A ROCKY SPRING IN YANKEE LAND

New England Joke Lore
The Tonic of Yankee Humor
BY
ARTHUR G. CRANDALL
Author of “Optimistic Medicine”

PHILADELPHIA
F.A. DAVIS COMPANY, Publishers
1922

COPYRIGHT, 1922
BY
F. A. DAVIS COMPANY
Copyright, Great Britain. All Rights Reserved.

PRINTED IN U. S. A.
PRESS OF
F. A. DAVIS COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA, PA.

DEDICATED TO THOSE

STALWART SONS OF NEW ENGLAND

WHOSE ABILITY TO THINK STRAIGHT, COMBINED WITH AN UNRUFFLED POISE AND NEVER FAILING SENSE OF HUMOR, HAS ENABLED THEM AND THEIR DESCENDANTS TO TAKE A LEADING PART IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF OUR GLORIOUS COUNTRY

FOREWORD

The dry wit of the New England Yankee has done much to cheer the Lonely Traveler on his way. It has oiled the thinking machinery when it creaked and provided inspiration for that spontaneous good fellowship which helps so much to make life worth living.

The following pages are not the product of an overworked imagination, but a record of actual happenings. The characters who pass in review before the reader are real personages whose various experiences have gladdened many adjacent firesides.

However, the author realizes that certain serious and literal souls are so constructed that what to others is a source of glee and merriment, is to them but “the crackling of thorns under a pot.” Hence the origin of his conscientious plan to display in the book’s “show window,” so to speak, a sample of the brand of Yankee humor the reader may expect to find should he resolve to read further.

Therefore, let us turn aside from these gracious words of the author as above and consider for a moment the soliloquy of Uncle Andrew Cheney, who did not like his son-in-law.

Uncle Andrew did not like work very well either, which is often unfortunate for a husband and father of a family. In view of his own impecunious state, it was peculiarly annoying to him to continually be witnessing the lavish display of an elderly neighbor who had considerable inherited property, but, who though a long time married, was childless.

One summer evening Uncle Andrew was sitting disconsolately on the steps of the little country grocery store, when he heard the clatter of horses’ feet and saw the well-to-do neighbor driving by with his pair of high stepping colts. Uncle Andrew scowled but said nothing. Again came the thud of feet and the horses and proud driver, coming back up the country road, once more passed the store. Uncle Andrew glowered at the spectacle with increasing disgust, but still managed to restrain himself.

A third time the gay equipage swept past. This was too much and Uncle Andrew, deeply stirred, began to talk to himself. A neighbor, sitting near was the only listener, but what he heard he considered well worth repeating.

“Oh! Yes,” Uncle Andrew muttered. “You are a mighty smart man, you are. And you’ve got some fine hosses, too.”

A gleam came in his eye.

“You are a smart man, but I’ve got one thing you haven’t got and never will have; and that’s the biggest liar for a son-in-law there is in this county.”

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
Showing Some General Characteristics

When the young business man or girl stenographer who has grown up in one of the innumerable thriving towns or cities of the broad Mississippi Valley, scans the morning paper on the way to the daily task and reads of the incidental happenings duly chronicled as New England News, there may perhaps be a glance of the mind’s eye at that little corner of the map of the United States as revealed in the not remote school days. Then it was necessary, if one would be on harmonious terms with the teacher, to at least memorize the state capitals of Vermont, New Hampshire, and little Rhode Island, as well as those of the somewhat much more imposing looking states of Maine, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. And how small and insignificant they all looked compared with the rest of the map!

It is true that geographies of good standing are not supposed to deceive, but it is doubtful if any of them ever quite did justice to the northeast corner of the U. S. of America.

And when, as sometimes happens in these modern times, the young business man marries the little stenographer and by industry and intelligence becomes prosperous, there is a desire for the well earned holiday. He and the girl stenographer now become a matron, if permitted choice, are impelled to explore that same little corner of the earth so shabbily set forth by the map, but so attractively described by acquaintances who have toured that section in summer.

And perhaps they will repeat these visits and view many smiling valleys and listen to the soothing lullabies of the surf by night and to unconvincing statements of hotel clerks by day—and yet will have missed the most satisfying and illuminating characteristic of New England—contact with the real typical New England Yankee.

Nowhere on earth does the aphorism that appearances are often deceitful more frequently prove to be true than in New England, especially in the rural districts. The impressive appearing motorist displaying the now familiar license tag of the region may be a local tradesman rated in the commercial register as “capital $500 to $1000, credit limited.” Just behind in a cloud of dust the carelessly dressed man in shabby looking buggy drawn by a placid old horse, may own a fine farm, many pedigreed cattle and possess in addition an abundance of reserve cash with which to take advantage of any favorable opportunity for investment. While the apparel may “oft portray the man,” it is far from being an infallible test in New England. Even when the native of this region is transplanted to some bustling city, he is prone to develop carelessness in dress as prosperity steals upon him.

The native resident who remarks casually that the New England climate consists of “nine months winter and three months late in the fall,” is not probably making any plans to remove elsewhere. He is taking a sardonic pleasure in making it clear that he is laboring under no delusions as to what the seasons will reveal in the months to come. He makes no attempt to gloss over the enormities of the midwinter season, but indeed seems to take much satisfaction in quoting the below zero records which make a Philadelphian, for instance, gasp with horror.

Overlooked by Tourists

A sturdy woman of middle age, who had been born and raised in a northern New England region, was chatting with a traveler about some recent extremely cold weather and told him that the temperature at her home had gone down to about 38 degrees below zero. As he expressed some interest she added, “over in the next town it was 46 below.” Upon noting the surprise occasioned by this statement she hastened to say that it was 52 below at the same time in another town about twenty miles distant. She then assumed an expression of great candor and proceeded, “My daughter, who lives about ten miles beyond that place, wrote that their thermometer registered 58 degrees below zero.”

She was a truthful woman and a good Methodist. The abashed listener hastily changed the subject.

Stories of such extreme cold seem to be exaggerated, to strangers who have traveled these districts in ordinary winter weather, but it is merely exceptional rather than impossible. To people of normal health such cold waves are merely an unpleasant incident. Those of experience will insist that on the average the winter of even, steady cold is healthier than the warm ones.

While there is, of course, a temptation to elderly people of means to spend their winters in some warmer section, there are plenty of instances on record to prove that it is usually better to “stick it out” at home, unless of course the change of climate is to be permanent. Withstanding the cold develops vigor for the relaxing days of spring and summer. Besides, in this matter as in many others, it is evident that nature abhors a quitter.

“Year Before Last Winter’s Snow”

It is the winter of unusually deep snows that stimulates the Yankee sense of humor. An early summer visitor driving through a deep gorge, scarcely touched at any part of the day by sunshine, found a man busily shoveling snow which had evidently drifted deep across the road.

“You must have had lots of snow here last winter,” he remarked as he drove by.

“Oh! no,” was the reply, “this is winter before last’s snow.”

The School Master and His Snow Grave

Among the legends clustering about a little country schoolhouse is a comedy in which deep snow furnished the motif and more literally the environment. An earnest young college student who was self-supporting, secured the privilege of teaching the winter term of school. Among his pupils were several husky youths to whom burning the midnight oil made little appeal. It soon became evident to the parents that the well-meaning but somewhat diffident teacher was destined for trouble. A tremendous snowfall with high drifts brought events to a climax. While the teacher was away for his lunch at the noon hour, the boys dug a deep “grave” in a snowdrift near the schoolhouse, and when their unsuspecting victim approached he was promptly seized, and in spite of his struggles, placed in the grave and lightly sprinkled with snow. Needless to say he was glad to resign his position and make way for a successor of probably less education but considerably more muscle.

The successive snow storms often bring about a condition of the back roads that makes traveling difficult in the latter part of the winter. Under these conditions it is an unwritten law that as compared with those who travel light, the heavily loaded team shall have the right of way. On a certain occasion this custom was peremptorily challenged.

Drifted Roads and the Right of Way

Two families of the neighborhood were far from friendly. Two brothers of one of these uncongenial families returning home from town with a horse and sleigh chanced to meet the robust scion of the other family with two horses and a big sled loaded with logs. Instead of yielding to the work team as precedent required, these young hopefuls demanded half of the roadway. Although fully appreciating the personal motive in this action, the driver of the log team blandly explained that if he were to turn his horses into the soft deep snow by the roadside, his load would be stuck in the drift. Interpreting this explanation as an evidence of timidity, one of the young men jumped from the sleigh and taking the two team horses by the bridles, started to turn them into the drift. The driver was quick as well as athletic and in a very few seconds a three cornered fist-fight was well under way. It was short and decisive, after which the two brothers meekly turned their horse and sleigh out into the snow drifts, passed the load of logs and went home. The scarlet evidence of bloody noses in the snow soon faded, but numerous firesides were cheered by the story which soon went the rounds of the neighborhood.

While the rural midwinter season tends to physical inactivity, the Yankee sense of humor is apparently stimulated. It may be said, however, that while the sarcastic brand of humor is not popular, occasionally some “deep thinker” will evolve an intricate plot like the following.

The Post Holes in the Ice

In a certain community there was a newly hired farm hand whose ingenuous innocence was a constant temptation. A young blacksmith found out that the farm hand was especially fond of trotting races. He accordingly proceeded to elaborate on a mythical trotting meet that was supposed to soon take place on the lake. The stranger’s eyes sparkled. That was something like the real life. He asked what it was going to cost to see the races. The blacksmith named a very high figure, but hastily reassured the young man that it would be easy for him to secure a season ticket if he would help to get things in readiness. The farm hand eagerly agreed and asked what he could do. The blacksmith told him that of course there would have to be a board fence around the ice track and that it would be necessary to dig post holes in the ice, indicating the section of the lake where the fence must be built. The next morning the confiding hired man got a day off and promptly proceeded to the lake, devoting several hours to the laborious task of post hole digging before someone’s curiosity led to an investigation and the disillusionment of the victim.

It is not characteristic of the normal New England mind to dwell upon that which is somber. That trend of mind which contemplates with satisfaction the gloomy and funereal, never fails to create amusement among normal Yankees.

The Man Who Took Comfort at Funerals

There is an old time story of the eccentric old bachelor who lived with his married brother, a bustling person of numerous activities, noted for a propensity to begin many enterprises but seldom finish them. Poor “Hamp,” the bachelor, was constantly being speeded up at the endless jobs. One day he announced his intention to take an afternoon vacation and attend a funeral. His taskmaster objected.

“Why do you want to go to that funeral? You went to one only last week and you never were acquainted with either of the families.”

“Hamp” hesitated a moment. A half day’s release seemed wonderfully inviting.

“Well, to tell the truth,” said he, “about all the comfort I take is in going to funerals.”

The grim visaged old farmer who sits with bent shoulders guiding his slow moving pair of farm horses along the dusty road, reflects the stern realities of making ends meet—and perhaps a little bit more—as the tiller of a rocky New England farm. But the smartly dressed tourist may have far less of that mental flexibility which enables one to shift the processes of thought from that which is burdensome to that which renews the cheerfulness of youth. As an example of this capacity there is the incident of the field of oats.

The Story of the Field of Oats

A farmer was standing by the roadside looking disconsolately at his oat field which he somehow seemed to feel was a personal reproach. A cold wet season had had a most discouraging influence and there was promise of but a very small crop.

Along the highway came a well-known elderly citizen who would be sure to notice the oats and estimate them for just what they were worth. He stopped his horse and passed the customary salutations and seeming in no hurry, the conversation covered quite a range of local topics. The owner of the oat field began to breathe easier. Perhaps this man had not noticed the oats. He exerted himself to be agreeable to the traveler. The latter finally straightened his reins. The patient horse began to look expectant, slowly started up and then the blow fell, but not on the horse. His driver gave a comprehensive glance across the field.

“Your oats,” said he, “are short—but thin.”

For the benefit of the uninitiated it might be said that it is perfectly possible to secure a fairly satisfactory yield of oats even if in short stalk, provided that there is a thick stand. From the foregoing it will be evident that the outlook in this case was very unfavorable.

Monotony is supposed, by those enlightened ones of the earth who reside in large cities, to be inevitably associated with rural life, but youth can generally be depended upon to provide a thrill now and then, even in the back woods.

The Kitchen Dance “Up the Branch”

One evening in late winter, three enterprising young men in search of diversion, decided to hire a horse and sleigh and attend a dance, which by some underground source they had heard was scheduled for that date at a farmhouse some three or four miles away “up the Branch.”

Now, of course, the code of etiquette required these young gallants to engage a barge, pair of horses and driver and also invite three young ladies to accompany them. But funds were scarce with them and relying upon what is now known as “nerve,” they felt sure they could secure dancing partners among the girls who would be sure to be present.

Driving up to the door of the farmhouse with a flourish, they turned their horse over to the volunteer hostlers and joined the party. As they were good dancers and not burdened with bashfulness, they were not long in making acquaintances among the girls present and were soon enjoying themselves greatly. To be sure they noticed a marked lack of cordiality among the other boys, but they did not allow so trifling a matter as that to disturb them.

All pleasures came to an end and about three o’clock in the morning it occurred to the three young heroes, that as each of them was expected to be “on the job” that morning, it would be well to start for home and get a little sleep. So they called for their horse and making graceful acknowledgments to the young ladies for the pleasures of the occasion, they put on their top coats and took their places in the sleigh.

The horse was quite restive and apparently in much haste to start. One of the trio took the reins and the volunteer hostler, giving the horse his head, they started at a fast pace homeward.

It was very dark and deep snows of the winter, now mostly melted away, had left a rather uneven roadbed. There were frequent deep depressions into which the rapidly moving sleigh would sink with nerve-racking concussions. One of the passengers protested to the driver.

“What’s the use in driving so fast?” said he. “My teeth are all getting loose.”

The driver tugged on the reins.

“I don’t understand the nature of the beast,” he said. “Here, get hold of the reins with me and see if we can’t make him slow down a little.”

They tugged at the reins with all their combined strength, but apparently it only made the horse go faster. Accordingly they gave their principal attention to getting through the “cradle holes” with as little shock as possible. The fast pace of the horse was rapidly bringing them toward their home town and they soon saw the street lights. The horse evidently had but one object and that was to get the job over with and reach the stable and his own comfortable stall.

Moving down a long street at a very fast pace, the horse made a sudden sharp turn toward his stable. The sleigh, skidding violently across the wide, icy street, struck the curb and capsized, throwing the three heroes of the dance out upon the sidewalk together with the sleigh robes and other equipment.

The horse, with the sleigh still attached, then dashed up the street at a mad gallop toward the stable.

Gathering themselves up, somewhat shaken and bruised, but not seriously marred by their experience, the devoted three picked up the robes and blankets and made their limping way to the stable.

They found the horse and somewhat shattered sleigh being inspected by a much disgusted looking stable man.

“What’s the matter with you fellows, anyway?” said he. “Don’t you know enough to harness a horse?”

The light of the lantern solved the mystery of the wild ride home from the dance. The obliging volunteer hostler had carefully refrained from putting the bit in the horse’s mouth.

After paying the bill for damages sustained by the sleigh, the young adventurers decided that the boys “up the Branch” had evened the score.

The New Maple Sugar Tub

Not far from the scenes of the above comedy, there lived on a little farm, an elderly man of very thrifty habits. He took great pride in the maple sugar he produced. Deciding to have the family supply all in one large receptacle, he had a can made by a local tinsmith to contain two or three hundred pounds of the finest maple sugar. This was filled at the proper season and stored in an attic at the head of a long flight of stairs. Several people of the vicinity were invited to inspect that new sugar tub and its contents.

One day a great misfortune came to the farm. The house caught on fire. There was very little water available with which to fight it and it made rapid headway. It was soon evident that there was no hope of saving the building, so sympathetic neighbors helped to remove such of the contents of the house as could be carried out before it was too late. The old man was naturally much broken up and while they were looking upon the ruins, expressed his regret that he had lost that tub of sugar. Someone said:

“I thought you were up there in the attic. Why didn’t you roll it down stairs?”

The old man turned a rueful countenance and said:

“I thought of doing that, but I was afraid it would jam the tub up to let it bump down those stairs.”

A Yankee Philanthropist

And now by contrast with the simple soul who took such pride in his new, shiny, sugar tub, there is the story of another type of Yankee whose business shrewdness had made him a marked man in the community, even in the days of comparative youth. Cool, calculating and with unerring judgment, all his various enterprises prospered, and he was looked upon with wholesome respect as a man who lived up to his contracts and expected the same of others. This man shipped livestock to the Boston market and on a certain warm day in midsummer was to send away a carload of fat hogs collected from the surrounding farm neighborhood.

It is important that fat hogs intended for shipment be kept cool. Among those who appeared at the proper time to make delivery, was a man from a little farm away up on the mountain top. He had a very fat hog which promised to weigh heavily and produce a handsome financial return. Somehow he had been careless and allowed the hog to make the journey in the hot sun without sufficient protection. At the first glance the experienced buyer saw the hog was overcome with the heat and told the owner that he could not accept it. The poor farmer was stupefied but an inspection of the sick porker showed him that the shipper was justified in his rejection. He was very much cast down and said that he had been depending upon the proceeds of that hog to meet a pressing obligation. The shrewd Yankee buyer in his cool imperturbable manner noting his distress, turned to his assistant:

“Harry,” said he, “make out a check for the amount as per weigh bill,” which was promptly done.

The check was handed over to the farmer and he was instructed to take the hog, now in a state of collapse, to a remote corner of the adjoining meadow, kill and bury it.

And yet, had anyone accused the hog buyer of being a philanthropist, he would have resented the idea promptly.

Another instance of philanthropy, bearing upon the same important article of commerce, left a somewhat different impression.

The Butcher Who Was Too Generous

In a certain thriving town a meat dealer had gradually acquired a wide acquaintance. As he was a genial man with a ready sense of humor, he was regarded with general favor by outlying farmers as well as by his local customers.

A man who had a farm back on the hills came to this dealer one day and contracted to deliver to him on a certain date an unusually fine specimen of dressed pork, guaranteed to be as near perfection as the most fastidious customer could require.

The appointed day arrived and likewise the farmer and the hog, which being placed upon the scales presented an attractive picture, at least from the standpoint of those who like pork. The dealer seemed well pleased.

“My wife said it was a shame for me to sell this hog,” said the farmer as the dealer started to adjust the scales, “she said she wanted that hog’s head for ‘sowse.’”

“Oh! she did,” said the dealer, “well, I will make her a present of it.”

The butcher immediately proceeded to decapitate the hog and wrapping the head up in coarse brown paper, handed it over to the delighted farmer who was overwhelmed at such unexpected generosity. The butcher then weighing the hog, figured a moment on a slip of paper and turning to the till counted out the amount coming for the meat at the agreed upon rate.

When the farmer handed the hog’s head to his much surprised spouse she inquired:

“How much did the hog weigh?”

“It didn’t seem to weigh up as much as I expected,” said the farmer. “I thought it would weigh twenty-five or thirty pounds more than it did.”

The woman looked at her husband suspiciously.

“Did the butcher weigh the hog before or after he cut off the head?”

“He weighed it afterwards.”

The comments of the wife when she found out the real significance of the “present” she had received, may be imagined. The value of the head would normally be about one third as much by the pound as the entire carcass.

CHAPTER II
Relating to Certain Conjugal Infelicities

The capacity of New England housewives for self-sacrificing devotion to family has been made evident by many a biographical history of favorite sons. When the father and mother are both united in the common purpose of giving their children opportunities which were perhaps almost wholly denied to themselves, it is seldom that serious conjugal differences arise.

But, unfortunately, there are some whose natural good intentions are easily undermined by their distaste for that monotony so commonly associated with carrying out any worth-while plan.

Why Dave Left Home

In a certain rural district there was a man known familiarly to his acquaintances as “Dave.” He had a wife and several children, also a small farm. To all appearances Dave and his rather unprepossessing appearing wife lived on amicable terms. Both were frugal, industrious, and regarded as well meaning people. Therefore it was with great surprise that the community learned that Dave had disappeared under circumstances that admitted of no doubt that he had acted deliberately.

Although badly upset by Dave’s unwarranted action, his wife was determined to keep her little family together and carry on the farm as a means of support. Admiring her grit the neighbors showed their kindness in many helpful ways and thus encouraged, the deserted family managed to complete the yearly cycle in tolerable comfort.

During all this time Dave’s disappearance was a continual source of conjecture to the neighborhood. Nothing had been heard of him since that early morning when he had been seen walking rapidly down the road a mile or two away from home.

One evening a man who lived on a farm adjoining the one now being conducted by Mrs. Dave, was reading the weekly newspaper. Suddenly there was a faint tapping at a nearby window. Laying down his paper the farmer proceeded to raise the sash. Seeing no one he asked who had rapped. There was a hesitating step forward and a shadowy figure appeared.

“Say,” said the visitor, “can’t you put on your hat and walk over home with me? It’s me, Dave. I’ve just got back and I’d feel a little easier about showing up to the Old Lady if you were along.”

So modest a request could hardly be denied. So the neighbor helped to restore Dave to the tolerance if not the good graces of his wife. On the way to his unsuspecting family, Dave was apologetically garrulous, explaining how he had been working some distance away and could not very well leave his job. As he rambled on making an evident attempt to excuse himself, his companion’s patience became exhausted and he turned to Dave with the logical question to be asked by any honorable citizen.

“Dave,” said he, “that’s all very well that you have been telling me, but what I want to know is, how you could sneak off the way you did and leave your family?”

Dave hesitated and then proceeded to pass out an excuse that probably caused more local feminine indignation than the actual sin of abandonment had ever done in all the surrounding region.

“I guess it was a kind of mean trick,” said Dave. “That morning I went off I had no real notion of going. But you see after I had got up, got dressed, and started the fire, I happened to look in the bedroom where my wife was lying asleep, hair all frowzy, mouth wide open, and snoring so you could hear her out in the road.”

Dave hesitated.

“Do you know,” said he, “she looked so awful homely I just felt as if I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

It is probable that having variously contributed to supplying the needs of the abandoned family for an entire year, the indignant women before mentioned were careful not to express their views in the hearing of Dave’s wife. At any rate the historian mentions no further gaps in the family happiness. So it may be assumed that the couple lived in perfect accord thereafter.

And now, having brought this episode to a delightful ending, it is the more to be regretted that another rupture of conjugal domesticity had a very different conclusion. In this case it was the beloved wife who wandered from home and fireside.

The Discouraging Matrimonial Experiences of Bill Jordan

A middle-aged man of good habits but limited executive ability had acquired a small farm on which he lived and kept house for himself. It was a very uneventful life but “Bill” was well seasoned to monotony. As frequently happens this monotony was suddenly interrupted, and as might also be expected, by a woman. Although of unknown antecedents, the lady was bland and ingratiating. She seemed to discover many attractive qualities in Bill which he had never dreamed of possessing heretofore. It is unnecessary to linger over details. A wedding took place at an extremely early date.

Life now seemed worth living and Bill was a happy man. His wife was a good cook and he was a good provider. But somehow the wife did not seem to enjoy her husband’s society exclusively and began to make other acquaintances chiefly of the male persuasion. Among them was a gay and debonair widower known as “Jim” who appeared to have much more leisure than Bill had. And when Jim struck out some time later to secure a better paying job in another state, Mrs. Bill decided to go along too.

Bill made no attempt to trace the missing couple, but went back to the old way of living without complaint. When friends told him he was well rid of such a baggage, Bill thought of the good suppers she used to get for him and was mute. For months nothing was heard of the missing spouse, but at last there were developments which can perhaps be best explained in the language of a faithful friend of Bill’s, a French-Canadian, named “Joe.”

“I seen Bill on the street and I say to him: ‘Bill, what makes you look so glum; your wife come back?’”

“‘No,’” Bill say, “‘he ain’t come back no more; he dead.’”

“I say, ‘Aw gwan, Bill! What makes you tink he dead?’”

“‘I seen heem on der paper.’”

“I say, ‘Aw you don’t want ter believe all you see in der paper, Bill. Dey got to print some lies for fill heem up.’”

It appeared that Bill had that morning received a letter from some alleged friend of the strayed woman which contained a clipping mentioning the decease of Mrs. Bill and requesting that forty dollars be advanced for burial expenses, a sum modestly designed to come within the financial capacity of the bereaved husband.

Greatly against the advice of his friend, Joe, Bill insisted on forwarding the forty dollars, after which he resumed his daily routine of attending to his farm and cooking his meals. And again after many months was the same routine interrupted.

One afternoon just as Bill had kindled a new fire in the cook stove, so that his supper could be preparing while he was milking his cows, there came a rapping at the door, which being opened revealed the presence of Mrs. Bill, very much alive and wearing the smile which had been so attractive while it lasted. Naturally there were explanations to be made, but Mrs. Bill soon made it apparent that she had been a sad victim of deception. And when she told Bill to go along and do his milking and she would show him the best supper on his table that he had seen since she went away, Bill was ready to let bygones be bygones. He went to the barn and hustled his various duties, not even grudging the forty dollars of which he had been beguiled for the flimflam funeral. But his jubilation was short lived. No delicious supper was awaiting his return. His wife was missing; likewise forty-six dollars in the bureau drawer which Bill had been carefully saving up little by little for taxes.

Thus did romance fade, and while it must be admitted that in this depressing narrative of a woman’s guile there are many suggestions of humor, it is a sordid tale at best. But in another instance of sadly impaired confidence, the victim’s faith in a faithless wife was restored to remain unshaken, thus establishing in concrete form the formula that ignorance can really be bliss of a certain quality at least.

Another Tale of a Confiding Husband

Hosea W— was the possessor of a small property left to him by his deceased wife who had inherited it from a notoriously frugal father. Hosea was an amiable, simple minded person of very limited earning capacity. Noting his loneliness after his wife’s death, Hosea was marked out as a worth-while “prospect” by a widow, to whom to apply the term “designing” would be very inadequate indeed. Of a gracious personality and a keen intellect, it was probably only because of a reluctance to leave familiar scenes that she failed to become another Cassie Chadwick.

As before stated, the widow classified Hosea as being worth her consideration. He had certain small possessions, including a home, and she was practically without a penny. To resolve was to act. The conquest was easy and before the community had any more than a suspicion of the real situation, the marriage knot had been tied.

To have a real home of her own after years of poverty was an agreeable change. But there was a fly in the ointment. Although an adoring husband, Hosea was not only vacant minded, but very economical. The honeymoon, while a rapturous state of affairs to Hosea, became very insipid to his broadly experienced wife. She resolved upon a solution that would both rid herself of a tiresomely ardent husband and give her possession of his property.

She thereupon began to take careful note of certain eccentricities frequently revealed by her spouse. With the data thus collected, she succeeded in persuading a physician that Hosea was in urgent need of mental treatment and secured a certificate to that effect.

The next move was to take the unsuspecting husband on a little tour. Among the interesting towns visited was one in which was located a well-known retreat for the insane. The gracious bride suggested that they inspect the asylum. Shortly thereafter the husband found himself deprived of both wife and liberty.

News of this astonishing transaction spread rapidly. Indignation developed everywhere among old friends and neighbors. They said Hosea was foolish enough without doubt or he would never have married the widow, but that he was no more crazy now than he had always been. Application was made for a writ of habeas corpus and within a very few days the victim was set at liberty.

This rapid change in the order of events was made possible by the fact that the county court was in session. After Hosea had appeared before the judge he received quite an ovation. One by one his friends congratulated him on having not only escaped from a nasty situation, but on having also plenty of evidence on which to base the divorce suit which was to follow.

Hosea expressed his gratitude for having such vigilant friends. He would send his wife packing in record time. Well pleased with themselves, the self-sacrificing neighbors returned to their various homes, picturing to each other the discomfiture of the widow, but they reckoned without their host.

A few days later the news was handed about that Hosea and the widow had “made up.” She had convinced him that it was all a mistake. Love had conquered.

To consider this chapter complete at this stage would be to leave a somewhat painful impression upon the reader. This is as unnecessary as it is undesirable. In order therefore that this history of conjugal vicissitudes be made to reflect in greater accuracy that noble institution of matrimony, as it really is in so many happy households, let us speak of the experience of another agriculturalist known familiarly to his associates as a well disposed, amiable citizen with an exceedingly capable wife and promising family.

“Purty Bur-r-ds”

“Jim” lived on very harmonious terms with his better half, but he had one bad habit. When he had occasion to visit a nearby village for supplies, he was apt to linger rather late. Under these circumstances, his wife, with a proper understanding of the necessity of regularity in farm details, would milk the cows. It is not of course to be expected that she did this very willingly, but she would do it if the occasion seemed to require it.

Late one evening in autumn, an acquaintance of Jim’s, passing by his establishment, was surprised to see Jim driving his cows in from the pasture, same being presumptive evidence that they had not been milked. As he passed the gateway he met Jim face to face.

“It seems to me you are pretty late getting in your cows, Jim,” was the remark.

“Yes,” said Jim, “it’s pretty late. I have just got back from town.”

“Do you have to milk ’em all yourself?”

“No,” said Jim, “me wife can milk if she’s a mind to.”

“What’s the matter tonight?” was the natural query.

“Oh! she’s mad at me tonight,” said Jim, “she says she’s good and tired of doing the milkin’ and me loafin’ ’round the town.”

“Well, Jim,” said the traveler, who knew Mrs. Jim and admired her spunk, “when the women get their backs up we have to do about as they say.”

“It’s right ye are,” said Jim, “they know how to raise the divil himself when they feel that way. They are purty bur-r-ds but they have their outs!”

It will be noted by the reader that Jim accepted the inevitable which was certainly the proper attitude. Every normal husband appreciates the fact that the advantages of matrimony greatly outweigh any associated drawbacks. In fact there is an occasional husband who seems to appreciate it too much, which is abundantly illustrated in another legend of rural New England, long since forgotten by most of the local inhabitants.

“Seven Wives and Seven Prisons”

A young woman had continued to linger in the parental household until she had considerably passed the average age of marriage. Somehow the young men of her acquaintance had failed to appreciate her. Therefore it was all the more gratifying when a recent arrival in the community, a man of ingratiating appearance, began to pay her marked attentions. Her romantic impulses which had been subdued by untoward circumstances, could now be given full sway. Her admirer was impetuous and would hear of no delays, and they were soon married.

The historian does not furnish any details of the honeymoon nor how long it lasted, but it would appear that the bride, although of a clinging nature, was very curious as to her husband’s antecedents, and this, unfortunately, was the weak spot in his armour. The more the aforesaid antecedents were investigated, the more unattractive they proved to be and within a very short time the bride indignantly refused to have any further dealings with her husband, incidentally starting a line of inquiry with startling results; the man was apparently a bigamist.

With indefatigable zeal, the bride and her disgusted parents continued their investigations which soon resulted in the bridegroom being snugly established in the local jail.

Then followed a remarkable series of revelations. A wife was discovered at about every turn in the crooked path of the prisoner, who engaged a lawyer and resigned himself to the inevitable.

Some months were to elapse before a regular session of court and in the meantime the bridegroom found time hanging heavily on his hands. Apparently the game was up and, with the inordinate vanity of certain criminal minds, he decided to write an autobiography. In due course of time there appeared a remarkable book, entitled, “Seven Wives and Seven Prisons,” which created a sensation. It also aroused much local feminine indignation, because, in his desire to “get even” with his last wife, whom he regarded as responsible for his present misfortunes, the bigamist declared in his book that of all the wives he had ever had, she was not only the most disagreeable, but also the homeliest and the most generally unattractive.

Apparently masculine depravity could go no further.

The French-Canadian Who Wanted a “War for the Womens”

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:

“Ah! young man, how little you know,
What trials do from wedlock flow.
You have a few days and nights of ease,
And then you’ve a scolding wife to please.”

CHAPTER III
Legends of the Eccentric

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.

“You Don’t Have to Yell at Me”

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.

The Story of the Stolen Bundle of Hay

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.

The Raid on Jim Green’s Pork Barrel

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.

How Lote Platt Beat the Thunder Shower

“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.

The Tale of the Old-Fashioned “Settle”

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.

The Lost Harrow Teeth

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.”

The Story of the 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.”

“Better Give Them to Some Poor Boy”

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.

CHAPTER IV
Family Characteristics and Small Town Life

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 Young Man Who Had “Speerit”

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.”

The Lady Who Secured a Wardrobe

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.

The Story of “Lafe” and the Livery Stable Man

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.