agin. My pap was a cute man. He seen right th’oo me an’ he knowd what was wrong. ‘What you need is a governor,’ sayd he. An’ I got one. Sence then I’ve ben runnin’ smooth an’ reg’lar an’ not wery fast. But I hain’t broke no machinery, an’ I’ve never stopped entirely.
“Now it went pretty hard with Pap after Mother died, fer he never did like housework an’ was continual beggin’ me to git merried. He was a-naggin’ an’ naggin’ all the time, petickler ’hen he was washin’ dishes. He’d p’int out certain girls in the walley that he thot ’ud hev me, an’ he’d argy that I otter step up like a leetle man an’ speak me mind to ’em. He even went so fur as to ’low he’d give me the whole placet ef unly I’d git some un to take the housework offen his hands. First it was Mary Potzer. She hed five hundred dollars an’ was a special good match, but her looks was agin her. She was Omish, an’ like most Omish folk was square built, ’cept fer bein’ rounded off a leetle on top. The ole man wouldn’t give me no peace tell I ast her. I didn’t dast do that, but I tol’ him I hed, an’ that she sayd she ’ud take me ef he kep’ on doin’ the cookin’. That kind o’ quieted him fer a spell, an’ some months passed afore he tuk up the subject agin. Next he got to backin’ Rosey Simpson. She was tolable good-lookin’ an’ lively, he sayd, an’ I ’lowed he was right, unly she was too lively fer me. I minded the time I seen her sail inter Bumbletree’s Durham bull ’hen he’d butted a petickler pet sheep o’ hers. She made the ole beast feel so humble that I concided she might do fer a defender but never fer a wife. Next it was Sue Kindler an’ then Sairy Somthin’-else, tell I was clean tired o’ the whole idee.
“One night ’hen he’d ben pesterin’ me most mighty bad I gits mad an’ sais, ‘See here, I ain’t courtin’ trouble. I’m comf’table an’ happy ez I am,’ I sais. ‘I’ve got you an’ Major—Major was the dog—so why do I want to go settin’ a trap ’hen I can’t be sure what I’m goin’ to catch?’
“‘My boy,’ Pap answered, ‘use the proper bait an’ you’ll git the right game.’
“Now Pap use to git off some good uns oncet in a while, but I wasn’t in fer givin’ him the credit. I scatted the whole plan. I didn’t know so much then ez I knows now. Still, sometim’s I ’low that ef it hedn’t ’a’ ben fer Major, I might o’ dissypinted the ole man anyhow. Major was a coon dog, an’ a mighty fine one, bein’ half setter, quarter houn’, an’ last quarter coach. Me an’ him was great buddies. Wherever we went he allus hed an’ eye out fer game. He knowd the seasons, too. Ef it was September he was watchin’ fer squirrels; October, fer patridges; November, rabbits; springtime, girls. It was in the spring ’hen I happened to hear Si Bumbletree speakin’ o’ a petickler fine lot o’ saplin’s fer walkin’ sticks that was growin’ on the chestnut flats at the foot o’ the mo’ntain jest above Andy Horner’s clearin’. So I sais to meself, I sais, it bein’ a fine warm day, I’ll jest mosey up there an’ git me one o’ them staffs. It was a good th’ee mile up the walley an’ over the ridge an’ acrosst the gut, but I found the placet all right an’ cut me a nice straight cane. I was comin’ home, peelin’ off the bark an’ not thinkin’ o’ anything in petickler, ’hen I hear Major givin’ a low growl. I looked up. We was passin’ Horner’s clearin’. There stood the dog, foreleg lifted, tail straight out, nose pintin’ th’oo the blackberry bushes ’long the fence.