St. Landry democrat. (Opelousas, La.) 1878-1894, 1884-11-22

/ Wouldn open to EN- any more. lhey q
a starved to death but for the old mans
holdin' up piece o meat an motionin'
with it Jest as if he was goin' to feed it
to 'em, but when their mouths d open
| he'd shove in a lot of potato instead.
I He paid David's mother she that is
| Twin still-nine shillin's week wages
after they was married jest the same as
before, an alters locked her when she
was sick an want able to work. She
was his hired help before margin him,
you know, an might as well been
after so far as betterin' her condition
went, for she was Independent when she
was single an could a left him, but
after they was married she want.
I never heerd O. her complainin', al
though she had to put up with a good
deal from the old man, an most people
wouldn't stood it, but she never
murmured, an when he died she
showed genuine sorrow. Mebbe if he'd
died in bed she wouldn't took on So,
but the way it was went hard with her,
| an was an awful shock to her nerves.
David didn't take on much though.
| The old man was hard master, an
his famerly was his slaves. 1t was, his
raspin' way that shattered Woodbury.
most folks thinks, an its a wonder to
all the neighbors that David an the old
woman stood it as long as they did.
He'd one daughter, an she died after
she'd been married a year or so. Her
husban' brought her body to the old
family buryin5 ground to find it's rest
in place, an when they come to cover
in of it there want no lid to the coffin
box. The old man went to the barn
an pulled out an old hemlock board
that had laid there no one knows how
long, an by little saWin' an chopin
twas made to fit. He charged his SON
in-laW nineteen cents for that board,
the old man did, an made him pay it,
too-nineteen cents for the board that
covered the coffin of his only daughter.
IF that amt pure pusslanimous mean
ness, / hope I may never see the back o
my head.
He used to keep livery-stable,
Dayid's father did, an made great
reputation as householder. Farmers
who came in to town meetin' or to
trade used to put up at his stable an
paid him four shillin's for mess of
oats for their horses. A shoe factory
down to Beverly failed one summer, an
the assets was sold at public Vendoo.
Well, the old man, David's father, you
know, he bought a Wagon-load o. shoe
pegs for the price of knittin' needle,
an put them in the oat-bin in the barn.
The barn was dark, an no one couldn't
tell the oats from shoe-pegs without
tastin'. So when critter was left to
be fed the old man'd give him four
quarts O. shoe-pegs, an charge four
shillin's for the feed.
Naturally the critter wouldn t eat any
thing, and the farmer he'd worry be-
cause he'd lost his appetite. The old
man had a sort O. mixture, made O.
thistle tops, stewed up, which was war
ranted to restore the appetite of horse
in twenty-four hours. 1t was harmless
stuff, an never hurt nobody, but it had
great reputation, for the horse that
wouldn't eat the shoe-pegs would be
hungry enough to eat his own head off
after he'd got a dose or two of it an
had been driven six or eight miles
home.
OF course the medicine got the credit
o. curin' him, an gave the old man a
great reputation as a horse-doctor. He
made mite o. money sellin' his thistle
top stew for four shillin's bottle, until
the shoe-peg business was discovered
one day. Then he quit the livery, and
took up drivin' stage.
He made money that way, too, an
didn't lose but twenty-five cents all the
years he was at it. That was the time
stranger had a fit, an died in the stage
before he'd paid his fare. There want
no money an no marks on him, to tell
VINO he was by, an the county had to
bury him. The Commissioners refused
to pay his stage fare, though the old
man worried 'em good deal about it,
an he had to give it up. It was the
first an only money he was ever beat
out of, an it was a lesson to him, for he
never failed thereafter to collect fares in
advance.
Nothin' but death ever got the start
of David's father.
The way he died was awful, an while
David owed the old man nothin' he
hadn't paid twice over, he couldn't but
feel sorry when they brought the body
home. He was SO graspin' an mean
that he had but few friends, but what |
there was Of 'em gave him a decent |
burial.
1t was down on Turkey-foot Spit that
it came about The old man was haul |
in sea-weed for manure, an suthin'
about the gearin' o. the team gave way
while he was a-crossin the beach. He |
was alters timid, but he overdid it this
time when he onhitched the team to
keep 'em from startin' while he was
under the wagon. He must "a been
a-tinkertn' as he lay upon his back on
the sand, for tie reach slipped out, an
H. L..