Miss Mayhall was born in a barn, and got dropped on her head shortly thereafter. It didn't hurt her bad, but it did make her friendly. She didn't have a care in the world and was always smiling and singing. Her favorite song was "Hold The Bell Cow". You could hear her singing it while she was tending her chickens. ♫ "Went down to the cornfield to pick a mess of beans, along came the bell cow pecking at the greens." ♫♫ "Hold the bell cow, catch her by the tail, hold the bell cow, milk her in the pail." The hens loved it, and laid lots and lots of white eggs. Miss Mayhall would take her eggs to the General Store and sell them for three cents apiece. She was secretly saving up for a wedding dress, but would never have told it. Now most everybody knows that the color of a chicken's earlobes predicts the color of the eggs. You learn that the same way as how to milk a cow, or how to dress a goose. (You don't use calico to dress a goose) These things are just passed down from those who know to those who don't know. However, for some unknown reason, nobody for miles around had ever raised anything but White Leggerns, and those kind only lay white eggs. Not one person in the whole county had ever laid eyes on a brown egg, or a dark chicken; that is, except for Miss Mayhall. She was good at keeping a secret, and had recently discovered a reddish brown hen, which must have escaped from a traveling wagon. It was a mighty fine looking hen, but at the same time very curious, as far as Miss Mayhall was concerned. Why, what would it do? Would it eat corn, lay eggs, cluck, fly, nest? Well, it "certainly must need a nest", she thought, so reluctantly she pitched it in the coop. None of the other chickens seemed to mind, and the roosters were happy to accommodate the new lady. She took right to clucking, and eating corn, and laying eggs...very BROWN eggs!! Oh, what a sight!! Miss Mayhall gasped as she looked in that nest, and screamed, "Look how dirty!!" "How shall I ever sell those dirty eggs?!!" "What will I ever do with them?" "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" She decided to wash them. I heard she even tried to white wash them, until her conscience got the better of her. There was nothing to do but see if any of the town's folks would be curious enough to try the dirty eggs for themselves. Miss Mayhall had already eaten a few, and since she didn't die, figured they were safe enough. Of course, the price for the dirty eggs would have to be less than the white eggs, so two cents apiece would be fair. Off she went to the General Store, where to her surprise, she completely sold out! Folks were so curious, they drew a big crowd, and everybody wanted the dirty eggs more than the white ones! After that, Miss Mayhall could charge four cents apiece because, of course, the dirty eggs were richer and had a better flavor. It didn't take long for the dark hen to hatch a brood, and then they started laying, and so on, and so on. Nobody would have ever guessed that Miss Mayhall would have had enough sense to start her own business, but she did. She quit selling eggs at the General Store, and opened her own store. She called it, "Miss Mayhall's Eggs And Goods". I went in there one time and there was a new wedding dress hanging in the back. The tag read... "Not For Sale".
It was early and a most lovely day! Old Mr. "Clum" Thompson was headed over to Old Mr. Amos Walter's place.
Everybody knew without looking because Old Clum's wagon had a real bad squeaky wheel, which he did not intend to fix. I could hear Mama in the kitchen singing "Beulah Land"
, and there was a symphony of familiar sounds going on outside. Between the old squeaky wheel,
birds, dogs, and crows, it sounded like "squeak squeak, tweet tweet, yip yip, caw caw", "squeak squeak, tweet tweet, yip yip, caw caw". I laughed at the thought of it, and danced all the way outside. Old Clum slowed down when he saw me and said I could come along. (He was an excellent judge of character and knew how nosy I was). When we got to Old Amos' place, he was skinnin' a rabbit, so I didn't jump down right away. Old Clum asked me if I was just gonna "set there like a flapjack waitin' for some butter", so I got down. I was thinking to myself how they sure did look old, and I asked which one was the oldest. To my surprise, neither one knew exactly how old he was! At the time each was born nobody around those parts could read or write. It used to drive the census takers crazy, so most times they just made up something. Old Amos guessed that he was the oldest, but Old Clum disagreed, and they spit and sputtered about it for a good fifteen minutes, got tired and sat down. After they caught their breath they decided to settle the matter for good. "Here we go", I thought, "they're takin' it behind the barn"!! Old Clum had a better idea. The old bridge over Watson's Creek needed a good fixin', so whichever one got to the middle first, was finished, and therefore was the oldest. Old Amos thought it was a fine idea, and went to fetch his mule. Old Clum asked him why, and Old Amos didn't like it, so they spit and sputtered about it for a good fifteen minutes, got tired and sat down. After they caught their breath that time, they discussed what size boards, and nails, and how much rope they needed. If one said three feet of rope, the other said different. If one said one size nail, the other said different, and every time, they would spit and sputter about it, get tired and sit down. Well, the sun went down finally, so it was too late to start anything that day. They decided to try again another time, and Old Clum and I left. Old Clum certainly never did fix that old wheel, and for a long time, most mornings, I could hear, "squeak squeak, tweet tweet, yip yip, caw caw"
, and I laughed at the thought of it.
Aunt Bitsy came down with an "old sore leg" one summer. I knew she did because I heard folks ask Aunt Reba how her sister's "old sore leg" was doing. The only income Aunt Bitsy had was from the homemade elixir she made and sold for twenty five cents a bottle. I don't know what all was in it, but it was guaranteed to keep the freckles away, and the womenfolk bought it so fast, it was hard to keep up. Mama told Aunt Bitsy it would be all right if us kids went to stay for a week to help out. She made us promise not to be a burden, and started packing our things right away. We were about as excited as a cow lookin' at a new gate.
First thing I heard next morning was the swish swish of Aunt Reba's skirt as she flew through our house gathering food and clothes, and...us. We kissed Mama goodbye and left for the cottage in the wildwood. The wagon was so loaded down, I declared it would take us two days to go ten miles. My brother rode on the back, and my sister and I were on opposite sides, (usually the case with us anyway). Close to Watson's creek my brother yelled he could see two people gettin' baptized down there! We bowed our heads 'cause we were scared not to!
When we got to Aunt Bitsy's, she was out on the back porch busily making her Freckle Potion. After we all hugged, my brother asked to see the "old sore leg". I knocked him in the head for doin' it! Aunt Reba wouldn't hear of her sister standing up one more minute on that bad leg, and promptly ordered her to sit down. That's when we kids went to work. I never saw so many bottles to fill in my life, but we got 'em all done; and then somebody let the dogs out. They licked the whole porch off and slept good that night.
It turned out to be a pretty good week after all. We all pitched in while Aunt Bitsy took it easy. At night we would sing "Sally in Her Shimmy Tail", "Strut Miss Lizzy", and anything else we could think of. In the daytime we would haul bottles of elixir to town and collect what money there was. Aunt Bitsy was real happy the whole time we were there...sometimes downright giddy. The "old sore leg" healed just right, and as long as she lived, she never had a freckle.
