Joe Miller's Trouble

Joe Miller's Trouble Chapter XIII From Folktales of the Kentucky Hills by E. R. Gaskin Among the help onJeb'splace, clearing, farming, splitting staves in the woods, or at the "bucker" was ajovial good-natured fellow whom all the children liked, named Joe Miller. He was never too tired to sing, help mend their toys, or make real whistles from chestnut sprouts. His way with children was that of a kindly uncle, so it was only natural that the children became very much attached to Joe. But Joe did not stay long at any one place. He had always been sort of a drifter, working a few days here and a few days there, leaving the same reputation behind of being a kind hearted, good natured, hard working man. Joe had been gone from Jeb's about two weeks, when one sultry day in early September, the one-room school turned out at four as the sun hung like a huge red ball in the western sky. The children scampered along the dusty trails on their way home, some in groups playing tag, or running foot races, but some had to walk alone, cross small streams and woodlands on their way home. When twelve-year-old little Lucile Warner failed to reach home at around five, her parents were not too much alarmed, feeling that she had stopped at Sammy Daws' or Mrs. Mandy Baker's, who lived alone and whom Lucile loved to visit. Mrs. Baker had many things to interest little girls, including the first doll Santa had brought her many years ago. Mrs. Baker always seemed to get as much pleasure out of showing the oddities to the children who came as much as the children themselves. As the evening wore on toward night, Lucile's mother said, "Henry, I wish you'd walk down the road an' see what's ah-keepin' Lucile. She don't never stay out this late on her way from school." Mr. Warner started out down the road near sundown to hunt his only child. When he inquired at Mrs. Baker's, she said, "No, I ain't seen Lucile go by this e'nin. I saw her goin' on this morin'. My dog alius runs out and kinda barks playful like when she passes, an' I don't believe she's passed back by this e'nin." Mr. Warner, becoming more concerned, went on down to Sammy Daws', about a mile from Mrs. Baker's. Sammy and his wife, Laura, both confirmed that little Lucile had gone by their house about the usual time in the direction of home, so the neighborhood was alarmed about the disappearance of Lucile. From farm to 73 farm the word was spread. Where homes were close together on hillsides, one neighbor would run out in the yard and shout to the other. They crossed fields and took all near cuts to spread the news. Sometimes families would split up and fan out in different directions. Men were dumbfounded and women prayed and cried. By the next morning groups of men had spread out over the whole countryside . Small bands of women stood huddled together in yards or along the roads, twisting their aprons up in knots, folding their hands in them and all chattering about the bad dreams or the queer lights in the sky they had been seeing. "I jist knowed somethin' was gonna happen. That ole dawg ah ourn sot out in the front yard and howled the pitifullest a-1-1 night long. I told Sammy to git up an' go out an' make him hush. He went out an' throwed the poker at 'im an' he run onder the floor, but in less'n five minutes he's right back onder our winder ah howlin' the lonesomest you ever heered." Aunt Josie McKinley was relating at the same time how "That ole scritchowl that used to pester us so much, we hadn't heered a peep out uv' it fer two or three years, come back last night, sot out thar on the porch rafters an' screeched the live-long night. Sometimes he was makin' a sound jist azactly...