Democratic messenger. [volume] (Snow Hill, Md.) 1869-1973, 1904-05-28
A Bushel of
Potatoes
by Harriet
Whitney Durbin
Copurl III. isss. bT Z. &. Me- 1urS

and voice.
Silas Wcaihcrbcrs possessions en-
braccd II fair farm. II good wife AMI n
daughter just eighteen years of age.
Eockscna Wcathcrl.c looked like a
perch grown on III" sunny side of the
tree. Her father lad n dim idea-when
he thought anything. about the girl
that she lad barely discarded bil,s lie
WIS Il thrifty man. leaning io the side
Of Stinyincss Of the minor diversions
Of life. Silas loved good son. well
sung. A.abus Ei.lo had supplied the
iong ON many an occasion.
.Silas WAS sittin. one evening upon
the upper rail Of his dooryard fence.
All about the yard patch fiocks OF
white rctunias Shimmcred and hawk
moths made ,,uivrrin: blots over them.
ont Of tie elder thickct doomed Agabus
II glo with his banjo
Iii. there. Ag.' shouted Silas.
Come long an give us chune."
Instead of complying. Agabus fell
into argument.
Sec ere. Sile." he said in mild dis
sent. I'm pore. pore as black eyed
peas. and low If II good square chune
is. with listenin' To IL oughita be with
samckin out trifie fer. Whut'll you
gimme. Siie: I'll sing reasonable"
"Wull. I'll swear. Ag. You reckon
I'm goin' TO pay out money TO set we're
an listen at yer little old pie pan ban
jer an yer old Kentucky Home?'
Tree frogs an crickets don't charge
nothin'. Reckon they'll do me-"
Hold on. Sile: don't fly up creek. |
wasn't figgerin' on plunks." reasoned
Agabus persuasively. Gimme beans.
or sqiawshcs. or taters-gimme taters
now: you got 'em an amt. How
many tatcrs II you give fer batch OF
good old songs
Silas smoked and considered for five
silent minutes.
I'll give you tater a song" he then
announced mot a peelin' more. Them
island Pearls q mines wuth money.
My. paid 81 fer dishpan full o
seed ones in the spring. an the old wO-
man like 10 eat every pOttered one;
she lowed they was better than ice
cream. They're new invented. You
don't git bu later song"
Agabus scrambled upon the fence
twirled his banjo into position. and
that old song that seems always "a
drip soft southern fragrance and to
ripple out the melody of tranquil wa
tiers flowed into the damp. soft gloam
ing:
way down upon the Suwanee river.
Far. far away
Old Silas smoked. with closed eyes
his wife rocked placidly in the shadow
| of the porch. and Rocksena. sitting
upon the step. clasped her tanned
hands and inhaled the music.
Garry Me Back to Ole virginny'
| thrilled and ebbed. and blithe Nellie
bly," followed. bringing her broom
along. Then Silas slid stiffiy from the
fence and shook his pipe ash into a
tuft of wet clover. ..Sena." he called
to his daughter. git Ag three taters
I'm goin' to bed
Rockscna brought the three largcs,
potatoes she could find. and Agabus
StONt tuttu DOthttS
When Agabus had sung away a
bushel of potatoes from Silas Weather
f bee he asked the old man to throw In
7 his daughter Rocksena for good meas
ure.
"Agabus Biglo." directed Silas. you
shoulder yer rotten old banner an cut
sticks"
But. Uncle Silas. She
"Cut sticks. repeated Silas sternly
IAN never pint yer toes down this hol-
Ter ag'in. or I'll th'ow you in the crick. =
When the hunters moon piled silver
sheaves under the trees Silas Weather.
bee and his wife sat alone on their hop
grown porch. Agabus. the banjo and
the potatoes We're goile-and Rocksena
Silas smoked grimly. He missed the
"Old Kentucky Home" and the "Su
vance River" His wife knit spirit
lessly. She missed the girl.
In the spring came the great freshet
when Goose creek arose with slow
vicious hissings and plunged. foaming
over its banks. Its high tide mark L
fiouted and. like hungry beast. pill
aged cornfield. truck garden and po
tato patch. The sluggish blooded ole
farmers set TO work. with matter o
fact patience. replanting. Silas Wealth
erbee ragged like Goose creek. Ever,
darned Pearl tater i'm the county lick
ed up by that pottered crick." he roar
ed. II gotta plant any old kind o.
| taters this fine"
And once again Goose creek aros'
with destructive appetite. A June foo,
came and tile replanted fields were al
bare as desert.
A drought followed in the latter par
of summer. and autumn found n scant,
ingathering OF crops. One late au
tumn day Silas Weatherbee drove owe
TO see his brother Simeon ut Crab Hol
low. Simeon was cutting sorghum
cane Gotta live mostly on sorghum
'lasses this winter One thing -they'r,
good an film he philosophical.
"Got any taters:" asked Silas.
"Not n later: Goose creek eat EN-
| oil fr't ,.ns,g