Los Angeles herald., 1891-02-21
UNCLE PETE.

Uncle Pete was ruminating. How
ever, this was nothing new, as he had
done but little else since the time he was
mite Of a darky, watching the sparks
fly up from the burning log heaps scat
tered over "old masters" new ground
and die away in the dusky spring even
ing. He would sit upon a stump with
the dark, freshly plowed ground about
him giving forth odors Of earth and torn
green roots, while the frogs in the shall
low shining branch, marked with will
lows, sang a happy, monotonous refrain.
His kinks were turning from black to
gray and many problem as knotty as
his wool and just as powerless to be
Strengthened had passed through his
brain. His great passion was wealth
twas the only thing he cared for. He
had dreamed Of it in boyhood- -itseemed
pity those log heap sparks were not
real gold-had striven for it in his way
in manhood, and now that old age had
begun to pay court to him in sly and
wholly unaccountable manner he still
dreamed Of and strove for wealth. When
boy he would grasp every peculiar
looking rock lying in his path, with the
hope that it might bring him fortune.
The sun glancing on u piece of glass
would cause his lazy legs to move faster
than was customary, for perhaps it
might be nugget Of gold lying there
especially for him. But he found to his
disappointment many times that "all
was not gold that glittered."
Uncle Peter had never been taught to
read, and was too lazy to work hard. In
fact, he shirked dreadfully. Like cole
Brer Rabbit" in those wondrous days
when animals were gifted with speech
the recital of which fills every childish
heart with the pleasantest emotions-he
did all of the grunting and comparative
ly no work. He lived with old masters
grandson, Marse Bob, as cropper, and
invariably came out in debt to him on
an average of $40 year. Each Christ
mas Marse Bob would storm at him and
threaten to send him away, hut Uncle
Peter was sly and would ''lay low" until
Marse Bob's sweet little wife drove all
angry thoughts from his mind, and then
he began to put in his best work, usually
making sundry suggestions "'buot de
fattening horgs," and ashes, salt, sui
phur and copperas for the horses. mules
and colts, until Marse Bob finally finish
ed contract with him almost before
the thought of beginning had entered
his mind. It would burst upon him each
time like thunderbolt, and with an in
ternal groan began the turning of new
leaves. But those leaves became dog
cared with too little turning and much
lingering. So Uncle Peter lived ON at
his kind benefactor's, with his progeny
of grandchildren and one unmarried
daughter, the idol of his heart.
Uncle Peter was Illuminating on this
warm, damp January day. The prospect
from his cabin door did not invite very
pleasant thoughts, but he was paying no
attention to the gloom.
The clouds hung wet and gray over
the fields, roads and pine grove, which
was the only green spot in sight. A maui
lay before the fire hardening for thenext
days work-splitting rails. That was
nothing to Uncle Peter, either, for he
knew very weIl, the sinner, he would get
out of half his work by sharpening
wedges for the other hands, making him.
self uselessly useful.
!, 'sNow, if could dig into dat gully and
fine gole mine, wouldn't be richY' he
unused. "Gret big peeses, big as my
fsts-den I could set up at the big 'ouse
like folks, and not work my poor ole self
to deth, signing, as he got up to turn
his maui. "But den dats Marse Bob's
land, s'pose 'twould be his gole. Nor dat
amt right, neither. What fine is mine.
Eff was to fine a quarter out yonder, !
reckin it would be my quarter, and dat
gole mine would too." So scared his
thoughts to realm where roads were
lined with gold instead of red mud, and
palaces in the places Of pine trees faced
them, and he was the richest Of all in
that country. He was awakened from
those yellow toned reveries by some one
hollowing: "Peter, you Peter-r, why
don't you answer me?"
"Sirw rousing himself and standing in
his doorway to see Marse Bob on the
fence some distance away.
"What are you doing?"
Burning my maui for tomorrow.
"Well, you can do that tonight. You
always get mighty smart at the wrong
time, anyway. Go on to the house and
help the other boys shuck corn"
Uncle Peter got up and crossed the
field with reluctant footsteps, while
Marse Bob growled to himself on the
lazness Of the scolored race" in general
Sunday morning came and with il
guests at the big house as usual. Uncle
Peter went up to black boots and build
fires, as was his, custom-one he adopted
himself and one he invariably kept
Marse Bob's wife's brother was there
and as Peter came in he asked:
"What Kind of weather, Peter?"
"Lubly. sir, lubly." was the reply hi
always gave, no matter what the weather
might be. Hot or cold, wet or dry, Sun
lay morning was always 'lubly' tc
Uncle Peter.
Where did you get that shirt, Peter?'
came Franks lazy tones from the depths
+ lOf 9 feather bed, from where ne couii
just see Peter, whose shoes were shining
brighter than his ebony face, sitting OF
the woodbox rubbing away with brusl
And blacling AZ "A - W. worth.