JOHN B. PENNEPACKER
John, who had owned the ground on which we were lying, had first seen a railroad train. It was about to start on the Reading road and he drove over to Royersford, five miles, to inspect the phenomenon.
“ ‘Vell, vat did you sink of it?’ was the inquiry when he reached home.
“It is a nasty sing to frighten horses,” he replied.
“When were you last in the city?” my brother inquired.
The city was Philadelphia, twenty-seven miles away.
“It vas apout dree years ago,” said John. Then, turning to me: “I haf somesing I vant to gif you. I vish I had seen you pefore you vent to Gettysburg.” And as he drove away, I heard, “Come ofer vonce.” The gift soon was sent to my house and proved to be a pair of old leather saddle bags in good preservation.
August 1, 1914.
This afternoon John rambled along with very little consecutiveness of thought, but ever entertaining.
“Do you vant to puy a horse? Dere vas a man offered me a horse—dat vas yesterday—for sixty-five tollars. You don't haf to pay as much for horses chust now as you did pefore harfest. But den he vas seventeen years olt. Maybe you don't vant a horse so olt. Somedimes dese olt horses is fery goot on a varm. I haf vorked out a goot many olt horses. But I vould nefer sell 'em. A man offered me a huntert toUars for a horse twenty-two years olt, but he did not get him.”
“My grandfadder, Chon Pannebecker, built the stone house (one of the farm houses) vat you own. He vas a placksmith. De cround vas nearly all covered wiss voods. He used charcoal. Dere vas no hart coal in dose days, and dey had to keep de fire half covered up or it vould pe all purned out.”
“My grandmudder vas Mary Snyder; she vas ninety-one
