214 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 



stool at the end of the heap, puffing away with his pipe, 

 while his hands were busy with the ears. 



&quot; Now, Jake, own up,&quot; said Tucker, &quot; and tell us whether 

 the crop on that lot was ten bushels and three pecks, or 

 three bushels and ten pecks.&quot; 



&quot; It was plump twenty bushels, and no thanks to you 

 either,&quot; said Jake indignantly. &quot; It is enuff to make any 

 man go astarn to have such a hand to work for him as 

 you are. The weeds grew faster than the corn, a mighty 

 sight.&quot; 



These remarks were made at a husking bee on my barn 

 floor a few evenings back. I approve of huskings if they 

 are rightly managed, though they probably do more to 

 promote good neighborhood than they do to help on the 

 farmer s work. They make a pleasant gathering of old 

 friends and neighbors, and sometimes relieve a man in a 

 pinch. The scene was a good deal like that in Whittier s 

 song of the huskers: 



&quot; Swung o er the heaped-up harvest 



From pitchforks in the mow, 

 Shone dimly down the lanterns 



On the pleasant scene below ; 

 The growing pile of husks behind, 



The golden ears before, 

 And laughing eyes and busy hands, 



And brown cheeks glimmering o er. 



Half hidden in a quiet nook, 



Serene of look and heart, 

 Talking their old times over, 



The old men sat apart ; 

 While up and down the unhusked pile, 



Or nestling in its shade, 

 At hide-and-seek with laugh and shout, 



The happy children played.&quot; 



You see, Whittier is an old fellow down in Massachu 

 setts, that writes songs, and once in a while he touches up 

 the farmers as well as the negroes. I suppose it is be 

 cause he thinks they are both rather sad cases, and need 

 sympathy. Mrs. Bunker says he is the best ballad maker 



