Lyman Frank Baum

“ If I can only find it, I ‘ll borrow enough to get me to Fennport.”
Eagerly, now, he began the search, the woman looking on with interest. In a short time, he drew out from the interior of the thresher a ten-gallon can, which proved to be filled with the fluid he sought.
“Hooray!” he cried joyfully. “We ‘ll have our ride, after all, Aunt ’Phroney.”
“It—it ain’t stealin’, is it?” she asked doubtfully. “This all b’longs to Silas Herrin, you know.”
“It ’s a law of the road, ma’am, that any one needing gasolene has the right to help himself—if he pays for what he takes. ”

“ Mart’n Luther says I take life easier ner he does, ‘though my work ’s jus’ as hard fer me as his is fer him. Only diff’rence is, I don’t complain.”
“Is—is your husband a poor man?” the boy hazarded.
“Goodness, no! Mart’n Luther ’s pretty well off, I’m told. Not by him, mind you. He only tells me what he can’t afford. But our minister once said he would n't be s prised if Mart’n Luther had a thousan’ dollars laid up! It ’s a pretty good farm, an’ he works it himself. An’ he’s so keerful o’ spendin’.” ”

“ She shook her head. “Not often, though sometimes I do,” she replied. “Went to Fennport a year ago las’ June, an’ put in a whole day there. But it tired me, the waggin jolts so. I’m too old now fer sech doin’s, an’ Mart’n Luther ‘lows it ain’t wuth payin’ toll-gate both ways for. He has to go sometimes, you know, to sell truck an’ buy groceries; he ’s there to-day, ’tendin’ the county fair; but I ’ve stayed home an’ minded my own business ‘til I hain’t got much hankerin’ fer travel any more.” ”

“ The only place they ’re sure to have it is over to Fennport, which is ’leven mile’ from here by the turnpike.”
The boy considered all this seriously. “Can I borrow a horse from you—and a buggy?’ he asked.
“Mart’n Luther ’s gone to town with the only team we own. We ain’t had a buggy fer twenty-two years.”
He sighed, and sat down on the steps, looking disconsolately toward the big touring car that was now so helpless. Aunt ’Phroney resumed her task of paring the apples, but now and then she also would glance admiringly at the automobile. ”

“ Ev’ry New-Year’s, he gives me five dollars for dresses an’ hats, an’ ev'ry Fourth o’ July I git fifty cents an’ no questions asked.”
The boy’s eyes grew big at this.
“Does n't he spend anything on himself, either?” he inquired.
“A little, of course. He gits his clo’s second-hand from the drug-store keeper, who ’s about the same size as Mart’n Luther, but some fatter, an’ he puts five cents in the contribution box ev’ry Sunday, an’—an’—well, there ’s the toll-gate he has to pay for ev'ry time he goes to town. That toll-gate makes him orful mad. We ’re comin’ to it pretty soon. ”

“ I used to long to buy pretty things an’ go ’round, once in a while, but I ‘ve got all over that now. I ’m happy, an’ the Lord takes keer o’ me. Did n't He send you here to-day with the—this—orto—orto—machine o’ yours?”
“I wonder if He did?” returned the boy, gravely. “Oh, here ’s the dreadful toll-gate, Aunt ’Phroney.”
It was nearly eleven o'clock when they entered the big gate of the fair grounds. The automobile attracted considerable attention, although there were two or three others in Fennport. ”

“ At first, he could not induce Aunt ’Phroney to enter the car and sit down upon the soft cushions, but, after much urging, she finally yielded, and was frankly delighted at the experience.
“It must ’a’ cost a lot o’ money,” she observed. “I guess your pa is pretty good to you. Like enough he did n’t take after any one with a strapped pocket-book.”
“No,” laughed the boy; “Father is always kind to me. But I wish—I wish—”
“What, child?”
“I wish we lived together on a farm like this, where we could enjoy each other. All day he ’s at the bank, you know.” ”

“ Does any one get what he needs, I wonder?”
“Some may, but not many,” she rejoined cheerfully. “Some of us don’t get even gasolene, you know. Funny, ain’t it, how such a little thing ’ll spoil a great big creation like this? Why, in some ways, it beats Silas Herrin’s new thrash’n’-machine; but it aint so useful, ‘cause the thrash’n’-machine runs along the road without horses to where it wants to go, an’ then its injynes do the thrashin’ better ’n hands can do it.” ”

“ She went into the kitchen with the apples, but soon came back, and with a brisk air followed the boy across the patch of rank grass to the road.
“I can’t walk six miles or more, you know,” he remarked, “and lug a can of gasolene back with me; so I ‘ll have to wait until your husband comes back to-night with the team. You don’t mind my staying with you, do you?”
“Of course not,” she answered. “I like boys —boys like you, that is. We—we never had no children of our own.” ”

“ As he bowed and left the tent, Aunt ’Phroney was staring proudly at the Bishop.
“Twenty-five dollars!” she gasped, “an’ two dollars first prize for Plymouth Rocks! Twenty-seven dollars an’ a silver pitcher! Boy, do you know what this means? It means I ’ll git twenty-three dollars—an’ Mart’n Luther ’ll git jus’ four.”
“Will he keep his promise?” the boy asked.
“Yes. Mart’n Luther ’s a’ honest man, an’ God-fearin’—but he ain’t got much jedgment ’bout ringin’ jack-knives. Dear me, who ’d ever think he ’d turn out a squanderer?” ”

“ They ’re fine. Grow ’em here?”
“Yes. Mart’n Luther ’s entered a peck at the county fair, an’ hopes to git the premium. It ’s two dollars, in cash. He’s put up our Plymouth Rock rooster an’ some pertaters fer prizes, too, an’ seein’ he ’s entered ’em, it don’t cost him anything to get into the fair grounds—only the ten cents fer toll-gate.” ”

“ The idea of one who lived in the thriving, busy town of Durham becoming lonely filled her with amusement. For her part, she had n't left the old farm-house, except to go to church, for nearly two years, and days at a time she never saw a human being other than her silent, morose husband. ”

“ You ought to have a better allowance than you do, for you ’ve certainly helped him to accumulate the money.”
She heaved a little sigh.
“He says he can’t afford any more,” she replied, ‘an’ I ’m satisfied, as things be. ”

“ Mart’n Luther gits up at daylight, works in the fields all day, an’ goes to bed after supper. In heaven we may find time to enjoy the sassiety of our friends, but p’r’aps there ‘ll be so much company there, it won’t matter. ”