The drivers gave us only casual glances until the round-up was completed and the enclosing gates shut, when the rollicking crowd came trooping toward us, and our guilty consciences made us fearful of dire punishment for our peculations.  Then a tall, long-haired patriarch saluted us with “Howdy, strangers, howdy,” shook hands with us heartily, and with a wave of his hand, “my wife and children, gents,” glanced at the impoverished table, when he shouted “glad you had good appetites, strangers, mother, guess you’ll have to tune up some more cooking.”

The whole crowd gave us a marching salute, and made the water fly in a big tub where they performed much-needed ablutions, and soon, hoe-cakes were smoking, pork and sausages sizzling, doughnuts swelling, manipulated by the many willing hands:  then the whole army “fell to” the abundant feast.  It was wonderful and laughable to see that crowd of sons, daughters, grand-sons, grand-daughters—­fifty in number—­all one family, “stow away the prog.”

Each one reminded you of the Irishman’s pig who was said to devour a half-bushel of boiled potatoes, and when he was outside of all that, he, himself, would not fill a two quart measure.  What a clatter of dishes as the buxom girls helped mother “clear up”!  Then we had fun at the milking; it required a dozen strong men to hold one kicking cow while a woman, squeezed out a little milk from the reluctant udders, though she gave down freely later when the ravenous calf took hold.  If the men relaxed for a minute, up goes the irate cow’s heels, away goes the pail “dowsing” the maid with the foaming milk from head to foot, anon the wild-eyed brute would down horns and charge, the milkeress takes to her heels, then a flight of lassoos, over goes the frantic animal onto her back, the ropes tighten until she was conquered and forced to “give down some of her juice.”  One dose of this medicine was usually sufficient for any wild cow, and forever after she would “stand and deliver in peace.”

Shall we ever forget the feeding of the pigs?  Oh, the wild charge they made when they saw the feed troughs filled!  “Everyone for himself, and the devil take the hindermost;” one huge razor-back stretches himself at full length on the “dough” in his generous attempt to prevent the rest from “making hogs of themselves”; an indignant young Cracker lassoos the hind legs, and by a dextrous pull sends his swine-ship whirling and rending high heaven with his lamentations.

At last all are stuffed as full as our “grandmother’s sassingers,” and then reclining in the sun, they express by their contented grunts and snores, ecstatic rapture as they pile on flesh for the stuffing of their carniverous owners.  Then we watched a giant Crackeress feeding what she called her “feathered hogs.”  With frenzied eyes, whirring wings and waring beaks, all rushed to cheat the others and to secure the whole earth, each for himself, very like many “two-legged hogs without feathers”; a hen seizes a hoe-cake of her own size and frantically rushes away in the vain hope of devouring it in peace in some sequestered nook; but argus, envious eyes are watching, and her uncles and her aunts pursue, striking with beaks and claws to rob her of her big all.  It was a minature Wall Street and stock-exchange, where human hogs and foul birds of prey fight to the death to plunder their own brothers.