Back Aa

On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck

Close

<h3>CHAPTER XV. Gypsy girl tells fortune</h3> TOC <div class="poembox"> Every one who has petted a favorite donkey will remember many traits of its mental capacities; for, as in the case of the domestic fool, there is far more knavery than folly about the creature.<cite>—Wood's Natural History.</cite> </div> It was a sunny spring day when I arrived in Kenton. After supper with a young physician, on his invitation, I retired, and next day set out for Ada, a village sixteen miles away. Toward evening, being tired and almost without funds, I sat down to converse with a farmer who was husking corn. He soon became interested in my trip, and said if I would help him husk awhile he would feed me and my animals. I gladly consented; Mac A'Rony and Don lent their assistance, the donkey soon losing his appetite. After a delicious supper with the farmer's family, I hastened on, reaching Ada long after dark. Ada is the seat of a Normal School, which is the seat of a large number of other seats. Everybody seemed to be much concerned about the great fistic bout to take place in Carson City that day; the 17th of March. It was "St. Patrick's Day in the morning," with the weather threatening, when I started for Lima. My coat was decorated with cabbage and lettuce leaves and paper imitations of shamrock, and I looked like an animated vegetable garden. Finally it rained; and the road became a mire. I had just finished a heated argument on the Carson fight, and began to question the story of how St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland, when I suddenly found myself on the ground. And I saw the streak of daylight Mac threatened to kick into my brain. An old man tried to drive a colt past my strange-looking outfit. I called to him to hold his horse by the bit until I could lead my donkey into the field. But no, he could handle the colt, or any other horse, and I should mind my own business. On the rig came a few yards nearer, when in the twinkling of an eye the colt whirled and upset the buggy with its boastful driver. The man was not hurt; but somewhat dazed. Several farmers soon arrived and were loud in their abuse, saying Mac and I had no right on the highway. It was an effort for the donkey to keep his mouth shut. I replied, civilly, that I was sorry the thing occurred, and explained how I had warned the stranger. Then I whipped up my unjustly abused partner, and left the old man pulling his beard thoughtfully in the midst of the sympathetic group. All day I strode far in advance of my donkey and led untrained, untamed, and frightened horses past. Next day being stormy, I devoted the morning to writing my newspaper article and answering some urgent letters; then, failing to arrange for a lecture, I left Lima for Delphos, and tramped fifteen miles in mud and rain without lunch. We spent Saturday night in Van Wert, and Sunday afternoon resumed the journey in sunshine, people crowding their front windows and doorways to see us leave town. We had not proceeded far when I met an odd trio who had run half a mile across lots to speak to me. One boy had a twisted foot; another, a hand minus five or six fingers; and the third acknowledged that as soon as he caught sight of us he lost his head. Considering their crippled condition, I thought they deserved credit for such activity. It was eight miles to Convoy. There was no bottom to the road. Seeking a footing along the fence, I ground innumerable land crabs into the mud, while the peepers in the swampy clearings piped their dismal music. At dusk we waded into the village where a curious throng awaited the sensation of the day. And there we spent the night. The nearer I approached the Indiana border, the more impoverished appeared the farms and their struggling proprietors. Every other farm-house was the primitive log-cabin, and the barns and outbuildings generally tallied with the house. A thunderstorm awoke me at day-break; the prospect for my day's tramp was most dismal. After walking six miles, I stopped to talk with a party of gypsies, in camp. Presently a black-eyed gypsy girl issued from a heap of bedding under a tree, and inquired if Mac A'Rony was an ostrich. Her heavy jet-black hair fell in a mass over her shoulders, and her sparkling eyes did their level best to enchant me, as she asked to tell my fortune. "How much?" I asked. Her grizzled sire said fifty cents; the daughter corrected him, saying one dollar. That was too steep for me. I gave Mac the rein and proceeded some distance when the girl called to me, "Twenty-five cents! Come back!" This was an alluring proposition, and I returned. At once dismissing the bystanders, she reached over the fence for my hand, told me to place a quarter in it, then to close and open it. I no sooner obeyed than the coin disappeared, and the gypsy began in a charming manner, as follows: "That line shows you will live to a good old age. You are to enjoy your best days in the future. Understand me? If your pocket was as big as your heart you would make many others happy. Understand me?" She surely must mean creditors, I thought. "Yes," I answered. "Shows it in your face," said she. "You have for a long time disliked your business" (that was no lie), "and want to change it. Understand me? You make friends easily, and wherever you go you are invited to come again. Understand me?" I nodded. "Shows it in your face." I began to think she was reading my countenance instead of my hand. "Are you married?" she asked. "No, but want to be," I replied. "Shows it in your face," said she. "A widow lady is in love with you. She has written you, and you will get her letter soon. Her name is Sarah. Understand me?" "I do not," said I; "I know but one woman named Sarah. Heaven help me if she is after me!" "Shut your hand now, and make a wish," said the girl. I did as she bade, and wished long and hard. "Now open," said she. Her black eyes seemed to pierce my very soul. "You wish to make fame and fortune. Understand me?" "True, I do," I said to her; that's just what every man wishes, I said to myself. Then she continued: "You will make fame and fortune in the business you are now in. Shows it in your face." I wasn't satisfied with that prediction; I preferred the fortune to be in my pocket. "A kiss is awaiting you from a black-haired girl within two weeks' time. She loves you. A lot of girls want you, but they can't have you. Understand me?" "I confess that I don't quite," I answered. "But I wish those poor girls did." And I looked real serious. "Shows it in your face," she repeated. That fortune teller puzzled me. The quarter's worth of seance at an end, I plodded on toward the Hoosier country with my mute comrades, wondering how much of the fortune would come true. Soon afterward we got out of the mud area and came to a hard, smooth, broken-stone road. I stopped my donkey and sat down to take off my rubber boots. Just when I got the first shoe on, Mac began to move down the level turnpike. I called, "Whoa, Mac! Huh!! You long-eared Mephisto!" The jackass paid no heed, but galloped on, shaking his head and kicking up his heels merrily with the dog in front of him, barking as if he enjoyed Mac's practical joke. By this time I was speeding after the runaway, a boot on one foot, a shoe on the other, and chased a half mile before I caught him. Then I led him back for my footgear. Two miles beyond we again struck mud, thick and deep. Observing a little mound covered with long dried grass, I sat down again to change my footgear. Mac turned and eyed me mischievously, and wobbled his ears, then nodded to Don. I was so absorbed with the idea that he intended to lead me another chase that I failed to hear an ominous sound emanating from underneath my seat. Not until something seemed to burn me did I rise to the occasion, and light out, this time stocking foot, but making less speed through the black and sticky highway than on my former run. Something less than a million bees swarmed about my head. I ran! Oh, how I ran! And I would be running still, perhaps, had not a farmer seen me and knocked down the swarm with a section of a rail fence. I was quite out of breath. The hero had only spared my life for future tortures. <div class="figcenter"> larger <ANTIMG src="images/i120.jpg" width-obs="414" height-obs="600" alt="" /> <div class="caption">"I scrutinized his hat inquisitively."</div> </div> After considerable search, I found boots and shoes, but failed to see either dog or donkey. Putting on my boots, I hung my shoes on the fence, and set out on the trail of the fugitives, which appeared to have gone into the brush. I waded into the thicket, calling Don all the time, and at last was rewarded. He leaped at me delightedly, and barked, and tugged at my trouser legs, and piloted me to the terrified donkey which I found tangled in a mass of wild raspberry bushes, his head tucked between his forelegs, and his back doubled up like a cat at bay. There were no bees on Mac. That was a hot experience, for a raw March day. I plodded on through the mire to the house, whose proprietor had come to my rescue. The dooryard was filled with hives. "Regular bee ranch," I remarked, pleasantly, though I burned uncomfortably. "Yas. Right smart business," the man returned. "You're right; bees do a smart business." "Lived on 'em nigh ten years." "You must find them a hot diet!" I said. "I lived on a nest of them less than half a minute and nearly burned up." "I reckon so," he replied with a chuckle. "I saw yer scorchin'." It was 2:30 P. M. when we crossed the state line. The first sight that greeted my eyes in Indiana was a flock of Ohio geese just ahead of us, being driven by a hoosier. "Fine drove of geese you've got there," I said to the man. "Yaw," he answered. "But Ohio geese is peculiar. Gooses won't run with th' ganders." "No?" I queried. "What's the reason they won't?" "Wall, jest th' way they's built. Won't run—jest fly, er waddle." "What most all geese do, don't they?" I asked, much amused. "Yaw," reiterated the hoosier, grinning; "jest fly, or waddle." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2