And he was allers talkin' about 'em to folks, p'intin' out that little stone that he'd stubbed his toe on, and this pesky weed that stung him, and t'other little mite o' mud he'd conceited somebody'd throwed at him. He fretted and scolded and complained 'bout 'em, and made out that nobody never had so many tryin' things gettin' in his way as he had. He never took into 'count, ye see, that he'd picked 'em up hisself and piled 'em on his own back. If he'd jest let 'em lay, and gone along, he'd 'a' forgot 'em all, I guess, after a spell. Then there was another man with a bundle, a cur'us one too, for 't was all made out o' money, dreadful heavy and cold and hard to carry. Every speck o' money he could scrape together he'd put in that bundle, till he couldn't scursely heft it, 'twas that big and weighed so much. He had plenty o' chances to make it lighter, for there was folks all along the road that needed it bad,--little child'en that hadn't no clo'es nor no victuals, and sick folks and old folks, every one on 'em needin' money dreadful bad. But the man never gin 'em a mite. He kep' it all on his back, a-hurtin' and weighin' him down. Then ag'in there was another man. He had a bundle that he didn't put on his back hisself, nor the Head Man didn't nuther. Folks did it to him. He hadn't done nothin' to deserve it, 't was jest put on him by other people, and so 't was powerful hard to bear. But, ye see, the Head Man had pervided partic'lar for them kind, and he'd said in public, so 't everybody knowed about it, that he'd help folks like that,--said he'd help 'em carry sech bundles hisself, or mebbe take 'em off, if it 'peared to be best. But this man disremembered that,--or, worse still, p'r'aps he didn't 'zackly believe it. So he went along all scrunched down with that hefty bundle other folks had piled up on him, not scoldin' nor complainin' nor gittin' mad about it, but jest thinkin' it had got to be, and nobody could help him. But ye see it hadn't got to be, and somebody could 'a' helped him. And then bimeby along come a man that had sech a hefty, hefty bundle! 'Twas right 'tween his shoulders, and it sort o' scrooched him down, and it hurt him in his back and in his feelin's. The Head Man had put that bundle on the man hisself when he was a little bit of a feller. He'd made it out o' flesh and skin and things. It was jest ezackly like the man's body, so 't when it ached he ached hisself. And he'd had to carry that thing about all his born days. I don't know why the Head Man done it, I'm sure, but I know how good and pleasant he was, and how he liked his folks and meant well to 'em, and how he knowed jest what oughter be and what hadn't oughter be, so 't stands to reason he'd done this thing a-purpose, and not careless like, and he hadn't made no mistake.