Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 127, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 June 1917 — “Borrerin” [ARTICLE]

“Borrerin”

Mr. Peaslee’s expression was one of great dissatisfaction mixed with a none too patient resignation. He grunted as he seated himself upon the long seat in front of the village post office. Mr. Nudd noticed ’ the grunt and mentioned It. “If I felt half as mean as you look and sound, Kellup,” he observed dispassionately, “I’d shut myself up somewheres till I got over it. You act ’bout as sociable as a hedgehog. What’s happened to stir you'up so?” “Borrerln’ responded Mr. Peaslee with a briefness that testified to a disturbed mind. “Jake Winship, mebbe?” hazarded Mr. Nudd, and Caleb nodded ruefully in confirmation. “Mebbe you’ve suffered some yourself, Nudd,” he began with an air of settled patience, “but I don’t b’lieve you’d scarcely credit what I’ve had to put up with from that Winship gang sence they moved onto that hill. It’s borrer, borrer, borrer, day in and night out with ’em, till I hardly know whether I’m goln’ to find my hat if I want to go outdoors a spell." “They’re ’bout as aggravatin’ as anything I’ve ever had to put up with,” Mr. Nudd conceded feelingly, “and the wust part of it, fur’s it thorns me, Is that they never have any Idea of brlngln’ back anything they borrer. Ain’t they ben that way with you?” Mr. Peaslee grinned weakly and shuffled his feet uneasily. ‘”S a mat- . ter of fact, Nudd,” he explained, “Jake Winship’s bringln’ back something he borrered is jest what’s wrought me up to such a heat this very day. He’s ’nough to mad a saint, seem’s if, and yet I can’t help laughin’ over It, too. “I’ve always shoveled my paths In the winter,” Caleb began, “with any shovel I had at the time—sometimes a spade—sometimes a round-pointed shovel —whatever came handiest, that’s what I’d use. I d’know’s I ever made any gre’t complaint over not havin’ a snow shovel; anyway, I don't remember It If I did. But something or ’nother put it into my wife’s mind to get me one, and so she did —fetched It home one day last fall, much’s two months ’fore we had a flake of snow or was likely to. I thanked her for’t and stood it up in the shed and let the whole thing go out of my mind complete. “I d’know’s I’ve thought of that shovel sence the day I stood in there till today, for, If you remember, we didn’t have much snow last winter that needed shovelin’ —two-three little flirts that hardly made sleddin’ and didn’t drift any to speak of round my place. Come to that, what little fell mostly blowed out of the way; so you might say I-didn’t do any shovelin’ at all, and I never even thought of my new snow shovel; “Today, though,” Caleb went on, “1 had It fetched to my mind by something else I wanted. There was some grass round the back door that my wife wanted I should cut and I went out to the shed to get the scythe I’ve always kep’ hangin’ there, but 1 couldn’t find a sign of It anywhere. 1 done the same thing that every other man does when he can’t find anything. I went to my wife ’bout it and wanted to know where it had gone to. “’Well,’ s’she, ‘I d’know’s I c’n tell you for certain, but I’ve got my s’plcions. I saw that shlf’less Jake Winship comln’ round the corner of the shed an hour or so ago with somethin’ that looked like that snow shovel I bought for you on his shoulder, and mebbe minutes after that J ketched a glimpse of him puttin’ off cross lots with something on his arm that looked like a scythe and snath. If you was to press me to give a guess*’ _ she says, ‘Td say prob'bly he’d brought back the shovel he borrered last winter and took the lend of your scythe for a spell? “And,” Caleb finished resignedly, "I found out she was right ’bout it—as commonly to And I guess that answers the question 'bout whether Jake Winship ever brings back anything he borrera —he doos, but there ain’t any great help in havin’ him borrer a snow shovel in the winter and not bring It home till ’long In July some time. “I s’pose,” said Caleb with a' sigh, “that the best I can hope for is that hp’U get the scythe . back some time durin* the first of the winter, when ha wants the shovel again."—Youth’s Companion.