The Abandoned Farmer

ything out of the ordinary, for there are times, as Marion says, when it is well for one to neither affirm nor deny the truth. Why it is wrong for me to voice a just

instinct is invariably[Pg 184] to be depended upon; also, that the less I express my admiration for what I have written, the more open and unrestrained her appreciation will become. Consequently, although when the first of the Uncle Benny sketches appeared in print I laughed

and foolish. I had no wish to add to the sum of human wisdom and culture, but it was a delight to me that Uncle Benny made people merrier. Paul, at the age of seven, William Wedder, three score years older, were equally infatuated. On Saturday mornings Paul would insist upon having Uncle Benny read aloud to him during breakfast, then he would carry off the paper to peruse it himself at leisure, while William could ill conceal his impatience at having to await his turn. Most authors read their own works aloud, in public, to their friends, or in the family circle; I do not. It is only fair to state that I might not have reached this exalted plane but for

m's head, and he straightened himself up when he had recovered his equilibrium and looked at me with flushed cheeks and a foolish smile, making no attempt at explanation. Did I ask for one? Certainly not. I begged his pardon and hastened to get the liniment as if it was a most reprehensible act of mine to open the door without [Pg 187]warning. I felt angry and humiliated that he had placed me in such an

ound that it was the reading of Uncle Benny that had attracted the dear

' to my mind as raspberry pies is to my stomach. She do read most beautiful, and when I hear Master Paul c

. But I ceased to enjoy his enthusiasm when it threatened to become a mania, for he unbosomed himself one day of a plan he had made to go to the city to make the personal acquaintance of Uncle Benny at the Observer office. I tried to dislodge this idea, showing h

run me out for thinking he was a old man like me. He says it aint none of my business how old you be and what you look like. He says your blame curiosity William might land you in the police cells. Now as far as I can make out you must be well up in years and you write darn good stories. Now I got one or two good stories about the boss that is too good to keep. He aint a regular farmer and he don't know much about w

IAM W

g

time to think it over before I reached home I concluded to preserve my incognito by ignoring the matter; besides, I was exceptional

nd when I got within sight I saw my hired man and Peter Waydean walking

as been living on my field peas, and I believe

tle has broke down the fence and got into my

he hadn't actually seen my hens at work, he admitted, but they must have done the damage. In rebuttal, William contended that our fowl

corn-stalks?"

w peas?" ret

feelings by paying for the damage, but instead, I found myself resenting the imputation that my hens, brought up from the shell to habits of virtue and propriety, could be guilty of such dishonesty. Still, my tone was calm and my

nd of proof you'll get is to have them hens come home without their feathers on if I catch them in my fields. I've a bit of news for you," he went on, with a grin of satisfaction. "I've had two good

viously unsuspicious that I was a bidder, and when I assured him t

I'll sell to whichever of them two men wants to live on

g

ry up in closing the bargain, but I tried to look as if my smile were forced

tiny shirts that Paul had worn in his infancy I could not smile at the fascinating absurdity of their appearance and the consternation of their friends and relatives. It was only too clear why Peter had not carried out his threat of going to the city that day to clos

k of the county. Let me catch one of his critters on this side of the fence, and he won't be able