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Updated: June 7, 2025
When that sound emanated from within, Coonie knew that the village dressmaker was at home; and as she bore a fierce hatred to him and all his doings, he never failed to give her a call when possible. He drew up his buckboard before the lilac bushes, therefore, happily conscious of certain vigorous gesticulations from the post-office veranda, of a character calculated to encourage rapid approach.
"Why, they do a lot of good. They distribute the pollen from the heads of the clover, and that makes the seed mature and develop." This was news to Coonie, for he never knew before that bumble-bees were of any use, but then he had never had much to do with them.
The door slammed and the sewing machine buzzed wrathfully, and Coonie sent Bella scrambling down the hill, his drooping shoulders heaving with convulsive laughter. To put 'Liza Cotton into a rage, while Sim Basketful, in a similar condition, was popping in and out of his store door like a jack-in-the-box, was worth the whole day's drive.
His horse was a poor, decrepit, old creature, whom he had named Bella, after the eldest of the pretty Hamilton girls, much to that young lady's disgust. In spite of old Bella's skeleton appearance and hobbling gait, Coonie took great pride in her and offered many times to trot her against Sandy Neil's racer.
Coonie found this a tempting morsel, and delivered it duly to the schoolmaster the first Saturday he found him at the corner. "Awful sorry to hear about the row you'n the minister are gettin' into," he remarked sympathetically, as he crawled into the store, and pulled his poor, half-frozen limbs up to the stove. Mr. Watson turned sharply from the contemplation of the pound of butter Mrs.
He had gone but half a dozen feet, however, when he tripped and fell, and by the way he rolled and kicked, it was plain to be seen that the bees were getting the better of him. It was great fun watching them, and Coonie decided that he would get a nearer view, so he crawled down the tree in a hurry and ran to the big oak at the edge of the field. From there he could get a full view of the battle.
Coonie did not care for Syl Todd; he had much of the simple guilelessness of his parents and did not take teasing with any pleasurable degree of asperity. So the mail-carrier generally treated him with silent contempt. He swung himself from the buckboard and hobbled painfully to the store veranda. "Business seems pressin' with you, Mr. Todd," he remarked as he lit his pipe.
Sylvanus had spent six months in the United States, managing a gigantic business firm, he had hinted, from which enterprise he had returned to the parental roof, a sadder if not a wiser man, to take up the more lucrative employment of making cheese. He never quite outlived the glory of his travels, however. Coonie grunted. "You should a' stayed over there an' been President.
"Why, this is the best food I have had for a long time, Coonie. My face may be a little sticky, but it can be washed, so I don't care. Such a treat as I have had! I am sorry you missed it all. I saw some boys capering and scampering around here this afternoon, and as soon as they left I came over to see what it was all about, and this is what I found," and Chuck held up a small yellow pod.
The victorious quartette leaped from the buckboard and retired, with many admonitions for his guidance in his future dealings with them, warnings which Coonie pretended not to hear. His shoulders sagged again as he slowly approached the post-office.
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