Uncle Abner, Master of Mysteries | Page 8

down-now gleaming in his
head as he looked us over, and now dull as he considered what he saw.
The man was misshapen and doubled up, but there was strength and
vigor in him. He had a great, cavernous mouth, and his voice was a sort
of bellow. One has seen an oak tree, dwarfed and stunted into knots,
but with the toughness and vigor of a great oak in it. Gaul was a thing
like that.
He cried out when he saw Abner. He was taken by surprise; and he
wished to know if we came by chance or upon some errand.
"Abner," he said, "come in. It's a devil's night-rain and the driving
wind."
"The weather," said Abner, "is in God's hand."
"God!" cried Gaul. "I would shoestrap such a God! The autumn is not

half over and here is winter come, and no pasture left and the cattle to
be fed."
Then he saw me, with my scared white face-and her was certain that we
came by chance. He craned his thick neck and looked.
"Bub," he said, "come in and warm your fingers. I will not hurt you. I
did not twist my body up like this to frighten children-it was Abner's
God."
We entered and sat down by the fire. The apple tree blazed and
crackled; the wind outside increased; the rain turned to a kind of sleet
that rattled on the window-glass like shot. The room was lighted by two
candles in tall brass candlesticks. They stood at each end of the
mantelpiece, smeared with tallow. The wind whooped and spat into the
chimney; and now and then a puff of wood-smoke blew out and
mounted up along the blackened fireboard.
Abner and the hunchback talked of the price of cattle, of the "blackleg"
among yearlings-that fatal disease that we had so much trouble
with-and of the "lump-jaw."
Gaul said that if calves were kept in small lots and not all together the
"blackleg" was not so apt to strike them; and he thought the "lump-jaw"
was a germ. Fatten the bullock with green corn and put it in a car, he
said, when the lump begins to come. The Dutch would eat it-and what
poison could hurt the Dutch! But Abner said the creature should be
shot.
"And lose the purchase money and a summer's grazing?" cried Gaul.
"Not I! I ship the beast."
"Then," said Abner, "the inspector in the market ought to have it shot
and you fined to boot."
"The inspector in the market!" And Gaul laughed. "Why, I slip him a
greenback-thus!"-and he set his thumb against his palm. "And he is
glad to see me. 'Gaul, bring in all you can,' said one; 'it means a little

something to us both.'" And the hunchback's laugh clucked and
chuckled in his throat.
And they talked of renters, and men to harvest the hay and feed the
cattle in the winter. And on this topic Gaul did not laugh; he cursed.
Labor was a lost art and the breed of men run out. This new set were
worthless-they had hours-and his oaths filled all the rafters. Hours!
Why, under his father men worked from dawn until dark and cleaned
their horses by a lantern...These were decadent times that we were on.
In the good days one bought a man for two hundred eagles; but now the
creature was a citizen and voted at the polls-and could not be kicked.
And if one took his cane and drubbed him he was straightway sued at
law, in an action of trespass on the case, for damages...Men had gone
mad with these newfangled notions, and the earth was likely to grow up
with weeds!
Abner said there was a certain truth in this-and that truth was that men
were idler than their fathers. Certain preachers preached that labor was
a curse and backed it up with Scripture; but he had read the Scriptures
for himself and the curse was idleness. Labor and God's Book would
save the world; they were two wings that a man could get his soul to
Heaven on.
"They can all go to hell, for me," said Gaul, "and so I have my day's
work first."
And he tapped the tree with his great stick and cried out that his
workhands robbed him. He had to sit his horse and watch or they hung
their scythes up; and he must put sulphur in his cattle's meal or they
stole it from him; and they milked his cows to feed their scurvy babies.
He would have their hides off if it were not for these tender laws.
Abner said that, while one saw to his day's work done, he must see to
something more; that a man was his brother's keeper in