An Idle Morning on the Farm

Usually we stay in bed until ten o’clock every morning, but one day last week we arose at five; not because we had anything much to do, but we wanted to listen to the killdeers which had recently returned from the south.

As soon as I had started the fire and set the oat meal on to cook, the phone rang. A neighbor wanted to know if my husband could haul some corn to town for him that morning. I said, “No, I think not, he is threshing today, but I will ask him.”

Turning from the phone, I saw the oat meal had boiled over. I hastily set it into the teakettle and wiped off the stove with my handkerchief. Then I started to replenish both fires with cobs when the phone rang again. It startled me so I cut my thumb. The thumb was carefully wrapped, not because it bled or hurt, but for the looks of the thing. All the while the phone rang.

Finally I answered: “Hello, yes, this is Mrs. X. What? Something for us! You cannot keep it there very long? Why not? Yes, I will tell him to come after it right away.”

Oh, dear, the potatoes were burning, so I pushed them over on the hottest part of the stove.

Husband came with the milk. I put the eggs in to boil, threw some more cobs in the stove, then went down cellar to help separate. After fifteen minutes, I returned to the kitchen, and immediately removed the eggs from the kettle as we liked them very soft. Then I filled the two stoves with cobs again.

The phone rang, very insistently. Quickly I answered it, to find that it was the depot again. He said for Mr. X to come after that thing right away, it was worrying him to pieces.

“Oof,” the cook stove blew up and scattered coal black all over everything.

Husband came in to breakfast and sat down in a hurry. “What is the matter with this oat meal? It tastes scorched,’’ he said. “And you forgot to salt these potatoes.”

“Well,” I said, “I am rather flustered this morning, but the eggs are nice and soft.”

“Why are you so flustered?”

“Oh, Mr. Y wants you to haul some corn for him. I said you could”

“Yes, I can, only I was going to plant corn. Anything else?”

“The depot agent called up twice and said he has some freight for us,” I casually remarked. “Something that he can not keep there very long. I told him you would come after it some time to-day.”

“I am glad you waited so long to tell me about it. That was very thoughtful of you. Guess I will haul Y’s corn and bring that out, whatever it is. Do you suppose the wagon will hold it?”

In three minutes he was ready to start. “You can listen to the killdeers as you drive thru the pasture,” I called.

“Not much chance of that, when I have to pull down my ear-flappers to keep my head from freezing,” he answered.

Not being at all excited by the preceding events, or curious about the mysterious freight, I went calmly and efficiently at my work. I fed the chickens, washed the dishes and separator, dressed the two babies, got the little girl off to school, hoed six rows of beans, set dinner on to cook.

In forty-three minutes from the time he started, husband was seen coming down the road. Soon he was at the gate, and was lifting out a little spotted Shetland pony, about three feet high. A wire muzzle covered the pony’s mouth and a heavy wire halter was about his head. A chain was attached to the halter.

“What was the idea of tying him up like that?” I asked.

“He tried to eat everything he saw, and he gnawed his rope off twice,” Husband answered.

“Where did he come from?” I wanted to know.

“There was a cablegram from your father’s aunt’s husband who lives in Italy. He saw our ad in the Diller Record and thought he would send us a nice gentle pony for our little girl to ride to school. The charges on the cablegram and express came to only $3.74 altogether. So I guess we got a bargain.”

This may sound like a yarn, but it is not, because I am English and do not know a joke when I see one, so how could I write one?