The Dalles daily chronicle. [volume] (The Dalles, Or.) 1890-1948, 1891-01-24
UNCLE PETE

Oncle Pete was Illuminating. How
ever, this was nothing new, as he had
done but little else since the time he was
mite of 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 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 happy, monotonous refrain.
His kinks were turning from black to
gray and many a problem as lmotty 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- seemed
a 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 a sly and
wholly unaccountable manner he still
dreamed of and strove for wealth. When
a 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 a piece of glass
would cause his lazy legs to move faster
than was customary, for perhaps it
might be a 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 dreadfu1ly. Like sole
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
1y 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, but Uncle
!. Peter was sly and would clay 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 horse. mules
and colts, until Marse Bob finally finish
ed a 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 ruminating on this
warm, damp January day. The prospect
from his cabin door did not invite very
pleasant thoughts, but he was paying nc
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 the next
days work-splitting rails. That was
nothing to Uncle Peter, either, for he
knew very well, the sinner, he would gel
out of half his work by sharpening
wedges for the other hands, making him
self uselessly useful.
''Now, If could dig into dat gully ant
fine COLE mine, wouldn't be rich?" h,
mused "Gret big peeses, big as my
fsts-den 1 could set up at the big 'ous'
ike 1OlhS, anu aOI WOIh A1y pOOI Olc Sci
to deth," signing, as he got up to turl
his maui. ''But den dat's Marse Bob
land, s'pose 'twould be his gole. Nor da
amt right, neither. What 1 fine is mine
Eff was to fine quarter out yonder,
recldn it would be my quarter, and da
gole mine would too" So scared hi
thoughts to realm where roads wer
lined with gold instead of red mud, an
palaces in the places of pine trees face
them, and he was the richest of all i
that country. He was awakened fror
those yellow toned reveries by some on
following: "Peter, you Peter-r, VIII
don't you answer meY'
s.SirY' rousing himself and standing i
his doorway to see Marse Bob on th
fence some distance away.
t'What are you doing?
Burning my maui for tomorrow"
'sWell, you can do that tonight. Yo
always get mighty smart at the wron
time, anyway. Go on to the house an
help the other boys shuck corn"
Uncle Peter got up and crossed tt
field with reluctant footsteps, whi
Marse Bob growled to himself on tt
laziness of the ''colored race" in genera
Sunday morning came and with
guests at the big house as usual. Unc
Peter went up to black boots and buil
fires, as was his custom-one he adopte
himself and one he invariably KEEP
Marse Bob's wife's brother was ther
and as Peter came in he asked:
tsWhat kind of weather, Peter?'