Old Caravan Days | Page 2

a child," said grandma Padgett, "and this country one
unbroken wilderness. We came down the Ohio River by flatboat, and
moved into this section when the snow was so deep you could ride
across stake-and-rider fences on the drifts."
"Folks can get around easier now, though," said the squinting neighbor,
"since they got to going on these railroads."
"I shipped part of my goods on the railroad," remarked grandma
Padgett with--a laugh. "But I don't know; I ain't used to the things, and
I don't know whether I'd resk my bones for a long distance or not. Son
Tip went out on the cars."
"The railroads charge so high," murmured a woman near the back
wheels. "But they do say you can ride as far West as you're a goin' on
the cars."
"How long will you be gettin' through?" inquired another.

"Not more than two or three weeks," replied grandma Padgett
resolutely. "It's a little better than three hundred and fifty miles, I
believe."
"That's a long distance," sighed the neighbor at the wheels.
But aunt Corinne and her nephew, untroubled by the length of
pilgrimage before them, ran from the well into the garden.
"I wish the kerns were ripe," said aunt Corinne. "Look out, Bobaday!
You're drabblin' the bottoms of your good pants."
"'Twouldn't do any good if the kerns were ripe," said Bobaday, turning
his pepper-and-salt trousers up until the linings showed. "This farm
ain't ours now, and we couldn't pull them."
Aunt Corinne paused at the fennel bed: then she impulsively stretched
forth her hand and gathered it full.
"I set out these things," said aunt Corinne, "and I ain't countin' them
sold till the wagon starts." So she gathered sweetbrier, and a leaf of
sage and two or three pinks.
"O Bobaday," said aunt Corinne--this name being a childish corruption
of Robert Day: for aunt Corinne two years younger than her nephew,
and had talked baby talk when he prided himself on distinct
English--"you s'pose brother Tip's got a garden like this at the new
place? Oh, the pretty little primroses! Who'll watch them pop open
to-night? How you and me have sat on the primrose bed and watched
the t-e-e-nty buds swell and swell till finally--pop! they smack their lips
and burst wide open!"
"We'll have a primrose bed out West," said Bobaday. "We'll plant
sweet anise too, and have caraway seeds to put in the cakes. Aunt Krin,
did you know grandma's goin' to have green kern pie when we stop for
dinner to-day?"
"I knew there was kern pie made," said aunt Krin. "I guess we better

get into the carriage."
She held her short dress away from the bushes, and scampered with
Bobaday into the yard. Here they could not help stopping on the
warped floor of the porch to look into the empty house. It looked
lonesome already. A mouse had ventured out of the closet by the tall
sitting-room mantel; and a faint outline of the clock's shape remained
on the wall.
The house with its trees was soon fading into the past. The neighbors
were going home by the road or across fields. Zene's wagon, drawn by
the old white and gray, moved ahead at a good pace. It was covered
with white canvas drawn tight over hoops which were held by iron
clamps to the wagon-sides. At the front opening sat Zene, resting his
feet on the tongue. The rear opening was puckered to a round O by a
drawing string. Swinging to and fro from the hind axle, hung the
tar-bucket. A feed box was fitted across the hind end of the wagon.
Such stores as might be piled to the very canvas roof, were concealed
from sight by a black oilcloth apron hanging behind Zene. This sheet of
oilcloth was designed for an additional roof to keep the goods dry when
it rained.
Under the wagon, keeping well away from the tar-bucket, trotted
Boswell and Johnson. Bobaday named them; he had read something of
English literature in his grandfather's old books. Johnson was a fat
black and white dog, who was obliged to keep his tongue out of his
mouth to pant during the greater part of his days. He had fits of
meditation, when Boswell galloped all over him without provoking a
snap. Johnson was, indeed, a most amiable fellow, and had gained a
reputation as a good watch dog, because on light nights he barked the
shining hours away.
Boswell was a little short-legged dog, built like a clumsy weasel; for
his body was so long it seemed to plead for six legs instead of four, to
support it, and no one could blame his back for swaying a little in the
middle. Boswell was a brindled dog. He had yellow spots like pumpkin