It's Friday

Chapter 04: Uncle Analdas

They started early, for Uncle Analdas really was getting quite elderly and had to travel at a leisurely pace. What he lacked in speed, however, was more than made up for by his craft and intimate knowledge of the countryside. He knew every path and short cut, every Dog and every hiding place. All day he instructed Little Georgie in the tricks of the Rabbit trade, about which he knew almost more than Father. They kept to the shadow of the stone walls and hedge-rows; they circled wide around every house that possessed dangerous Dogs; when they paused for rest it was always within one leap of a burrow or briar patch. 'They stopped for lunch at Deadman's Brook, and Little Georgie, with pardonable pride, pointed out the exact spot where he had jumped it. They even found the deep footprints that marked his landing. Uncle Analdas eyed the broad stream with a shrewd and practiced eye. "Quite a leap, Georgie," he admitted. "Quite a leap. Yer Old Man couldn't do it, couldn't a done it myself, not even in my prime. Yes sir-quite a leap. Shouldn't a let yourself get surprised though, shouldn't a let yourself get driven into no fix like that neither, no sir, that was plumb careless. Don't think your Old Man'll like that." Little Georgie was sure he would not. The lunch was a very poor one indeed, for it consisted of the scraping of Uncle Analdas' larder, never too bountiful at best. But the sun was warm, the sky was blue, and the old gentleman seemed inclined to rest and discourse. "D'you know, Georgie," he said, settling back comfortably in the deep grass, "that there sang you've been a-singin' at all day-it ain't much of a song and it ain't much of a tune. But there's real good sense to it, though you probably don't know it. And I'll tell you why - because there always is new Folks comin', that's why. There's always new Folks comin' and always new times comin'. Why, look at this here very road we're a travelin' along. I mind my grandfather tellin' me how his grandfather told him how his grandfather used to tell about the old, old days and how the British red-coat soldiers come a-trampin up this road, clear up Danbury way, a-roarin' and a-shootin' and a-burnin' of the houses and the barns and the crops, an'how the Folks hereabouts came a-rampagin' and a-shootin' of them. And a lot of them was buried right in these here orchards and all the homes was gone and all the critters and the food was gone and they was Bad Times then-real bad. But them soldiers went away and them times went away and there was always new Folks comin' and new times comin'. "Us folks just went on a-raisin' of our young ones and a-tendin' to our own affairs, but new Folks kept a-cumin' and after a while this here whole valley was full of little mills and factories and all them fields there along the High Ridge was growin' thick with wheat and potatoes and onions and Folks was everywhere and the big wagons a-rumblin' and a-rollin' along this very road, just a-spillin' out grain and hay and all. Them was Good Times, for everybody. "But then pretty soon all the young men Folks went a-marchin' down this here road, all of'em wearin' blue uniforms, a-singin' an' a-laughin' an' carryin' paper sacks of cookies an' flowers stuck into their guns. Most of them never come back, an' the old Folks petered out or went away an' the mills fell in an' the fields growed up in weeds an' then it was Bad Times again. But Grandad and Gran-mammy just went on a-raisin' us and tendin' their own business an' then there was new Folks comin' again, an' black roads an' new houses an' schools an' automobiles an' first thing you know it was Good Times again. "There's Good Times, Georgie, an' there's Bad Times, but they go. An' there's good Folks an' there's bad Folks, an' they go too -- but there's always new Folks comin'. That's why there's some sense in that song you keep a-singin'- though it's real tedious otherwise, real tedious. I'm goin'to take a nap - tell minutes. Keep your eyes open." Little Georgie kept his eyes open and his ears cocked; he wasn't going to be surprised again. He started to think about the things that Uncle Analdas had told him, but thinking always made him sleepy, so he washed his face and paws in the stream, packed up their knapsacks, and watched the shadow of a twig on the bank. When it showed that a full ten minutes had elapsed he woke his Uncle and they continued on their way. Word of Uncle Analdas' departure had spread among the Little Animals up Danbury way and many of them came out along the roadside to wish him good-by and good luck. The Woodchucks too, along the High Ridge, all wanted to send messages to Porkey, so it was late afternoon when they tramped down Long Hill toward the Twin Bridges. They were tired and hot and dusty now, and as they approached the north branch Uncle Analdas seemed to have something weighty on his mind. While they rested on the bank of the stream he suddenly unburdened himself. "Georgie," he burst forth. "I'm a-goin' to do it, Yes sir, I'm a-goin' to do it. You know, women folks is funny like and particular about some things and your maw is extra particular. I dunno how many dingblasted years it is since I've done it, but I'm a-goin' to do it now." "Do what?" asked Little Georgie, puzzled. "Georgie," said Uncle Analdas solemnly, "listen careful now, because you may never hear me speak these words again in your whole life. Georgie--I'm goin' to take me a bath!" Clean, refreshed, and slicked up, they hastened toward the Hill, Little Georgie almost running in his eagerness to be home. Even from a distance it was clear that thing had happened in his absence, for on the roof of the Big House shone patches of bright new shingles, and the air was fragrant with the smell of pine shaving and fresh paint. They were greeted joyfully by Mother and Father, and while Uncle Analdas settled his few knickknacks in the guest room Little Georgie burst into an account of his adventures. Father, of course, was quite angry at his carelessness in allowing the Old Hound to surprise him, but be- came so swollen with pride over the great leap across Deadman's Brook that he was less severe than he might have been. "And, Mother," Little Georgie went on excitedly, "I've made a song. It goes- Father raised his paw for silence. "Listen," he said. They listened, and at first Little Georgie heard nothing; then suddenly the sound came to him. All over the Hill the voices of the Little Animals were rising in a chorus, and they were singing his song--the Song of Little Georgie! Way up near the house he could hear Porkey's unmusical bellow, "New Folks comin', Oh my!" He could recognize the voices of Phewie, of the Red Buck and the Gray Fox. The piping treble of Willie Fieldmouse and all his brothers and sisters rose like a tiny, faraway chime. "Oh my, Oh my!" He could hear the Mole's muffled voice coming up from the sod. Mother hummed it as she hustled about, preparing dinner. Even Uncle Analdas, sniffing happily at the soup pot, chimed in with an occasional cracked, "Oh my!" Bill Hickey and his carpenters were just leaving, and as their truck rattled down the drive Little Georgie could hear them all whistling-whistling his tune! At the cottage down the road Tim McGrath hammered happily at his tractor, getting it in shape after the long winter's idleness. His plow was all cleaned and polished, his harrow lay ready. And as he worked he sang a song. "Where did you get that song?" asked his wife Mary from the kitchen window. "Don't know," said Tim. "Oh my! New Folks comin', oh my! New Folks." "And it's a good thing," interrupted Mary. "It's a good thing new folks are coming, after the winter we've had and not much work and all. It's a good thing." "-comin', oh my! Plenty of work now," he cried. "Garden to be made, big garden; lawns done over, North Field plowed and seeded, wood cut, brush cleared, drive fixed, shrubs moved, chicken run, lots of work-Oh my, oh my New Folks comin', oh." "I don't think that's much of a song," said Mary, "but it's a Good Thing." Nevertheless, a few minutes later, above the rattle of the supper dishes Tim could hear her not unmusical voice crooning contentedly, "-coming, oh my! New Folks coming, oh my!" Louie Kernstawk, the mason, was loading his truck. As he threw in trowels and buckets and hammers, shovels, hose, cement bags, and all the other things he would need tomorrow, he hummed, much of tune but very happily. It would have been hard to tell what the notes were, and the words were indistinct too, but it sounded like " - Folks coming, oh my! New Folks coming- Down at the Corner Store, Mr. Daley was arranging his shelves and ordering new stock. He didn't need to order much, for it had been a long, hard winter; few people had been about, and his shelves were almost as full as they had been last fall. But now winter was over; through the open door the first warm air of spring crept softly in; from the swamp the peeper-frog clamored like jangling sleigh bells. Mr. Daley sat on his high stool and scratched at his lists, and as he wrote he sang a little song-- "New Folks - coffee two dozen, corned beef, twelve - coming, oh my! New Folks -starch three cartons, matches, pepper, cornstarch, salt, ginger ale-coming, oh my! New Folks coming-paper napkins, vinegar, dill pickles, dried apricots-oh my! "Oh my! Oh my!"