The record-union., 1897-08-31
ON The BACK TURNPIKE

1t was midsummer. and the July sun,
hot, dry and red, had fallen into a
western bank of haze from which his
rayless disk shone out comparatively
powerIess, although it still wanted two
hours to its time of setting. The sandy
road. known as the Back Turnpike, was
lined With sky blue succory, and though
powdered with dust, its clear tint re-
freshed the eye as unworldly goodness
refreshes the heart on the more trav-
eled highways of life There were few
dooryards along the Back Turnpike and
few cultivated fields; stretches of pas
ture. Interrupted by wood lots, bound
ed ii for the most part on both sides,
and from these the shrill hum of in
Vulnerable warmth loving insects rose
with that lazy insistence that belongs
to trivial things.
1t was in one Of the half dozen houses
still standing on this lone road that
Jesse Fillow lived with his wife and
child. The house was not his; he was
halter by trade. but a year ago had
left the manufacturing town Of Weldon
and rented this place, expecting, like
wiser men, to reap a fortune from small
fruit and poultry raising. Disappoint
ments had come, of course; a wet sea-
son had carried off his young turkeys,
and experience had proved a dear COM
modify but his sanguine temperament
might have triumphed over all OBJ
stacles had it not been for the ex-
traordinary solitude IL which he found
himself This had preyed on the spir-
its Of the young halter cruelty, and it
was with an expression of habitual bit
teIness that he now issued from the
barn. kading a blanketed COW, at the
very moment that a sunbrowned farm
er came rumbling by. The latter pulled
up MS horses and called out, after a
moments interested observation:
"Heiloi Cow sick?'
Yes; she's had a sort of chill. She
won't eat, and I don't know what to do
for her" responded Fillow, his sensi-
tive face flushing almost boyishly. I've
been thinking maybe I'd better get a
horse doctor he broke off with
faint interrogative.
The farmer climbed down from his
wagon.
Horse doetor" he repeated with
good natured scorn. Now I tell you
what. young man. I've doctored my
own critters for thirty odd year, and
seen more sick cattle than you ever
planted peas, and if I can't bring that
COW of yourn round, the sooner she's
turned into crows meat the better
Why, I owned a heifer once that made
over two pounds of butter a day. be-
sides supplying a family Of thirteen
persons, and that not counting the
children"
Farmer Race was a man who was
fairly carried off his feet by his own
el0quence. The simplest statement be-
tween his lips developed possibilities
that amazed and delighted him.
Scarcely had he thus launched himself
in mid stream, when a woman magnet
lied, as it were, by the irresistible in
stinct for news, was seen approaching
through the opposite fields. She had
been huckleberying. and her load was
a heavy one, the day was hot, the hour
favorable for gossip. She looked, hesi-
tated, stopped, and, leaning over the
gate. cried in a quick treble:
Cows sick, amt she?"
''Yes'm, she is. She was taken yes
terday with kind of a chill" answered
Jesse. squaring his shoulders as he had
not done for a month. We don't
know what ails her. exactly. Come in,
won't your"
In stepped the spinster, her sharp fea-
lures and bright black eyes peering out
eagerly from the ambush of slat sun
bonnet. Poor Polly Her talents should
have raised her at least to the rank of
a local newspaper editor, but though
unrivaled in scenting items" she was
quite guiltless of the art of writing
them Gown. She could use her tongue,
however, and no bashfulness ever pre-
vented her doing so, least of all a mis-
taken difference for the manly sex Af-
ter rapid survey of the sick animal,
accompanied by a series of mods and
jerks she plunged energetically into the
conversation as follows:
My sisters husband had a COW that
was took like that. He cured her, and
I'll tell you how he done if. He cut a
slit towards the little end of her tail. an
rubbed in some pepper and salt, about
right for gravy seasoning. She bel
lowed SOS you could hear her a couple
o miles. an in less n a week she was
as we'll as ever she was"
The farmer-hatter, almost distrusting
his ears, looked blankly at Mr.. Race.
God of healing, he thought in his own
dialect. what crimes are committed in
thy namei
Mr.. Race was visibly annoyed. He
was diagnosing the case, and disliked
those offhand. intuitive methods. Be
sides, had he not been anticipated in the
mention of one of his favorite remedies?
He maintained his quasi professional
dignity. however, by going through the
usual rural preliminaries of feeling of
the cows horns and nose, looking wisely
at the whites of her eyes, and prying
open her mouth-a process to which she
strongly objected. Then he lighted his
pipe and drew one or two strong puffs.
Il tell you, now. if that COW was
mine" he announced, II sh'd say there
want a doubt but what she'd been
pizened. I sh'd fix up a gallon or so of
good strong suds, that Id start an egg,
and turn that down her. That's what I
sh'd do"
Just at that moment a bare-legged,
freckled- faced boy of fourteen thrust his
head over the Dickets and called out in
a tone of the greatest animation:
Hi. there! Cow sick?'
Neither Mr.. Race nor Polly deigned
to reply, but young Fillow was in no
mood TO refuse a welcome to any one.
1t seemed pleasant, extraordinarily
pleasant. to feel himself, or even his
COW. a center of human interest. He
explained briskly as before that she had
had a sort of chill. adding what Mr..
Race here thought-"but how could she