Gonzales Reform. (Gonzales, Tex.), Vol. 8, No. 44, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 17, 1912 Page: 3 of 8
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I
V
J
1
tMISS MINEm
and wfrs
WILLIAM GREEN MlT
^Frances Boyd Calhoun
(Copyright, by Reilly & Britton Co.)
CHAPTER—X.—Continued.
That part of the Ladies' Aid Society
"which lived in West Covington was
•bearing down upon them.
"Yonder's our mamas and Miss
Minerva," he whispered. "Now look
"what a mess Billy's done got us in;
he all time got to perpose someping
to get chillens in trouble and he all
time got to let grown folks ketch
'em."
"Aren't you ashamed to tell such a
story, Jimmy Garner?" cried Frances.
■""Billy didn't propose any such thing.
" 'Tain't no use to run," advised
Jimmy. "They're too close and done
already see us. We boun' to get what's
coming to us anyway, so you might
jus' as well, make 'em think you ain't
'fraid of 'em. Grown folks got to all
time think little boys and girls 'r'
skeered of 'em, anyhow."
"Aunt Minerva'U sho' put me to bed
this time," said Billy. "Looks like
<ev'y day I, gotter go to bed."
"Mother will make me study the
catechism all day tomorrow," said
Lina dismally.
"Mama'll lock me up in the litjtle
•closet under the stairway," said Pran-
ces,
"My mama'll gimme 'bout a million
licks and try to take all the hide off
o' me," said Jimmy; "but we done had
a heap of fun."
It was some hours later. Billy's
■aunt had ruthlessly clipped the turkey
feathers from his head, taking the
hair off in great patches. She had
then boiled his scalp, so the little boy
thought, in her efforts to remove the
mucilage. Now, shorn of his locks
and of some of his courage, the child
was sitting quietly by her side, listen-
ing to a superior moral lecture and
Indulging in a compulsory heart-to-
heart talk with his relative.
"I don't see that it does you any
^ood, William, to put you to bed."
"I don' see as it do neither," agreed
Billy.
"I can not whip you; I am constitu-
tionally opposed to corporal punish-
ment for children."
"I's 'posed to it too," he assented.
"I believe I will hire a servant, so
that I may devote my entire time to
your training.
This prospect for the future did
not appeal to her nephew. On the
contrary it filled him with alarm.
"A husband 'd be another sight
1 he declared with, —-e&epg-y-j
""he'd be a heap mo' 'count to you'n a
cook, Aunt Minerva. There's that
Major "
"You will never make a preacher
•of yourself, William, unless you im-
prove."
The child looked up at her with as-
tonishment; this was the first he
knew of his being destined for the
ministry.
"A preacher what 'zorts an' calls
up mourners?" he said,—"not on yo'
tin-type. Me an' Wilkes Booth Lin-
coln—" '
"How many times have I expressed
the wish not to have you bring that
negro's name into the' conversation?"
she impatiently interrupted.
"I don' perzactly know, 'm," he an-
swered good humoredly, " 'bout fifty
hunderd, I reckon. Anyways, Aunt
Minerva, I ain't goin' to be no preach-
er. When I puts on long pants I's
goin' to be a Confedrit Vet'run an'
kill 'bout fifty hunderd Yankees an'
Injuns, like my Major man."
and God and Santa Claus ain't kin
to me."
"And the Bible says, 'Love your
kin-folks,' Miss Cecilia 'splained—"
"I use to like my Uncle Doc' heap
better'n what I do now," went on the
little girl, heedless of Jimmy's inter-
ruption, "till I went with daddy to his
office one day. And what you reckon
that man's got in his office? .He Is
got a dead man 'thout no meat nor
clo'es on, nothing a tall but just his
bones."
"Was he a hant?" asked Billy. "I
like the Major best—he's got meat
on."
"Naw; he didn't have no sheet on—
just bones," was the reply.
"No sheet on; no meat on!" chir-
ruped Billy, glad of the rhyme. I
"Was he a angel, Florence?" ques-
tioned Frances.
"Naw; he didn't have no harp and
no wings neither."
"It must have been a skeleton,"
explained Lina.
"And Uncle Doc' just keep that
poor man there and won't let him go
to Heaven where dead folks b'longs/'
"I spec' he wasn't a good man 'fore
he died and got to go to the Bad
place," suggested Frances.
"I'll betcher he never asked God
to forgive him when he 'cefved his
papa and sassed his mama,"—this
from Jimmy,—"and Doctor Sanford's
just a-keeping old Satan from getting
him to toast on a pitchfork."
"I hope they'll have a Christmas
tree at Sunday-School next Christ-
mas," said Frances, harking back,
"and I hope I'll get a heap o' things
like I did last Christmas. Poor little
Tommy Knott he's so skeered he
wasn't going to get nothing at all on
the tree so' he got him a great, big,
red apple an' he wrote on a piece o'
paper 'From Tommy Knott to Tommy
Knott,' and tied it to the apple and
put it on the tree for hi'self."
"Let's ask riddles," suggested Lina.
"All right," shouted Frances, "I'm
going to ask the first."
"Naw; you ain't neither," objected
Jimmy. "You all time got to ask the
first riddle. I'm going to ask the first
one—
" 'Round as a biscuit, busy as a bee,
Prettiest little thing you ever did
see?' 'A watch.'
" 'Humpty Dumpty set on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,
-~Aii-nr!ra~kmg^h'0rses ana all^The
king's men.
Can't put Humpty Dumpty back
i again.' 'A egg.'
" 'Round as a ring, deep as a cup,
All the king's horses can't pull it
up.' "A well.'
" 'House full, yard full, can't ketch—' "
"Hush, Jimmy!" cried Lina, in dis-
gust. "You don't know how to ask
riddles. You must n't give the an-
swers, too. Ask one riddle at a time
and let some one else answer it:
" T wa'nt no efciraly *e It. "
up? Give it up?" the little girl
laughed gleefully. "Well, he just broke
out with measles."
"It is Billy's time," said Lina, who
seemed to be mistress of ceremonies.
"Tabernicle learnt this here one at
school; see if y'all can guess it: 'Tab-
by had four kittens but Stillshee did-
n't have none 't all.' "
"I don't see no sense a tall in that,"
argued Jimmy, " 'thout some bad little
boys drowned 'em." »
"T&bby was a cat," explained the
other boy, "and she had four kittens;
and Stillshee was a little girl, and she
didn't have no kittens 't all."
"What's this," asked Jimmy: " 'A
man rode 'cross a bridge and Fido
walked?' Had a little dog name' Fi-
do."
"You didn't ask that right, Jimmy,"
said Lina, "you always get things
wrong. The riddle is, 'A man rode
across the bridge and Yet he walked,'
and the answer is, 'He had a little dog
named Yet who walked across the
bridge.'" .
"Well, I'd 'nother sight ruther have
a little dog name' Fido," declared Jim-
my. "I little dog name' Yet and a
little girl name' Stillshee ain't got no
sense a tall to it."
Walking gracefully and Jauntily W
the, aisle to the spot' where the lec-
;urer was standing by a broad table,
le held out his slim, little hand.
Jimmy looked at these proceedings
Jsf Billy's in astonishment, not com-
prehending at all. He was rather in-
iignant that the older boy had not
confided in him and invited his par
iicipation.
But Jimmy was not the one to sit
calmly by and be ignored when there
I was anything doing, so he slid awk-
wardly from the bench before Miss
f Minerva knew what he was up to.
Signaling Frances to follow, he swag-
gered pompously behind Billy and he,
too, held out a short, fat hand to the
minister.
The speaker smiled benignly down
iipon them; lifting them Up in his
irms he stood the little boys u^on
he table. He thought the touching
ight of these innocent and tender
ittle orphans would empty the pock-
ts of the audience. Billy turned , red
ith embarrassment at his conspicu-
us position, while Jimmy grinned
Jiappily at the amused congregation,
orrified Miss Minerva half rose to
er feet, but decided to remain where
she was. She was a timid woman
and did not know what course she
CHAPTER XI.
Now Riddle Me This.
The children were sitting in the
swing. Florence Hammer, a little
girl whose mother was spending the
day at Miss Minerva's, was with
them.
"Don't you-all wish Santa Claus had
his birthday right now 'stead 'o wait-
ing till Christmas to hang up our
stockings?" asked Frances.
"Christmas isn't Santa Claus' birth-
day," corrected Lina. "God was born
on Christmas and that's the reason
we hang up our stockings."
"Yes; it's old Santa's birthday,
too," argued Jimmy, " 'cause it's in
the Bible and Miss Cecilia 'splained
It to me and she 'bout the dandiest
'splainer they is."
"Which you'all like the best: God or
Doctor Sanford or Santa Claus?"
asked Florence.
"I like God 'nother sight better'n I
do anybody,'' declared Jimmy, " 'cause
He so forgivingsome. He's 'bout the
torgivingest- person they is. Santa
Claus can't let you go to Heaven nor
Doctor Sanford neither, nor our papas
and mamas nor Miss Minerva. Now
"wouldn't we be in a pretty fix if we
liad to 'pend on Doctor Sanford or
Santa Claus to forgive you every time
you run off or fall down and bust your
breeches. Naw; gimme God ev'y
time." ^
"I like Santa Claus the best," de-
clared Frances, " 'cause he isn't f'r-
ever getting in your way, and hasn't
any castor oil like Doctor Sanford,
and you don't f'rever have to be tell-
ing him you're sorry you did what you
did, and he hasn't all time got one
eye on you eiither, like God, and got
to follow you 'round. And Santa Claus
don't all time Say, 'Shet your eyes
and open your mouth,' like Doctor
Sanford, 'and poke out your tongue.'"
"1 like Doctor Sanford the best,"
•aid Florence,
" 'As I was going through a field of
wheat
I picked up something good to eat,
'Twas neither fish nor flesh nor
bone,
I kept it till it ran alone?'"
"A snake! A snake!" guessed Flor-
ence. "That's a easy riddle."
"Snake, nothing!" scoffed Jimmy,
"you can't eat a snake. 'Sides Lina
wouldn't 'a picked up a snake. Is
it a little baby rabbit, Lina?"
"It was neither fish nor flesh nor
bone," she declared; "and a rabbit is
flesh and bone."
"Then it's boun' to be a apple," was
MflL. !>.
'Why should a hangman wear susf~ gjjght to pursue. Besides, she had
'I'll bet no- just caught the Major's smile.
And how long have you been an
orphan?" the preacher was asking of
Billy. *
"Ever sence me an' Wilkes Booth
Lincoln's born," sweetly1 responded
the child.
'I 'bout the orphantest boy they
^s," volunteered Jimmy.
Frances, responding to the latter's
invitation, had crawled over her fath-
er's legs before he realized what was
happening. She, too, went smiling
penders?" , asked Lina.
body can answer that."
"To keep his breeches from falling
off," triumphantly answered Frances.
"No, ybu goose, a hangman should"
wear suspenders so that he'd always^
have a gallows handy.'
CHAPTER XII.
In the House of the Lord.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning.
The pulpit of the Methodist Church
I
A'"W.t>OWU»
I'
"No Meat Nor Clo'ese On, Nothing but
Just His Bones."
Jimmy's next guess; "that ain't no
fiesh and blood and it's good to eat."
"An apple can't run alone," she
triumphantly answered. "Give it up?
Well, it was'' an egg and it hatched to
a chicken. Now, Florence, you ask
one."
"S'pose a man was locked up in a
house," she asked, "how'd he get
out?"
"Clam' outer a winder," guessed
Billy.
" 'T wa'n't no winder to the house,"
she declared.
"Crawled out th'oo the chim'ly, like
'causo he 3 my uncle, [Santa Claus," was Billy's next guess.
"My Father and Mother AiJ
was not occupied by its regular pas-
tor, Brother Johnson. Instead, a Rav-
eling minister, collecting funds forii
church orphanage in Memphis,
va rarely missed a service in her own
church. She was always on hand at
the Love Feast and the Missionary
Rally and gave liberally of her means
to every cause. She was sitting in
her own pew between Billy and Jim-:
my, Mr. and Mrs. Garner having re-
mained at home. Across the aisle from
\
Sitting Right There."
|kvn the aisle, her stiff white dress
mding straight up in the back like
^strutting gobbler's tail. She grabbed
plji of the' man's hand, and was
Dtfy Hf-ted t-: (lio +*.K'
i^aas City Star.
lence. Presently Jimmy fcroke fcli®
quiet by remarking:
"Don't you all feel sorry for ©!d
Miss Pollie Bumpus? She liv® all
by herself, and she 'bout a million
years old, and Doctor Sanford ain't
never brung her no chillens 'cause she
'ain't got. 'er no husban' to be their
papa, and she got a octopus in her
head, and she poor as a post and deaf
as Job's old turkey-hen."
"Job's old turkey-hen wasn't deaf,"
retorted Lina primly; "she was very,
very poor and thin."
"She was deaf, too," insisted Jim-
my, " 'cause it's in the Bible. I know
all 'bout Job," bragged he.
"I know all 'bout Job, too," chirped
Frances.
"Job, nothing!" said Jimmy, with
a sneer; "you all time talking 'bout
you know all 'bout Job; you 'bout
the womanishest little girl they is.
Now I know Job 'cause Miss Cecilia
'splained all 'bout him to me. He's
in the Bible and he sold his birth-
mark for a mess of potatoes and—"
"You never can get anything right,
Jimmy," interrupted Lina; "that was
Esau and it was not his birthmark,
it was his birthstone; and he sold his
birthstone for a mess of potash.'"
"Yes," agreed Frances; "he saw
Esau kissing Kate and Esau had to
sell him his birthstone to keep his
mouth shut."
"Mother read me all about Job,"
continued Lina; "he was afflicted with
boils and his wife knit him a Job's
comforter to wrap around him, and
he—"
"And fee sat under a 'tato vine,"
put in Frances eagerly, "what God
grew to keep the sun off o' his boils
and—"
"That was Jonah," said Lina, "and
it wasn't a potato vine; it was—"
"No, 't wasn't Jonah neither; Jonah
is inside of a whale's bel—"
"Frances!"
"Stommick," Frances corrected her-
self, "and a whale swallow him, and
how's he' going to sit under a pump-
kin vine when he's inside of a
whale ?"
"It was not a pumpkin vine, it—"
"And' I'd jus' like to see a man in-
side of a whale a-setting under a
morning-glory vine."
"The whale vomicked him up," said
Jimmy.
"What sorter thing is a octopus like
what, y'all say is in Miss Pollie Bum-
pus's head?" asked Billy.
" 'Tain't a octopus, it's a polypus,"
explained Frances, " 'cause she's
named Miss Pollie. It's a someping
that grows in your nose and has to
be named what you's named. She's
named Miss Pollie and she's got a
polypus."
"I'm mighty glad -my mama ain't
got no Eva-pus in her head," was
Jimmy's comment. "Ain't you glad,
Billy, your Aunt Minerva ain't got
no Miss Minerva-pus?"
"I sho' is," fervently replied Miss
Minerva's nephew; "she's hard 'nough
to manage now like she is."
""MUBrf -'" —
to Miss Pollie,"
. ,, to manaj
, . T Im
Tears stood in ^ E°l° take her someping
the preachers eyes as he tnrned gQod {o eat ,mQSt every day , took
•Vd ruther to git whipped fifty Eras*
derd times 'n to hafter go to bed in?
the daytime with Aunt Minerva l»ok-
in' at you. An' her specs can aea
right th'oo you plumb to the kma
Naw, I can't come over there 'fc^yse
she made me promise not to. I ain't
never go back on my word yit."
"I hope mama won't never ask me
to promise her nothing a tall, 'cause
I'm mighty curious 'bout forgetting. I
'spec' I'm the most forgettingest little
boy they is. But I'm so glad I'm so
good. I ain't never going to be bad
no more; so you might just as well
quit begging me to come over and
swing, you needn't ask me no more,—
'tain't no use a tall."
"I ain't a-begging you," cried Billy
contemptuously, "you can set on yo'
mammy's grass where you is, an' be
good from now tell Jedgement Day an'
't won't make no change in my busi-'
ness."
"I ain't going to be 'ticed into no
meanness, 'cause I'm so good," con-
tinued the reformed one, after a short
silence during which he had seen
Sarah Jane turn her back to him,
"but I don't b'lieve it'll be no harm
jus' to come over and set in the swing
with you; maybe I can 'fluence you
to be good like me and keep you from
'ticing little boys into mischief. I
think I'll just come over and set a
while and help you to be good," and
he started to the fence. Sarah Jane
turned around in time to frustrate his
plans.
"You git right back, Jimmy," she
yelled, "you git erway f'om dat-ar
fence an' quit confabbin' wid dat-ar
Willyum. Fixin' to make some mo*
Injuns out o'. yo-selfs, ain't yeh, or
some yuther kin' o' skeercrows?"
Billy strolled to the other side of
the big yard and climbed up and got
on the tall gate post. A stronger,
coming from the opposite direction,
stopped and spoke to him. I
"Does Mr. John Smith live here?"
he asked.
"Naw, sir," was the reply; "don't na|
Mr. 'tall live here; jest me an' Aunt
Minerva, an' s'n? turns up her nose
at anything that wears pants."
"And where could I find ycur Aunt!
Minerva?" the stranger's grin was in-
gratiating and agreeable.
"Why, this here's Monday," the lit-
tle 'boy exclaimed. "Of course she's
at the Aid; all the 'omans roun' here
goes to the Aid on Monday."
"Your aunt is an old friend of
mine," went on the man, "and I knew
she was at the Aid. I just wanted to
find out if you'd tell the truth about
her. Some little boys tell stories, but
I am glad to find out you are so truth-
ful. My name is Mr. Algernon Jones
and I'm glad to know you. Shake!
Put it there, partner," and the fasci-
nating stranger held out a grimy paw.
Billy smiled down from his perch
at him and thought he had never met
such a pleasant man. If he was such
an old friend of nis aunt's maybe she
would not object to him because he
wore p. nts, he thought. Maybe she
for a husband.
to the tittering audience and said in
a pathetic voice, "Think of it, my
friends, this beautiful little girl has
no mother."
Poor Mrs. Black! A hundred pairs
her sat Frances Black, between hereof eyes sought her pew and focused
t themselves upon the pretty young
,4woman sitting there, red, angry, and
/shamefaced. Mr. Black was visibly
I amused and could hare'J,y keep from
Stlaughing aloud.
As Frances passed by the Hamil-
father and mother; two pews in front
of her were Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton,
with Lina on the outside next the
aisle. The good Major was there,
too; it was the only place he could
depend upon-for seeing Miss Minerva.
The preacher, after an earnest and J tons' pew in her promenade down the
eloquent discourse from the text, "He laisle, Mrs. Hamilton leaned across her
will remember the fatherless," closed > husban,d and made an attempt to
the big Bible with a bang calculated ^clutch Lina; but she was too late;
to wake up any who might be sleep-
ing. He came down from the pulpit
and stood close to his hearers as he
made his last pathetic appeal.
"My own heart," said he, "goes out i
to every orphan child, for in the yel-
low fever epidemic of '78, when but
two years old, I lost both father and
mother. If there are any little orphan
children here today, I should be glad
if they would come up to the front
and shake hands with me."
Now Miss Minerva always faithful-
ly responded to every proposal made
by a preacher; it was a part of her
religious conviction. At revivals she
was ever a shining, if solemn and aus-
tere, light. When a minister called
for all those who .wanted to go to
Heaven to rise,^ she was always the
first one on her fe,et. If he asked
to see the raised hands of those" who
were members of the church at the
tender age of ten years, Miss Miner-
ya's thin, long arm gave a prompt re-
sponse. On when a celebrated
evangelist w, a holding a big pro-
tracted meeting under canvas in the
town and had asked those who had
read the book of Hezekiah in the
Bible to stand up, Miss Minerva on
one side of the big tent and her de-
voted lover on the other side were
among the few who had risen to their
feet. She had read the good book
from cover to cover, from Genesis to
Revelation over and over so she
thought she had read Hezekiah a
score of times.
So now, when the preacher called
for little orphans to come forward,
she leaned down and whispered to
her nephew, "Go up to the front, Wil-
liam, and shake hands with the nice
kind preacher."
"Wha' fer?" he asked. "I don't want
to go up there; ev'ybody here'll look
right at me."
"Are there no little orphans here?"
the minister was saying. "I want to
shake the hand of any little child
who has had the misfortune to lose its
parents."
"Go on, William," commanded his
aunt. "Go shake hands with the
preacher."
The little boy again demurred but,
Miss Minerva insisting, he obediently
slipped by her and by his chum.
already that dignified little "orphan*
tlwas gliding with stately, conscious
t tread to join the others. This was too
^much for the audience. A few boys
laughed out and for the first time
the preacher's suspicions were
aroused. As he clasped Lina's slender,
graceful little hand he asked:
, * "And you have no father or mother,
brittle girl?"
"Yes, I have, too," she angrily re-
torted. "My father and mother are
sitting right there," and she pointed
a slim forefinger to her crimson, em-
barrassed parents.
CHAPTER XIII.
Job and Pollie Bumpus.
"I never have told a down-right
falsehood," said Lina. "Mother taught
me how wicked it is to tell stories
Did you ever tell a fib to your mother,
Frances?"
" 'Tain't no use to try to 'ceive my
mama," was the reply1 of the other
little girl; "she's got such gimlet eyes
and ears she can tell with 'em shut
if you're fibbing. I gave up hope
long ago, so I just go 'long and tell
her the plain gospel truth when she
asks me, 'cause I know those gimlet
eyes and ears of hers 're going to
worm it out o' -me somehow."
"Grown folks pin 'you down so close
sometimes," said Jimmy, "you bound
to 'varicate a little; and I always tell
God I'm sorry. I tell my mama the
truth 'most all time 'cepting when
she asks questions 'bout things ain't
none of her business a tall, and she
all time want to know 'Who done it?'
and if I let on it's me, I know she'll
wear out all the slippers and hair-
brushes they is paddling my canoe,
j)V]'sides switches, zo I jus' say 'I do'
j j know, 'm'—which all time ain't per-
3 zactly the truth. You ever tell Miss
ai Minerva stories, Billy?"
"Aunt Cindy always says, 'twa'n't
no harm h all to beat 'bout the bush
an' try to th'ow folks offer the track
'long as you can, but if it come to
the point where you got to tell a out-
an'-out fib, she say for me always to
tell the truth, an' I jest nachelly do
like she say ever sence I's born," re-
plied Billy.
her two pieces of pie this morning; I
ate 'one piece on the way and she
£imme the other piece when I got
there. I jus' don't believe she could
get 'long at all 'thout me to carry her
the good things to eat that my mama
send her; I takes her pies all the
time; she says they're the best smell-
ing pies she smelt."
"You 'bout the piggiest girl they
is," said Jimmy, "all time got to eat
up .a poor old woman's pies. You'll
have a Frances-pus in your stomach
first thing you know."
"She's got a horn that you talk
th'oo," continued the little girl, serene-
ly contemptuous of Jimmy's adverse
criticism, "and 'fore I knew how you
talk into it, she says to me one day,
'How's your ma?' and stuck that old
horn at me; so I put it to my ear, too,
and there we set; she got one end of
the horn, to her ear and 1 got the
other end to my ear; so when I saw
this wasn't going to work I took it
and blew into it; you-all'd died a-
laughing to see the way I did. But
now I can talk th'oo it's good's any-
body."
"That is an ear trumpet, Frances,"
said Lina; "it is not a horn."
"Let's play 'Hide the Switch,'" sug-
gested Billy.
"I'm going to hide it first," cried
Frances.
"Naw, you ain't," objected Jimmy,
'you all time got to hide the switch
first. I'm going to hide it first my-
self."
"No, I'm going to say 'William Com
Trimbleton,' " said Frances, "and see
who's going to hide it first. Now you-
all spraddle out your fingers."
. JOIl*2»
Billy almost hoped
that she would hurry home from the
Aid, he wanted to see the two togeth-
er so.
"Is you much of a cusser?" he asked
solemnly, " 'cause if you is you'll
hafter cut it out on these premises."
Mr. Jones seemed much surprised
and hurt at the question.
"An oath never passed these lips,"
replied the truthful gentleman.
"Can you churn?"
"Churn—churn?" with a reminis-
cent smile, "1 can churn like a
top."
Jimmy was dying of curiosity, but
the gate was ■ too far away for him to
do more than catch a word now and
then. It was also out of Sarah Jane's
visual line, so she knew nothing of
the stranger's advent.
"And you're here all by yourself?"
insinuated Billy's new friend. "And
the folks next door, where are they?"
"Mrs. Garner's at the Aid, an' Mr.
Garner's gone to Memphis. That is
"She's Got
a Horn That
Through."
You Talk
CHAPTER XIV.
Mr. Algernon Jones.
Again it was Monday, with the
Ladies Aid Society in session. Jimmy
was sitting on the grass in his own
front yard, in full view of Sarah Jane,
who was ironing clothes in her cabin
with strict orders to keep him at
home. Billy was in the swing in Miss
Minerva's yard.
"Come on over," he invited.
"I can't," was the reply across the
fence, "I'm so good now I 'bout got
'ligion; I reckon I'm going to be a
mish'nary or a pol'tician, one or
t'other when I'm a grown-up man
'«?ause I'm so good; I ain't got
but five whippings this week.
I been good ever since I let
you 'suade me to play Injun. I'm
the goodest boy in this town, I 'spec'.
Sometimes I get scared 'bout being
so good 'cause I hear a woman say
if you too good, you feoing to die or
you ain't got no* sense, oace. You
come on over here; you ain't trying
to be good like" what I'm trying, and
Miss Minerva don't never do nothing
a tall to you 'cepting put you to
The children &w»n« awhile La ai- I fcea."
they little boy a-settin' in they yard
on they grass," answered the child.
"I've come to fix your Aunt Miner-
va's water pipe," said the truth-lovina
Mr. Jones. "Come, show me the way;
I'm the plumber."
"In the bath room?" asked the
child. "I didn't know it needed no
fixin'."
He led the agreeable plumber
through the hall, down the long back
porch to the bath room, remarking:
"I'll jes' watch you work." And h»
seated himself in the only chair.
Here is where Billy received one of!
greatest surprises of his life.
The fascinating stranger grabbed hin*
with a rough hand and hissed:
"Don't you dare open your mouth
or I'll crack your head open and scat-
ter your brains. 111 eat you alivo.
The fierce, bloodshot eyes, which
had seemed so laughing and merry
before., now glared into those of the
little boy a6 the man took a stout cord
from his pocket, bound Billy to the
chair and gagged him with a largo
bath towel. Energetic Mr. Jones took
the key out of the door, shook his fist
at the child, and went out, and locked
r.he door behind him.
<TO BE ^COWTINUEIS-i
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Arno, Carl. Gonzales Reform. (Gonzales, Tex.), Vol. 8, No. 44, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 17, 1912, newspaper, October 17, 1912; Gonzales, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth403999/m1/3/?q=Lamar+University: accessed June 9, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .