Audubon County journal. (Exira, Iowa) 1884-1993, 1904-07-21
A Bushel of
Potatoes
By Harriet
Whitney Durbin
Copyright, 1908. by 7. C. Mcclure
Copyright, 1908, BY 7. c. Mcclure

Il Agabus Biglo owned poorly chink
ed cabin on windy hillside, a ban1,
and voice.
Silas Weatherbee's possessions EN-
braced a fair farm, good wife and
daughter just eighteen years Of age.
Il ERocksena Weatherbee looked like
peach grown on the sunny side of th,
tree. Her father had dim idea-whel
he thought anything about the girl
that she had barely discarded bibs. H,
was thrifty man, leaning to the sid,
Of stinginess. OF the minor diversion
Of life, Silas loved a good song vel
sung Agabus Biglo had supplied u
song on many an occasion.
Silas was sitting one evening upo1
the upper rail of his dooryard fence
All about the yard patch focks Of
white petunias shimmered and hawl
moths made quivering blots over them
Out Of the elder thicket doomed Agabui
Biglo with his banjo.
eli, there, Ag!" shouted Silas
"Come long an give us chune."
| Instead of complying, Agabus fell
into argument.
"see 'ere, Sile," he said in mild dis
sent, I'm pore, pore as black eyed
peas, and low eff a good square chune
is wuth listenin' to it oughtta be wutt
shucktn' out a trife fer. Whut'll you
gimme. Sile? I'll sing reasonable"
"Wuu, I'll swear, Ag! You reckon
I'm goin' to pay out money to set yere
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 fgserin' on plunks," reasoned
Agabus persuasive!y. Gimme beans
er squawshes, er taters-gimme taters
now; you got 'em an l amt. How
many taters III you give fer batch OF
good old songs:"
Silas smoked and considered for five
silent minutes.
"I'll give you a later song" he then
announced-"not a peelin' more. Them
Island Pearls O. mines with money.
My, I paid SIS fer a dishpan full O.
seed ones in the spring, an the old wo-
man like to eat every pottered one,
she lowed they was better than ict
cream. They're new invented. You
don't git but later song"
Agabus scrambled upon the fence,
twirled his banjo into position, and
that old song that seems always to
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.,s 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 stify 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"
Rocksena brought the three largest
potatoes she could find, and Agabus
slowed them into his pockets.
When Agabus had sung away a
bushel Of potatoes from silas Weather
bee he asked the old man to throw in
his daughter Rocksena for good meas
ure.
"Agabus Biglo," directed Silas, 'syou
shoulder yer rotten old banjer an cut
sticks"
"But Uncle Suas, She
"Cut sticks" sIpeated Silas sternly,
IAN never pint yer toes down this hol-
Ter ag'in, er 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 were gone-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,
] 'ASiooo iAooAAloo tl111
over its banks. Its high tide mark II
fouted and, like a hungry beast pil.
aged cornfield, truck garden and pc.
tato patch. The sluggish blooded old
farmers set to work, with matter OF
fact patience, replanting. Silas Wealth.
erbee ragged like Goose creek. every
darned Pearl later in the county lick.
ed up by that pottered crick!" he roar.
ed. II gotta plant any old kind OF
taters this time"
And once again Goose creek arose
with destructive appetite. A June food
came and the replanted fields were al
bare as desert.
A drought followed in the latter part
Of summer, and autumn found scanty
ingathering Of crops. One late au.
mmn day Silas Weatherbee drove over
to see his brother Simeon at Crab Hol.
low. Simeon was cutting sorghum
cane. Scotia live mostly on sorghum
1asses this winter. One thing they're
good an film" he philosophical.
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