Evening journal. [volume] (Wilmington, Del.) 1888-1932, 1897-03-09
A LAZY LOVER.

flattening his nose against the grimy |
window pane and peering ont into the
storm "Jest look at il a-comin down. |
He'd 1 "a know'd we was a-goin to hev |
it like this, you'd "a seen me a-lcavin |
home-you'd "a seen me a-leayin
home"
The old man thoughtfully stroked his
bushy beard. He felt that he had met |
but Just retribution for coming to the
store to loaf. When, al hour before, he
had awakened from a doze in his arm
chair, picked up his stout stick and
hobbled to the village, the sky was clear
and blue Not cloud was visible any
where, and the sun was blazing down
on the fields Of yellow grain that he
overlooked from the porch of mis- little
house on the hill But the storm, as
storms do in that mountainous part Of
Pennsylvania, was gathering its force
unseen behind the neighboring noun
tains, piling black cloud ON black cloud,
and then, like an army charging ON
sleeping enemy, il swept forth from its
hiding place amid the flash of light
ming and the crash of thunder and del
uged the valley.
my, oh, myr muttered the old
man. 1T serves me right. l ought TO
"a lmow'd better. Whenever l runs
down here for "a minutes loaf, It rains.
Never a team comes along 20 give me a
lift home, an I hez 20 paddle back in
me leaky ole boots. "
He hobbled TO his chair by the empty
stove, about which were gathered the
men of the village, despite the fact that
no fire blazed within and cold weather
was far ahead.
Il hope the company hain't displeas-
in, snapped the chronic loafer. Ho
knocked the ashes Cut of his pipe, refill
ed and lighted it and sprawlcd out upon
the counter, pillowing his back against
a pile of calicoes.
mot at all, ct all It's the loafn
hate. I never cclld loaf said tho old
man, elancing g. tle pr'stratc form.
The chronic loafer made no reply save
faint HUH
"Jest because a felly sets around the
stove hain't no sign he's lazy, % said the
miller warmly.
Eur be it from me from sayin so,
boys, fur be il. " said the patriarch,
stroking his beard. "But, as was sayin
awhile ago, don't want TO git inter no
sech habits as Absalom Bunkel."
cabs lom Bunkel - Bunkel-Bunk-
el?' repeated the shoemaker, punctuat-
ing his remarks with pulls Of tobacco
smoke.
"Bunkel-Bunkel?" said the store
keeper inquiringly, tapping the end Of
his nose with his pencil
'Who the heck's Abs lon Bunkel?''
the loafer cried.
"Absalom Bunkel was man as was
nat rally so lazy it was a credit to him
every time he moved, " the patriarch
began. "You uns knows the ole lawg
house thet stands where Big run crosses
the road over the mountain. It's all
tumbled down now. They amt no
daubin atwecn the lawgs. The Chin
bley's fallen; the fence hez gone, an the
lots choked up with weeds It's a for
lorn place, but when was a lad it
was Jest about the slichost thing along
the ridge yander That where Absalom
Bunkel lived an his pap lived before
him Absalom's pap was stingy man
so stingy he'd squeeze a cent tell the
Iniun yelled Consequent, when he died,
he left Absalom fortune of 500. 1t
was a fortunate thing fer the son, Ter
he'd much ruther "a set on the porch
a-listenin to the birds an watchin the
bees hummin over the sunfowers, with
the pangs Of hunger a-gnawin throo his
insides. than 20 "a worked.
"Now, Absalom was afore my time,
but heard all about him from my pap,
an what my pap said was allus true
true as gawspcl. il was. When ole man
Bunkel died, Absalom was 35 year old.
He didn't 90 off spendin his fortune.
Not much. He jest set right down on a
rockin chair on the front porch an Jet
his sister Nancy tend the house Nance
MIXED the COW, Nance made the gar
den, Nance done the homework an come
20 store He done nothin--absolutC
nothin.
"He was never outer bed afore sun up.
Eff IL was warm, he'd set ON the leetle
porch all day, lcolin over the valley,
watchin the folks goin by an the bird,
a-swoopin along the fiel's or throo tho
trees, istenin to the bees a-buzzin arour
the garden. TO the dreamy hum Of natur
fer to do him credit he loved natur' ~
it was cold, he set all day be the fire
place a-baiin his shins. Once in awhil,
Nance'd fergit TO leave him wood wher
she went out fer a spell. Does he cut
some? Not him. He jest goes to th'
nearest possible fence rail, kerrys it in
ter the house, sticks one end inter the
fire an keeps a-pushin it in as it burn
of.
Now. IL happeaed thet when he he
ben hvin this way tell his forty-tiftl
year ole Anoy Crimmen tux the plac
about q mile beyant bis One nice aft