162 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March i, 1902. 
- — <$> — 
The Courtship of Ebenezer Saunders 
"No, Hi, ther' ent no use tryin' t' git 'roaund hit, I'm 
lunsome. I'm doggon lunsome," Ebenezer Saunders de- 
clared in tones of absolute conviction. "Hit's all 'long 
o' Satan, I reck'n. Sence that air mule hung hisself 
hit's been so doggon still 'raound yere I kin most hear 
myself snore at night. An' what's wusser, nuthin' ever 
happens. Naow, when Satan was hvin' I never knowed 
what was goin' t' happen next. He was plum full of ac- 
tion from them long ears o' hisn to his hind heels— 
specially his heels. Hi ganny! want he a kicker, tho? 
Spot here," he indicated with a nod an homely black and 
white cur lying at his feet, "he's the only live thing on the 
place, but he ent no more like Satan than a chipmunk's 
like a wildcat. No, hit's deader 'n Satan hisself 'raound 
yere, an' I'm gittin' doggon lunsome, hi ganny." 
"I s'pose the old bay mare I sold you all is sort o' 
too stiddy, eh?" Hiram Meeks ventured by way of condo- 
lence. 
"Stiddy? She's stiddier than a blind caow," Saunders 
scornfully replied. "That bay mare, Hi, meanin' no on- 
respect t' you all, even ef y' did git the best of me in the 
bargain, that bay mare. Hi, is too lazy t' die. Don't 
hev t' nail up no gates fer her. I jest lay daown a fence 
rail on the graound an' she's too lazy t' step over hit. 
Nuthin' but a split rail, by Godfrey Simpson Daniels, 
s' help me, cross my heart. She makes hit lunsomer — 
sort o' like a undertaker at a fun'ral. Nope, ther' ent 
nuthin' kin take Satan's place. I'm off my feed, an" 
tobaccer don't taste right, an' lastly — as the parson sez — 
somethin's got t' be did, hi ganny." 
They were seated on the old water-trough, Saunders' 
favorite loafing place, and ever and anon their gaze wan- 
dered from the neglected barnyard to the most remote 
corner of the small farm where, beneath the shade of the 
trees, an unique head board, bearing a simple legend 
scrawled upon its rough face, marked the spot where 
lay all that was left of a certain black mule of quondam 
notoriety. 
"That's as fur as I ever git," Saunders continued, 
mournfully. "When it comes t' doin' somethin' I'm plum 
flabbergasted — that's the word, plum flabbergasted." 
Just then the sound of a horse's hoof beats on the 
stony roadway that passed Saunders' gate reached their 
ears, and the two men slowly turned their beads in the 
direction of the sound. 
"Hit's Sam Hawkins," Hiram announced, as an 
horseman appeared around a turn in the road. 
Hawkins — for it was he — was astride a small, piebald 
pony. This pony seemed to have trouble in lifting its 
feet very far off the ground, consequently its progress 
was interrupted by every slight obstruction in its path. 
It stumbled ever once in so often with persistent regu- 
larity. To add to the difficulties, the man was much too 
large for the pony and his legs depended so far on either 
side of the saddle that when the pony stumbled a little 
too far forward the man's feet struck the ground with a 
sudden quick jolt. This gave a peculiar billowy motion 
to the rider's progress, and nothing save long practice 
could have enabled him to retain his seat so uncon- 
cernedly. As he came opposite Saunders and Hiram, he 
reined in his steed with a sharp jerk and a loud, "Whoa 
thar, y' little fool." 
"Howdy, Eb! Hello, Hi!" he called out in cheerful 
tones. "What's the news?". 
"Howdy, Sam," Saunders responded. "Ther' ent no 
news." _ ("Ain't never any sence Satan hung hisself," he 
added, in an aside to Hiram.) "Won't y' come in an' rest 
awhile?" 
"Don't care ef I do," Hawkins made answer. He 
slowly dismounted, tossed the bridle rein over the branch 
of a tree nearby, and joined the other two men at the 
water-trough. 
"What you all chinnin' 'baout?" he inquired. 
"Nuthin' much," Saunders replied. "Jest sittin' here 
an' chawin.' How's folks?" 
"O, tol'able, tol'able. We got a new kid, f know." 
"So? Y' don't say. Which 'tis? boy or girl?" 
"Both. I meant t' say they was twins. Come night 
fore last." 
He fumbled in his pocket and drew forth a small, dirty 
looking piece of tobacco. 
"Got any chewin'?" he asked. "Reck'n I'd better save 
this fer on the way hum." 
Hiram produced a huge black "twist," which he ten- 
dered to the other, remarking as he did so: 
"Why don't you all git a fresh piece t' carry 'raound? 
raid" n Carry1 "' that air ° ne sence the Wri ght caounty 
Hawkins bore this broad insinuation with unruffled 
composure. This well known weakness of his for using 
another mans tobacco when he could possibly save his 
own was not peculiar to himself alone. 
. The three men sat for some time with silently workinsr 
jaws before venturing a remark. Hiram was the first 
<o break the spell. 
"Say, Sam, what do you s'pose?" said he. "Eb's lun 
some. " 
t P S W S n ^ Star t d ^ at Saunder 1 s wit h newly awakened in- 
terest, as though he expected such a strange complaint 
to manifest itself by some outward, visible sign 
luns^mTEb?" ^ incredulousl y- *% you all 
th7 D r r f en - 1 Tr^' , 1, 1 f aUnder l 1 f Verred ' tryin £ M to look 
field'wgann y> ^ * * * corn 
^What fer?" Hawkins asked. 
Fer Satan," Hiram quickly interposed, anxious to dis 
play his knowledge of affairs. 0 ais 
"Fer Satan," Hawkins exclaimed prio-;,^ 1 
from his friend. "Eb, that comS of SmS* ™ &y 
religion. The Scripture tells us— " ^ " P y ° re 
"You're barkm' up the wrong tree Sim " tt„, 1 ■ 
"You all orter git married," Hawkins unhesitatingly 
declared, when all the facts had been laid before him. 
It was Saunders' turn to show his amazement. 
"Married? Me married?" he almost gasped. "Man, 
.you're crazy. Listen to that, Hi. Sam sez I orter git 
married," and Saunders burst into a loud guffaw, in which 
Hiram joined. 
Hawkins said nothing, but waited placidly until their 
mirth had subsided. 
'T know what I'm talkin' 'baout," he affirmed, dispas- 
sionately. "When it comes to excitement an' stirrin' 
things up a mule ent a circumstance to a woman. I got 
Scripture t' prove hit, ef I didn't know from my own 
'sperience. Ther' ent but one mule specially mentioned 
in the Bible, an' that was the mule belongin' t' Balaam, 
but the hull book's full o' the onusual doin's of women 
folks, startin' with Eve fust. They ent no dif'rent naow 
'n what they was then. I reck'n I orter know. Ent I 
been hitched up three times a'ready?" 
This argument had a sobering effect upon the other 
two. 
"I reck'n ther's some sense in what Sam sez," Hiram 
at length observed. 
"Mebbe ther' is," Saunders rejoined, "but talk's cheap, 
I'm over sixty year old, an' ef I wanted t' git married — 
which I ent sayin' as I does — but ef I wanted to, who'd 
hev me? The sayin' of hit's easy 'nuff, but the doin's 
dif'rent some, hi ganny." 
"Plenty o' women would jump at the chanct," Hawkins 
argued. "You got yore pension, y'see, an' could give 
'em a comf'table hum. An* ef you choosed the meekest 
one in seven counties she'd make hit more interestin' 
than all the mules in the State." 
"Ent y' never thought 'baout gittin' married?" Hiram 
questioned. 
"Can't say 's I hev," Saunders replied. "No more 'n 
t' sorter wonder how 'twould "seem like, or to ask myself 
what sorter wife some woman 'd make." 
"Any partic'lar one?" Hawkins earnestly inquired. 
"Waal, ther' was onct, but ther's drawbacks, as the 
feller sez," Saunders reluctantly admitted. 
"Meanin' what?" Hiram asked. 
"She's a widder." 
"So much the better," Hawkins asseverated. "Give me 
a widder every time, by Godfrey. They got sense an' 
'sperience t' boot." 
"A widder," Saunders reiterated, "a widder an" three 
children." 
"That makes no dif'rence. It'll be all the more live- 
lier," Hawkins urged. "You all think it over an' call on 
me fer any pinters. An' that makes me think, I got a 
woman t' hum waitin' fer me, so I'd better be movin' 
on. S'long." 
"S'long," responded the two in unison. Hawkins 
slowly mounted, and with a final "S'long," gradually got 
his pony under way and went stumbling down the road. 
"I'll think 'baout the widder," Saunders shouted after 
him in a high, penetrating voice when he was almost out 
of hearing. Hawkins paused, wheeled his pony about, 
and began retracing his steps. 
"What say?" he shouted. 
"The widder." Hiram bawled. (He had the loudest 
voice in the county.) "He sez he'll think o' the widder." 
"O, I thought he said licker," Hawkins called back. 
"Don't waste no time," and then, with a ponderous 
salute, he again turned about and continued on his uncer- 
tain way. 
"Who's the widder, Eb? Ef you don't mind tellin' her 
name," Hiram inquired, when they had again settled down 
on the old water-trough. 
"The widder Jackson," Saunders replied, and glanced 
at his friend to see what effect the announcement would 
produce. Hiram said nothing, but looked very wise. 
"Do you all know 'er," Saunders asked, with a vague 
suspicion that his companion was withholding informa- 
tion. 
"Oh, yaas, I know her," Hiram admitted. "Y' wouldn't 
find it lunsome with her — an' the kids." 
"Waal, I dunno, Mebbe she mought turn out too 
doggon interestin'. What would you all do 'baout hit?" 
"Take my chances. Come t' think on it, the widder's 
a powerful handsome woman, as looks go 'raound yere. 
1 mought try myself ef you don't." 
"Hit's my fust choose," Saunders asserted, in some 
alarm. "How had I better go 'baout the business?" 
"O, I'd sorter look things over an' spear 'raound a bit, 
an* then I'd up an' pop the question." 
"Not all to onct, would you? Don't y' hev t' sorter 
lead 'em on— sorter coax 'em like?" 
"Nope. Jest let 'em see you mean business from the 
start off." 
"Hit don't seem right t' go at sech a thing that away. 
I reckon I'd better take a little time an' go slow. Ther' 
ent no hurry." 
"O, shucks!" Hiram ejaculated, in disgust. "You 
mean you dassent do hit." 
"I do dassent," Saunders protested. "I'll show you 
hi ganny. I'll do hit tomorrer." 
"Ef you all want any help — " Hiram began. 
"No, sirree," Saunders hastened to decline the offer. 
T didn't go through the war fer nuthin', or live with 
Satan without larnin' a few pints, I reck'n no woman 
in Douglas county kin scare me." 
"I'll come over the day arter an' hear haow things come 
out," said Hiram, rising to his feet. "I better be gittin' 
on toward hum. See you later. Good luck t' you 
S'long." * 
"Good luck. S'long," Saunders responded, absent 
mindedly. His thoughts were with the widow Jackson 
He remained seated on the old water-trough buried 
deep in thought until the lengthening shadows and a feel- 
ing of emptiness warned him that it was past his regular 
supper .time. With a heavy sigh he roused himself en- 
tered his cabin and was soon busily engaged in preparing 
his simple evening meal. His hunger appeased, he took 
down an old cracked mirror from the wall and seating 
himself where the light from the tallow dip reflected his 
image in the glass, carefully surveyed his features 
I need a hair cut, an' my whiskers orter be evened uo 
some he reflected aloud. "I can't do nuthin' with the 
hair but I km trim up the whiskers." So saying he 
hunted around in all the out of the way corners of the 
room until he unearthed a pair of very rusty, dull look- 
ing scissors with -which he proceeded to remedy his 
unsatisfactory appearance. The result was nothing to 
glory in, and Saunders gazed dubiously at his strangely 
altered reflection. 
"Wish I hadn't a-tetched hit," he grumbled. "Looks 
sorter 's ef somethin' had been a-chawin' on the blame 
thing. Hope the widder a'n't special fond o' whiskers." 
And then he removed some of his clothing and crawled 
into his narrow bed.' 
The widow Jackson was repatching the patches of her 
eldest son's pantaloons from a piece of an old bed quilt 
and wondering why children were not allowed to run 
about unadorned in the simple garb of nature. It would 
be such a saving of time, trouble and bed quilts and 
the like. Suddenly the owner of the garment she was 
laboring upon burst into the room. The boy was clad in 
the only remaining portion of his wardrobe— a cotton 
blouse much too small for him. 
"A man's comin'," he breathlessly announced. The 
widow leaned forward and peered through the open door, 
half doubting that she had heard aright. But the child 
had spoken the truth, for she espied .the ungainly form 
of Ebenezer Saunders toiling slowly up the steep path 
that led to her cabin on the hillside. 
"Here, you Johnny, git into them pants, quick as ever 
y kin," she cried, thrusting her needle into the un- 
finished patch and tossing the pantaloons at the head of 
her son. The child hastened to obey, while the mother 
stood in the doorway - to receive her caller. She had 
known Saunders for seven years, but this was the first 
time he had ever ventured upon a visit to her home. 
Saunders was meditating upon the advisability of an 
•unmanly retreat, but the appearance of the widow re- 
moved all hope of escape. 
"Mawnin'," he said as cheerfully as his state of mind 
would permit, apparently addressing his greeting to the 
universe at large. "Purty day, ent hit?" 
"Mawnin'," Mrs. Jackson responded. "Yes, 'tis a nice 
day, ent it? Got them pants on, Johnny?" she de- 
manded over her shoulder. 
Saunders stopped short in his tracks, and looked 
down at his own nether garments. 
"I reck'n so," he stammered. It was an unusual be- 
ginning, he thought; but then Hiram had said that the 
widow was interesting. 
Mrs. Jackson laughed shrilly. 
"Lawsey me!" she exclaimed. "Why, I was talkin' to 
my boy Johnny." 
Saunders looked relieved. 
"I got 'em on, ma," Johnny here announced, "but they 
won't stay up 'less I hold 'em." 
"Hold 'em, then!" his mother commanded. "Won't 
you all come in, Mr. Saunders?" 
"Don't care ef I do," Saunders replied, and followed 
his hostess indoors. He seated himself on the edge of a 
chair, and waited for the widow to begin the conversa- 
tion. 
Johnny was standing in the corner of the room dressed 
after a fashion, with one finger in his mouth and his other 
hand tightly clutching the front, of his pantaloons. He 
stared at Saunders as though the latter were - some 
strange animal until Saunders became uncomfortable. 
"Is that yore kid?" he finally asked, in desperation. 
Yep; that's Johnny," Mrs. Jackson answered, in 
tones of motherly pride. "He's jest goin' on 'leven." 
What makes him stare so?" Saunders ventured, after 
a long pause in which Johnny kept his unwinking eyes 
fastened upon the visitor's face. 
"Johnny, • quit yore starin' at the man." cried Mrs. 
Jackson, in a very shrill voice. "Kile, thar! Kile, I 
say!" This being interpreted meant, "Quail, crouch 
down! Efface yourself!" or if your were addressing a 
member of the canine family, "Charge!" Johnny tried 
to do all four at once. Saunders' sympathy was aroused. 
"Oh, I don't mind hit. I was only a-wonderin'," he 
fallaciously declared. "Come over here an' see me, 
Johnny." 
"Go to the man," Mrs. Jackson ordered, and Johnny 
obediently, though hesitatingly, obeyed. 
"Waal, Johnny, you're quite a little man," said 
Saunders, awkwardly stroking the child's tousled hair. 
"Our cat's got kittens," Johnny replied, with great 
solemnity. 
"Y' don't say. Haow many's she got?" Saunders was 
beginning to feel a trifle at ease. Hiram was right; 
children were very interesting. 
^'Oh, a lot," answered the boy. "Most forty." 
"The little liar," said Saunders to himself. He laughed 
furtively at the widow, and happening to meet her eye. 
again took refuge in Johnny. "Come sit in my lap an' 
tell me all 'baout 'em," he requested, 
He lifted the boy from the floor and set him down 
rather hard upon his knee. Johnny uttered a loud howl 
of pain and terror, and Saunders released him in a 
hurry. 
"Naow, what's the matter?" cried Mrs. Jackson. "Shet 
up^yore bawlin'. The man ent goin' t' hurt you." 
''He sticked a pin in me," wailed the boy. 
"I never done no sech a thing," Saunders indignantly 
denied, rising to his feet and edging toward the open 
door. 
"Come here, Johnny, an' let me- see," Mrs. Jackson 
commanded. She made a brief investigation at the seat 
of trouble. "Hit's that patch," she announced. "I for- 
got an' left the needle in. Do sit daown ag'in. 'Twan't 
nuthin'." 
But Saunders concluded that he had done enough 
courting for one day, and as Johnny refused to be com- 
forted, he mumbled a few lame excuses and departed. 
As he hurried down the path the sound of Johnny's 
wailing floated out upon the air with increased vol- 
ume, and mingled with it was another familiar sound 
that reminded Saunders of his own childhood days and 
a certain well-worn slipper. 
"Hi ganny!" he muttered in quivering accents. "But 
that kid's suttenly got a voice. I ent heard as much noise 
sence Satan died. Widders sholy keep a feller from git- 
tin' lunsome." 
When Hiram Meeks called to learn what progress 
Saunders had made with his courtship he found that in- 
dividual in a most disheartened frame of mind. 
"Land knows, hit's excitin' 'nuff," Saunders con- 
cluded, when he had given a full account of his visit to 
the widow Jackson's. "Ef 'twas t' keep up that a-way 
