Alpena weekly argus. [volume] (Alpena, Mich.) 1871-1893, 1890-02-19
TWO BUSHELS OF CORN.
How Farmer Brown Succeeded In
Performing a Good Deed.

How Farmer Brown Succeeded In
Performing a Good Deed.
Farmer Brown was Smelling four bush.
els of corn on the cob, which, according
TO the mathematics and tabular weights
and measures of old New England days,
would make two bushels of corn for the
purpose of the farm bin or the miller.
lie was Smelling the four bushels of corn
by the use of a common cob in his right
hand, which cob he used to remove tho
kernels by pressure. This old-time way
of Smelling corn made the hands hard
and horny, and the muscles OF the wrist
strong. Woe he to the culprit who
should have fallen into the hands Of a
professional corn-sheller! lie might as
we'll have been bound with withes OF
hornbine. The boy who felt the witty
grasp OF such left hand, and the appli-
cation of buttonwood rod by such a
right hand, was sure to have his mem.
DRY permanently quickened, and the les
son usually proved effectal. Such farm
ers, from their lordly dialogues with
their oxen, had strong voices as we'll as
hands, and when one of them said hoy"
it meant much. And boy was just the
word that Farmer Brown said while
Smelling corn.
Harry Brown, the boy started.
"Boy" was word of command from the
generalissimo Of the farN
''Sir?"
Mrs. Brown was sitting in the arm.
chair by the stand, knitting by the tai
low candle. Mr.. Brown was Smelling
corn because he had nothing else to do,
and Mrs. Brown was knitting because
she had nothing else to do, and Harry
Brown was studying music book by
good old William Billings, of Stoughton,
because he sang in the choir of Hard
Scrabble Church-which was real
name, and not one made up for story
telling purposes.
Harry had been drawing do, mi, sol,
do" when the word of command came.
boy, seeing we have so much to he
thankful for, I'm going to do Just the
right thing by my duties"
Mrs. Brown dropped her needles.
What was going to happen? She was
thrifty, frugal woman-was Mr.. Brown
going to give away something out of their
hard earnings and savings? II so, what
and to whom? No unworthy person, she
hoped. I've been thinking over this
bushel of corn-I always do deal of
thinking when am Smelling corn"
What you been thinking about,
Eben?"
about the sermon that Elder Leland
preached on the text: For IL We love
them that love you, what reward have
ye: do not even the publicans SOP"
Now, Peter Rugg has not used me just
right, and am going to make him a
present of two bushels of corn. And
boy-you shall carry it over to him to-
morrow morning on horseback"
Mrs. Browns cap border lifted. She
dove at the snuffers, and snuffed the
candle with spiteful dive at the long
black wick.
"Ebenr'
"Well, EuniceY'
"Peter Rugg just gets his living by
doing nothin', don't hep"
Eyes, but he Is sick now; and you
know the text. There's no merit in do
in just what you want to do, and havin'
your own way and will, and lookin' for
reward, Elder Leland says"
"And Peter Riggs wife, she goes
a-visitin' for alvin, and eats up every
body's plum-cake and apple sass"
Eyes, yes, but Peter was shiftless-
born so, tired like-and she had to eat
something-and he's sick now"
We'll, don't approve no such doin's.
don't believe in encouragin' idleness.
If a man will not work, neither shall he
eat! There now, Eben!"
''Do, mi, sol, do" sang Harry.
''The morning sun shines from the cast
And spreads its glorics to the west
He was practicing the lode on
Science" the browning attainment Of
all musical efforts in these simple sing
ing-school days.
well, do declare, Eben, hope il
you send two bushel of corn, of your
shellin', too, to that shiftless Peter
Rugg-I do hope"
What, Eunice?"
THAT 1t will never get there"
"Sho Eunice; that amt the right
sperit-when our barns and cribs are
full, too, and Peter is the only real poor
person in the town, too, and he's the
only one in all the world that hasn't
used me quite right, too I'll have to
send 1t to him, or else be very poor and
mean in soul, and carry about with me
a feelin' that haven't done my duty,
and been grateful for all my blessin's.
Eunice, I'm goin' to do 1t, anyhow"
well, all that I've got to say Is that
i do hope the grist will never get there. -
Now, boy, you may go to singin'-
SCHOOL,
Harry slipped away with the parallel
ogram of an american Vocalist" under
his arm. The singing school made great
progress on the lode on Science" that
night, and Harry had descended into
those deep and cavernous regions OF
solemn bass foundations with the ambi.
tion of bdsso prcfundo.
The moon was hanging over the dark
shoulders of Greylock, and the lights
glimmering on Stafford Hill, as ne re.
turned. IL was crisp night, with a
CLEAN Of frost crystals everywhere In
the bare harvest fields, the blue gentiar
pastures and alluvial cranberry mead
ows, He continued TO sing-he could
not help IL: the piece haunted him
Nothing at all so wonderful as the ac
complishment OF that piece by the sing
ing-school had ever before come into his
experience. The words, too, were mag
zeal to him-like new world. So, In
the new creations of the poet and com
poser, he logged along singing. until hi
| c~.~o 20 Tho srro a. A M rd x.,horo A.. 10 .