Smyrna times., 1900-04-04

ing about and winged one of them
with his first shot. a long chase over
the drying burrows of the previous
days plowing secured the bird.
Going back he had several more
shots at the blackbirds, which seemed
to grow boldGr and hungrier as the
day advanced. He seldom missed
them and in one instance killed two at
one shot. the bullet striking one bird a
glancing blow on the neck and winging
second bird in the bunch.
The plOwing grew more and more
tedious as the day heightened out, and
the boy was never hungrier in his life.
He had brought his dinner along, with
a bottle of milk to wash it down, and
he could tell pretty well from the sun
when noontime came. From his line
of burrows he could see his uncle toll
ing across and back, never stopping for
anything, a brown figure in the brown
stretches of upturned earth.
He made up his mind that plOwing
was desperately monOtOnOus work and
that to plOw a straight furrOw was
something that only came from long
practice. He had a stake stuck up for
his benefit at each end of the field, but
his plow either wabbled or the mules
''weewawed' frightfully, for before
nOOntime came he found it necessary
to lift the plow up and cash down GER
tain inlets and estuaries Of land which
had not been cut on account of the per-
versity of the burrows. BY the time
ho hn1 int nj,
1870 he had come to the conclusion
that all boy needed to plow well with
was a pair Of iron legs and a knOwl-
! edge of how to draw a furrOw straight
He unhitched the team with some diff
Guilty and gave them Il feed of oats on
the bottom of the sack. Then he got
out his own dinner of bread and but
ter, meat and pickles, and fell on it
like a famished coyote. He was very
tired. The dirt had got into his finger
nails, crept into his curly brown hair,
| grimed his neck. filled his ears and en-
bittered his boyish soul His curiosity
was thoroughly satisfied. He had be-
come satiatcd with the exercise; he
wanted to hunt.
However, he remembered that it
would be cowardly to give up until
night. So he started in to hitch up the
mules again after taking a decent rest.
Fortunately he could do this without
having to summon his uncle, and he
congratulated himself on being able to
hitch and unhitch a team. The plOw
again was driven into the loan, and
once more the burden of hanging on to
a pair of slippery plow handles with a
couple of energetic mules striding
along in front was begun The black
birds and kildees. allured by the feast
of pale grubS and salmon tinted fish
worms. came again to the burrows, but
the boy only took a shot now and then
He was dOggedly, sullenly. silently
plugging along in the furrow, with the
sand gritting between his teeth. He
wouldn't offer to plow again for Uncle
Tom. Uncle Tom knew what he was
talking about when he said it was
hard work and dirty work until you
got used to it. Well, he didn't want TO
get used to it, that was all. What was
that story about eels getting used to
being skinned? Whoa, Jimmy; back,
you old yellow crate, you.
At sundown and not until he saw
Uncle Tom turn for the house did the
boy give over. But he had seen the
error of his way. Flowing wasn't what
it was cracked up to be. There were
too many sand burs and roots and
crooked burrows and dirt and wrench
es and backaches about it. There was
too much work about it. Why, when
you saw man who was used to it you
could believe that he might strap him.
self to a plow and go to sleep on the
job. But for new beginner at the
business it was like Jordan, "a hard
road to travel"
Uncle Tom smiled at the grimy, dus-
ty figure. of his nephew as he met him
at the house. How'd you like the
plowing?" he inquired quiZzically.
The boy took nine blackbirds and
three kildees from his pockets and,
holding them up. said, II like that part
of it, Uncle Tom, and all the rest l
didn't like worth a cent."-Chicago
Record