Audubon County journal. (Exira, Iowa) 1884-1993, 1904-06-09
A Bushel of
Potatoes
By Harriet
Whitney Durbin
Copyright, 1908, bu 7. C. Mcclure
Copyright, 1908, by 7. c. Mcclure

| ed CABIN on q windy hillside, banjo
| and voice.
Silas Weatherbees possessions en-
braced fair farm, good wife and
| daughter just eighteen years Of age.
Rocksena Weatherbee looked like
| peach grown on the sunny side of the
tree. Her father had dim idea-when
he thought anything about the girl
that she had barely discarded bibs. He
was thrifty man, leaning to the side
of stinginess. OF the minor diversions
of life, Silas loved a good song we'll
sung. Agabus Biglo had supplied the
song on many an occasion.
Silas was sitting one evening upon
the upper rail of his dooryard fence.
ALI about the yard patch fiocks of
white petunias shimmered and hawk
moths made quivering blots over them.
Out of the elder thicket doomed Agabus
| Biglo with his banjo
"Hi, 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 good square chune
is wuth listenin' to it oughtta be with
shuckin' out trifle fer Whut'll you
gimme, sile? I'll sing reasonable"
"Wull, 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 Homer
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,
err squawshes, er taters-glmme taters
now; you got 'em an I amt. How
many taters II you give fer batch Of
good old songsY
Silas smoked and considered for five
silent minutes.
"I'll give you later song" he then
announced-"not a peelin' more. Them
Island Pearls O. mines wuth' money.
My, paid SIS fer 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 ice
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
ters flowed into the damp, soft gloam-
ing:
T~oHy HNx G,,r -,
| 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 stiff1y from the
fence and shook his pipe ash into
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 q
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, "you
shoulder yer rotten old banter an cut
sticks"
"But, Uncle Sllas, She
"Cut sticks,' sJpeated Silas sternly,
IAN never pint yer toes down this hol-
Ter ag'in, er I'll th'ow you in the cr1ck."
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,
vicious hissings and plunged, foaming,
over its banks. Its high tide mark it
fouted and, like hungry beast, pill
aged corn6eld, truck garden and po-
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 flood
came and the replanted fields were as
bare as desert.
A drought followed in the latter part
of summer, and autumn found a scanty
| ingathering of crops. One late au-
,umn day Silas Weatherbee drove over
to see his brother Simeon at Grab Hol-
| low. Simeon was cutting sorghum
cane. Gotta live mostly on sorghum
'lasses this winter. One thing-they're
good an film" he philosophical.
Got any taters?" asked Silas.
mot a later: Goose creek eat 'em
| all. Amt you?"
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