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166 22 Prairie Life Mrs. Howe was elderly and fat and dark and rarely said anything. Miss or Mrs. Becky Howe was plump and dark and could talk, while her younger sisters were lighter or fairer. So was Tim, a broad-shouldered fellow who had a nose like his father’s but of a smaller and thinner pattern. As for the old man himself, he was a figure never to be forgotten: about six feet high if he would stand up straight, which he rarely did, thin, muscular , with a limp on the foot which had been club-crippled by rheumatism. His face was long and the tangled, pointed goatee beard at the end of it, without any side whiskers to speak of, made it seem longer. His moustaches were long, luxuriant, and added much expression to the hawk beak above them. His small, gray eyes were set to twinkle away back under his bushy eyebrows and his deeply wrinkled forehead was covered by a curiously movable hide. All of his face that might be seen was sunburnt to a muddiness and he was said to have combed his hair, once, when he was living over on the Wabash. He had been a flatboatman on that stream and the Mississippi in his earlier days and he was crammed full of yarns concerning New Orleans, Helena, Natchez under the Hill, and other charming places, as they were seen in those times by the river men. As to other occupations, he had experimented with many and had bursted up at all of them. At the present time, he was occupying this farm for its absent owner, without any rent to pay and with a strong hope that his generous landlord might not soon return. He had a few hogs and a not very exorbitant horse, but no cattle. 167 prairie life How he made a living was a question. No doubt a boarder who paid cash was an acquisition. I had a large field of corn to cut for Jim Williams and it was while on that job that I formed a strong friendship for him and Liz-Bet. They were genuinely friendly, honest people and the whole timber was full of their kindred. It was on that field that I began to make a reputation, for I was able to measure its irregular form and give them its precise contents. Next came my miraculous ability to give the exact contents, in bushels, of a large and many-sided rail corn pen. I had brought with me, from Rochester and from Chicago, quite a large shelf full of books, more than all that prairie contained, and it was at once entitled Stoddard’s Library. People came out of their way to stop at Howe’s and get a look at those books. I myself was making many acquaintances. I had been down the timber several times to Upper Embarrass and was fond of picking up new specimens of frontier humanity. I was also fond of hunting and our trips to our own wood lot, westward a mile or so, were always accompanied with weapons for the slaughter of game; also by Howe’s two half-bred pointer dogs, two of the most remarkable canine characters. Bob was all activity and wife Delilah, or Lile, was more than his equal in intelligence. It was worth something to see that pair maneuver a rabbit out of a shock of corn, one tearing in to drive while the other waited outside to catch the escaping jumper. It was better fun after snow came and rabbits might be tracked and one Winter morning three guns of us brought home forty-four at noon. Deer were not so plentiful but grouse or “prairie chickens” were to be had at almost any time. They were a capital variation in the accustomed pork bill of fare. So were rabbits until I got so tired of them that I could hardly eat them. The house of Old Man Lemon was only half a mile away southerly, across the slough and on a rising ground. Lemon had one of the few natural springs in that region, but water was easily to be had by digging. None of the wells were deep, but I saw one that was abandoned suddenly. A ten feet square hole had been dug and side timbered to a depth of not more than twelve feet when the workmen got out of that place with yells of fear...

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