The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1898-03-19
Henry grew nervous. 1t was with
great SIGH of relief that he took on the

great sigh of relief that he took on the
last cock and started for the barn. But
the end was not yet. The road was
rough and his nervousness returned as
he felt the wretched load quake and
slide at every jolt. 1t was going to
pieces under him>like rotten raft in
choppy sea. Close behind him, he
knew, we followed, gloating already, he
was sure, over his expected humilia-
ton. He could fairly feel Uncle Johns
keen eyes fixed on his back, and he
heard-or was it only his tortured i'm
agination pa chuckle Of anticipatory
triumph from the fiend Bill.
Screen country people! Hulking sim
pleton!" he groaned to himself, and
cursed his folly.
He had reached the orchard in safety,
however, and was breathing easier.
when the nigh" wheels dropped heav-
ily into q rut and the entire left-hand
side of the load. with Henry on top of it,
slid into the ditch. Then Uncle John
and the fiemd Bill and we two wide
mouthed imps came and looked at the
ruin and at Henry sprawling ignomini-
ously in the midst of it; and Uncle John
offered him ironical coincidence. Bills
face was indescribable.
Blu you should have seen Henry un-
load when the wreck, under the Jury
masts, as it were, finally reached the
barn. It is easy enough to pitch the
hay of a properly loaded wagon-if
you know how. One of Uncle Johns
rare boasts was that he could pitch of
one of his own loads as clean as if the
hay were bound and laid on in bundles
like barley. But greenhorn, working
at a greenhorn's load-well, as Chaucer
would have said: ut was a joye for to
seen him swete."
One time he would plunge his fork
into the chaotic mass and sweat and
tug at a bunch with all his strength
without budging it an inch, not perceiv-
ing in his bewilderment that 1t was
overlapped by the bunch he stood on.
He might as well have tried to lift him.
self by his bootstraps. At the next
plunge he would bring. away little
pitiful handful that a baby could lift.
| L
working desperately, to pitch out two
thirds of ton-35 minutes of intermin-
able dust, perspiration and aching
muscle; 35 age-long minutes of smart
ing under a steady fire of ironical en-
couragement from Uncle John, and of
winnings and chucklings from the de-
lighted Bill.
At last the rack was clear. Uncle
John took out his watch.
sThirty-five minutes-two-thirds of
a ton-pooty hefty Teller, amt YEP"
Henry smiled as before, but his smile
was sickly, not nonchalant.
"Guess they don't each haydn at
your college. Well, we'll teach We.
Yen do pooty well after the city out
side gifts rubbed off'n ye;" and he
glanced approvingly at Henry's fine
chest and shoulders. "Why, at your
age pitched of many ton in five min
utes."
Henry looked incredulous.
Eye think not? I'll bet can do it to-
day in four" said Uncle John.
at can't be done!" cried Henry, ex-
citedly. II may be from the city, but
I'm not so green as to believe that"
ut kin be done," said Uncle John. de-
cisively. "and I'll prove it this very
afternoon"
Teidy's eyes opened wide with won
der. So did mine. Bill, down on the
floor unhitching the horses, shook his
head obviously. He had seen some
"husky haydn" in his day, but never
such feat as Uncle John proposed.
1t was three o'clock in the afternoon,
and the hot July sunshine was SHIN
mering over the dusty road, when the
momentous ton, drawn by pair of
quick-stepping black horses, turned
into the yard and swept on toward the
white farmhouse and the green level
beyond, where the big barn lifted up
its new "cupaloe" proudly against the
western sky.
Bill the burly drove; Uncle John
stepped rapidly along behind rough,
stout, sunburned. athletic figure. Henry
walked beside him. Teddy and ], to a
tune of whoops, halloos and yells,
danced barefoot hornpipe on the
grass in honor of the occasion.
Look here, youngsters!" called Uncle
John. Don't you yell afore we're out
o. the woods. Up with We onto the NOW!
want We to tread the hay back under
the caves"
Teddy gave war-whoop in reply, and
led the way to the barn at double
quick. We charged up the great NOW
like the union line at Missionary Ridge,
scattering the swallows in wild fright
out of their clay nests along the rafters.
There was loud trample of hoofs on
the planks below and the hay-wagon