“‘Do you still hold to that offer?’ he axed.
“‘I’ll make bond with my daddy-in-law on it,’ I said.
“‘Nuff said,’ an’ Jud was gone. The next day he came back leading the black, slicker an’ hence no-counter than ever, if possible.
“‘Look at him,’ he said, proudly—‘a dead match for yourn. Jes’ han’ me that two an’ a half an’ take him. You now have a team worth a thousan’.’
“I looked the hoss over plum’ surprised like.
“‘Why, Jud,’ I said as softly as I cu’d, for I was nigh to bustin’, an’ I had a lot of friends come to see the sho’, an’ they standin’ ’round stickin’ their old hats in their mouths to keep from explodin’—‘Why, Jud, my dear friend,’ I said, ‘ain’t you kind o’ mistaken about this? I said a match for the black, an’ it peers to me like you’ve gone an’ bought the black hisse’f an’ is tryin’ to put him off on me. No—no—my kind frien’, you’ll not fin’ anything no-count enuff to be his match on this terrestrial ball.’
“By this time you c’u’d have raked Jud’s eyes off his face with a soap-gourd.
“‘What? W-h-a-t? He—why—I bought him of Dr. Sykes.’
“‘Why, that’s funny,’ I said, ‘but it comes in handy all round. If you’d told me that the other day I might have told you,’ I said—‘yes, I might have, but I doubt it—that I’d loaned him to Dr. Sykes an’ told him whenever you offered him two hundred cash for him to let him go. Jes’ keep him,’ sez I, ‘till you find his mate, an’ I’ll take an oath to buy ’em.’”
Bud slapped his leg an’ yelled with delight.
“Whew,” said the Bishop—“not so loud. We’re at the church.
“But remember, Bud, it’s good policy allers to freeze. When you’re in doubt—freeze!”
[Note: Mr. Wilkes has made a life study of this subject and speaks from a practical standpoint, at the request of the editor of Trotwood’s. He has, of course, confined his paper to the hill lands of the Middle South; but in the publicity which will be given by this publication, it is to be hoped other sections of the South will take advantage of this wonderful opportunity where their conditions are favorable.—Ed.]
Nature never gave to any people a fairer heritage than to the farmers of Middle Tennessee. With a rich soil, a mild climate and an abundant rainfall, it is in truth a garden spot. Adapted to the growth of nearly every product necessary for man’s sustenance, covered with forests, underlaid with minerals and phosphates, midway between the cold blasts of the North and the excessive heat of the South, with cold, pure water pouring from under every hill, and not a taint of malaria in the atmosphere, it is the ideal farmer’s home. With all its advantages and opportunities there should be the highest degree of success and prosperity, and the owner of a Middle Tennessee farm should be the happiest and most contented man that lives. That such is not the case in recent years, however, is a lamentable fact.