fangs into the hoe handle. But in doing this, his force, combined with that exerted by Mr. Peachy, put an end to the snake and he lay dead between the rows of potatoes.
At the command of Mr. Peachy, his son and I rushed to the stables and hitched the oxen to the wagon. As we were familiar with this work, we soon drove up alongside Mr. Peachy, and saw to our surprise, a log probably two feet thick, lying on the ground. “Where did this come from?”, we thought. Then, we suddenly realized that it was the hoe handle, swollen to this great size and still swelling.
A neighbor, by the name of Cock Robin, a large man of huge dimensions and great strength stepped up and with the help of Mr. Peachy, managed, with much straining, to load one end of the handle onto the wagon. Then with our combined help, we labored mightily as we hoisted the other end on the wagon. As Cock Robin lifted, using every ounce of his strength, his feet sank knee deep into the ground. The hoe handle, now become a huge log, finally loaded, Mr. Peachy cracked the whip and the powerful oxen strained and struggled, their bows sunk deep into their shoulders as they started the wagon slowly toward the mill.
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