They began to favor him at threshing or at the fall hog-killing.
"Oh, you're getting old, Daddy; you'll have to give up this heavy work.
Of course, if you feel able to do it, why, all right! Like to have you do it, but I guess we'll have to have a man to do the heavy lifting, I s'pose." "I s'pose not, sir! I am jest as able to yank a hawg as ever, sir; yes, sir, demmit--demmit! Do you think I've got one foot in the grave ?" Nevertheless, Daddy often failed to come to time on appointed days, and it was painful to hear him trying to explain, trying to make light of it all.
"M' caugh wouldn't let me sleep last night.

A gol-dum leetle, nasty, ticklin' caugh, too; but it kept me awake, fact was, an'-- well, m' wife, she said I hadn't better come.

But don't you worry, sir; it won't happen again, sir; no, sir." His hands got stiffer year by year, and his simple tunes became practically a series of squeaks and squalls.

There came a time when the fiddle was laid away almost altogether, for his left hand got caught in the cog-wheels of the horse-power, and all four of the fingers on that hand were crushed.

Thereafter he could only twang a little on the strings.