JUDGE BROWN'S WATERMELON STORY

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 1587, 29 April 1887, Page 3

JUDGE BROWN'S WATERMELON STORY

My father was the finest water-melon grower in the country. Melon culture was his delight. I pniticularh remember oue crop. Just before the melons btgan to get ripe my fathei called Black Bill and me and said—"l want you Doys to understand on« thing. If one of my melons is stolen 1 am going to measure the tracks 1 fiua in the patch and then meaauru feet aud the owner of the feet that correp, pond with tbe tracks shall get a whipping that he can never forget. See this hickory ?" pointing to a lot»g cruellooking switch which he had placed above the dining-room door. '"Well, if either of you want to catch this switch pitch in." Bill shook his head and muttered that he didn't want it; that he would rather be killed by a ateer (old Buck a few weeks ago had thrown Bill against a tree and knocked off the bark) than be cut in pieces with such a switch ; and I assured my stern parent that so far as I was concerned he might rest in peace. Bill was the only negro we had, and, although he was was compelled to go church every Sunday, riding on the seat behind the buggy, and aithougu he sat in the buggy during services, and without effort could hear every word of the cermon, yet that boy with ail his careful training was inclined to be a thief. The next day after the proclamation , was issued I went out and looked at the meloD pitch. Thorc, lying in the

nun, striped and tempiiner lay a beautiful melon. Ah, if there was anything that could make a Southern boy forget honour it was a watermelon ! I trembled, for I knew 1 could not prevent myself from stealing it; and then that awful switch came up before me. An idea struck me. I went to the house, stole into the cabin and got Bill's shoes. What an enormous foot the rascal had ! The shoes were so large that they would not stay on my feet, but T overcame this great drawback by KtutHng them with grass. I slipped around and entered the patch from a locust thicktt. A rain had fallen the day before, and I made decided tracksin the level ground. I got the melon, stole back to the thicket, and, although it was not ripe, I ate half of it. Then I returned Bill's shoes. That afternoon while Bill and I were in tho yard I saw my fa'her, carefullv carrying a short sticV, enter the gate. His face wore an unusually stern expression, and I saw that there was something wrong. " I don't think much measuring is needed on this nccasi >n." said he, glancing at the stick. ' Bill, where are your shoe s ?" " In the cabin, sab." " Bring them here." He brought tho shoes. The old gentleman applied tho measure, and said—"Fresh dirt on them, I see." Bill's face became a study. " Doan know how it came on dar, marster. Ain't worn 'em sence last Sundav.''

"Yes that's all right. John," turning to me," fetch me that switch." My heart smote me. but I brought the switch. Then Bill bngan to dance. I never did Bee a fellow get hims«lf into so many different shapes, an I i' seemed that every shape was batter suited to the switch. Ihad to snort. I couldn't help it. I kept out of B'll's way as much as possible, for he seemed to look reproachfully at me, but he did not accuse me or deliver me up to the enemy, and I had begun to persuade mvself that Bill had stolen tho melon, when two days latpr I came to grief. Bill and I were in the yard when my father entered the gate, carrying a small stick. " John." said he, as he approached, " where ,irj your shoes 1 " " In the house, sir.'' " Bring them here." I got my shoos. Great Cica" ! there was fresh soil on them. "Come on, come on," said tho old gentleman. I handed h''m one an 1 dropped tho other one. " Bill," said ho, after measuring the shoe, " bring me that switch." Bill bounded with delight and brought the switch. " Pap." I cried, " please don't whip me ; I ain't done nuthin'—oh—" I danced, I capered, and I met the switch at every tu-n. In my agony I caught sight of Bill "landing at the corner of the house p.nd snorting like a glandered iiors s. Bill kept out of my way; but in the evening I met him and asked—- " Bill, how did you wear my shoes ?" " How did yer w'ar mine ( " " Put grass in 'em." " Wall, I tucker pa'r short ntilts an' put yer shoes on de pnds o' em. Oh, I tell yer whut's er fack, John, it won't do ter fool wid me, 'cos I'se one o' de 'n'inted by de saints.—Arkaneaw Traveller.