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diff --git a/old/63514-0.txt b/old/63514-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ff13d9c..0000000 --- a/old/63514-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5951 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Boys and Girls, by James W. Foley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Boys and Girls - The Verses of James W. Foley - -Author: James W. Foley - -Release Date: October 21, 2020 [EBook #63514] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOYS AND GIRLS *** - - - - -Produced by Charlene Taylor, Sharon Joiner, Chuck Greif -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - THE VERSES OF - JAMES W. FOLEY - - [Illustration: SONG OF SUMMER DAYS] - - - - - BOYS AND GIRLS - - THE VERSES OF - JAMES W. FOLEY - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - E·P·DUTTON & COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - - COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1907, 1909, 1910, 1911 - BY JAMES W. FOLEY - - COPYRIGHT, 1913 - BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - - THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS - NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A· - - - TO MY WIFE - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -AWAY 3 - -THE RECIPROCITY OF SMILES 5 - -A DOMESTIC RIPPLE 7 - -THE ADAMS’S BOYS 9 - -BILLY PEEBLE’S CHRISTMAS 11 - -THE WAY HE USED TO DO 16 - -A BOY’S VACATION TIME 18 - -A BOY’S CHOICE 20 - -A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER 22 - -THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS 24 - -A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 25 - -THE LOST CHILD 28 - -DOUGHNUTTING TIME 30 - -A MODERN MIRACLE 32 - -NERVOUSTOWN 34 - -SONG OF SUMMER DAYS 36 - -WHAT MOTHER DOESN’T KNOW 37 - -SO LONESOME NOW 39 - -A LITTLE LOVE STORY 41 - -ON A NOISELESS FOURTH 43 - -CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE 45 - -THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL 47 - -HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS 49 - -THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES 50 - -THE GINGERCAKE MAN 52 - -LONESOME 54 - -THE GARDEN OF PLAY 57 - -WE AIN’T SCARED OF PA 59 - -A PEARL OF PRICE 61 - -DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN 63 - -GIRL OF MINE 65 - -CHUMS 67 - -THE LOST BOY 69 - -LINES TO A BABY GIRL 71 - -LITTLE MISCHEFUSS 73 - -THE TRAVELS OF MORTIMER BROWN 75 - -ADVENTURERS THREE 77 - -WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO 79 - -SOMEBODY DID 81 - -THE WADERS 83 - -THE PRISONED PUPIL 85 - -A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS 87 - -A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS PRAYER 89 - -HENRY BLAKE’S CHUM 91 - -ONCE UPON A TIME 93 - -THE WAY TO SCHOOL 95 - -A PRESENT FOR LITTLE BOY BLUE 97 - -THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION 99 - -SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW 101 - -GONE 103 - -THE NEIGHBOR’S BOYS 104 - -A QUIET AFTERNOON 106 - -THE OWNERLESS TOYS 108 - -THE STRANGER 110 - -IN VACATION TIME 112 - -BEREAVED 114 - -TWO LITTLE MAIDS 117 - -A NEW CHRISTMAS CAROL 118 - -THE RECONCILIATION OF PA 120 - -A WORLD WITHOUT CARE 122 - -RIGHT AFTER SCHOOL 124 - -A PLEA FOR OLD FRIENDS 127 - -THE BOYVILLE CADETS 129 - -A LITTLE BOY I KNOW 132 - -ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS 135 - -THE BARRIERS 137 - -THE PLAINT OF THE NEW DOLL 139 - -A CHILD’S ALMANAC 141 - -THE LOSER 143 - -BACK TO SCHOOL 146 - -DISENCHANTMENTS 148 - -A RAINY NIGHT 150 - -KITCHEN MIRACLES 152 - -JIM BRADY’S BIG BROTHER 154 - -THE SCAPEGOAT 156 - -A TRAGEDY OF CENTER FIELD 158 - -IN SWIMMING 161 - -AN UNUSUAL CHUM 163 - -AND JUST THEN 164 - -AFTERWARDS 167 - -CIRCUS DAY 168 - -THE TOUR OF A SMILE 170 - -WHEN GRANDPA PLAYS 172 - -THE PARTED WAYS 175 - -A MESSAGE HOME 177 - -LULLABY 180 - -DISGUISING TOIL 182 - -LITTLE GIRL WITH THE CURLS 185 - -MY WONDERFUL DAD 187 - -REMEMBRANCES, BILL 190 - -THE BEREAVEMENT 192 - -IN CHILDHOOD TIME 194 - -DON’T 196 - -EXTINGUISHED 198 - -THE UNCHEERED HERO 199 - -OLD HALLOWE’EN FRIENDS 201 - -A REFUGE IN DISTRESS 203 - -THE LOST HEART 205 - -VERSES OF A LITTLE CHILD 208 - -GOLDEN DAYS IN SLOWVILLE 210 - -THE HEART OF A CHILD 213 - -THE STRENUOUS LIFE 214 - -A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD 216 - -YOUTH 218 - -AFTER THE YEARS 220 - -A VERSE TO MEMORY 222 - -LEST I FORGET 224 - -ECHO OF A SONG 226 - -LOVERS’ LANE 228 - -DADDY KNOWS 230 - -TO CHILDREN AT THE HEARTH 232 - -A TOAST TO THE SMALL BOY 234 - -AN ADVENTUROUS DAY 236 - -POEM OF THE FORAGERS 238 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - -BY REGINALD BIRCH - - -Song of Summer Days _Frontispiece_ - -The Adams’s Boys _facing page_ 10 - -Billy Peeble’s Christmas 14 - -A Modern Miracle 32 - -A Little Love Story 42 - -The Gingercake Man 52 - -The Waders 84 - -A Prayer for Jimmy Banks 88 - -Once Upon A Time 94 - -The Neighbor’s Boys 104 - -Asleep at the Circus 136 - -In Swimming 162 - -The Parted Ways 176 - -Lullaby 180 - -Verses of a Little Child 208 - -Lover’s Lane 228 - - - - -BOYS AND GIRLS - - - - -AWAY - - - “I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said, - As he clattered him down the stair, - And found him a hat for his curly head - And called to a dog somewhere. - Then off like a flash down the shady lane - With a whistle and cry and song; - And back to us ever it came again: - “I won’t be gone very long.” - - “I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said, - As we saw him among the trees, - His eyes all bright and his cheeks all red, - A friend of the birds and bees; - Then through the hedges and out of the gate, - For naught in the world goes wrong - With a boy of six or seven or eight-- - “I won’t be gone very long.” - - “I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said, - “I’m just going out to play.” - And the curly dog barked and the two of them sped - Over the clover away. - He waved us a kiss with a little brown hand - And cries rose from here and there, - For oh, but a boy does understand - A dog and the open air! - - “I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said, - “Don’t wait any supper--you see, - I’ll just have a bowl of milk and bread - And my dog he will eat with me.” - Then he swung his hat on its tangled string - Till the curly dog wagged his tail - And romped and played like a boy in spring - And barked him a comrade’s hail. - - “I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said-- - Oh, Mother of him, don’t cry! - The leaves come green again, yellow and red, - And the years and the years go by. - But sometime he’ll come, as we’ve seen him do, - With the bark of a dog and a song, - For it must be true--oh, it must be true - That he’ll not be gone very long! - - - - -THE RECIPROCITY OF SMILES - - - Sometimes I wonder why they smile so pleasantly at me, - And pat my head when they pass by as friendly as can be; - Sometimes I wonder why they stop to tell me How-d’-do, - And ask me then how old I am and where I’m going to; - And ask me can I spare a curl and say they used to know - A little girl that looked like me, oh, years and years ago; - And I told Mamma how they smiled and asked her why they do, - So she said if you smile at folks they always smile at you. - - I never knew I smiled at them when they were going by, - I guess it smiled all by itself and that’s the reason why; - I just look up from playing if it’s any one I know - And they most always smile at me and maybe say Hello; - And I can smile at any one, no matter who or where, - Because I’m just a little girl with lots of them to spare; - And Mamma said we ought to smile at folks, and if you do - Most always they feel better and they smile right back at you. - - And when so many smile at me and ask me for a curl - It makes me think most everybody likes a little girl; - And once when I was playing and a man was going by - He smiled at me and then he rubbed some dust out of his eye, - Because it made it water so, and said he used to know - A little girl up in his yard who used to smile just so; - And then I asked why don’t she now and then he said “You see--” - And then he rubbed his eye again and only smiled at me. - - - - -A DOMESTIC RIPPLE - - - Some days my Pa is thist so cross - ’At Ma, she snaps him off an’ said: - “I guess your father must ’a’ got - Up on th’ wrong side of th’ bed.” - An’ ’en Pa says he’d like to eat - Thist bread, he would, in peace once more; - An’ Ma, she bu’sts out cryin’ nen - An’ Pa goes out an’ slams th’ door-- - An’ ’en I git a spankin’! - - Thist ’fore he gits his breakfast, Pa - He never hardly speaks to us, - An’ Ma, she says it shames her so - T’ have him go an’ make a fuss - Before th’ girl. Pa, he don’t care, - An’ ’en he says--“Th’ girl be----!” - An’ Ma says--“Oh, t’ think he’d swear - Before his child!” Th’ door gits slammed-- - An’ ’en I git a spankin’! - - An’ ’en, ’em days, th’ littlest things - I do ’ll almost drive her wild, - An’ she says “Goodness sakes alive! - Was ever such another child?” - An’ she says: “Do run out an’ play!” - An’ thist when I git started, nen - She hollers right at me this way: - “Willyum! You march right in again!” - An’ ’en I git a spankin’! - - An’ Pa, he don’t come home to lunch - ’Cuz Ma, she says he’s too ashamed - To face her after such a scene - An’ says she surely can’t be blamed - For Pa’s mean, ugly, hateful ways, - An’ Ma ain’t got no heart to eat, - Nen, thist ’cuz I want honey on - My bread, er jam, er sumpin sweet-- - Why nen I git a spankin’! - - An’ ’en, along ’bout supper time - Pa sneaks in thist th’ easiest - You ever see; an’ nen he looks - For Ma; an’ she’s th’ freeziest - ’At ever was. An’ Pa, he’s got - Some candy an’ he says he’s ’shamed, - An’ fin’ly Ma says mebbe she - Was also partly to be blamed, - An’ ’en ’at ends my spankin’! - - - - -THE ADAMS’S BOYS - - - The Adams’s children, they just romp and play - And fall out of trees in the carelessest way, - And might break their legs from the way that they fall, - But they get up laughing and not hurt at all, - ’Cause boys’ bones are soft, so their grandfather said; - And John Quincy Adams, he stands on his head - And drinks from a dipper, and all over town - The boys will tell you how he drinks upside down. - - The Adams’s children, they make enough noise - In the yard where they live for three times as much boys, - And sometimes they laugh and you hear it as clear - As can be up to Tinker’s and way over here; - And they’ve got a dog which is almost the same - As the rest of the boys and will play every game, - And bark all the time, and he makes so much noise - He’s just like the rest of the Adams’s boys. - - The Adams’s children, they go out to ride - On a pony of theirs, with them all three astride, - And the boy up in front makes him kick up and then - The boy way behind, he gets thrown off again; - And the Adams’s pony, he looks just as though - He’s trying to laugh when the others laugh so; - It looks like a laugh, but he can’t make a noise - Like the dog or the rest of the Adams’s boys. - - The Adams’s children, they go out to play - And sometimes their mother don’t see them all day, - But she never frets, ’cause the world is too small, - So she said, for three boys to get lost in it all. - And sometimes she listens outdoors and she hears - The laughing and barking way over to Geer’s, - Which is most half a mile, and she smiles, because then - She knows they’ll be home when they’re hungry again. - - The Adams’s children, they get on as though - They were three great chums and not brothers, you know; - And folks like to hear them, when they’re going past, - With the big one ahead and the little one last. - They’ve always got playmates of their very own, - And don’t have to do chores or to study alone, - And everything seems to be three times the fun - For the Adams’s children as though there’s just one! - -[Illustration: THE ADAMS’S BOYS] - - - - -BILLY PEEBLE’S CHRISTMAS - - - Billy Peeble, he ain’t got no parents--never had none, ’cause - When he’s borned he was an orfunt; an’ he said ’at Santa Claus - Never didn’t leave him nothin’, ’cause he was a county charge, - An’ the overseer told him that his fambly was too large - To remember orfunt children; so I ast Ma couldn’t we - Have Bill Peeble up to our house, so’s to see our Christmas tree. - An’ she ast me if he’s dirty; an’ I said I guessed he was, - But I didn’t think it makes no difference with Santa Claus. - - My his clo’es was awful ragged! Ma, she put him in a tub - An’ she poured it full of water, an’ she gave him such a scrub - ’At he ’ist set there an’ shivered; an’ he told me afterwurds - ’At he never washed all over out to Overseer Bird’s! - ’En she burned his ragged trousies an’ she gave him some of mine; - My! she rubbed him an’ she scrubbed him till she almost made him shine, - Nen he ’ist looked all around him like he’s scairt for quite a w’ile, - An’ even w’en Ma’d pat his head he wouldn’t hardly smile. - - ’En after w’ile Ma took some flour-sacks an’ ’en she laid - ’Em right down at the fireplace, ’ist ’cause she is afraid - Santa Claus ’ll soil the carpet when he comes down there, you know; - An’ Billy Peeble watched her, an’ his eyes stuck out--’ist so! - ’En Ma said ’at in the mornin’ if we’d look down on the sacks - ’At they’d be ’ist full of soot where Santa Claus had made his tracks; - Billy Peeble stood there, lookin’! An’ he told me afterwurds - He was scairt he’d wake right up an’ be at Overseer Bird’s. - - Well, ’en she hung our stockin’s up an’ after w’ile she said: - “Now, you an’ Billy Peeble better go right off to bed, - An’ if you hear a noise tonight, don’t you boys make a sound, - ’Cause Santa Claus don’t never come with little boys around!” - So me an’ Billy went to bed, an’ Billy Peeble, he - Could hardly go to sleep at all--’ist tossed an’ tossed. You see - We had such w’ite sheets on the bed an’ he said afterwurds - They never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird’s. - - So we ’ist laid an’ talked an’ talked. An’ Billy ast me who - Was Santa Claus. An’ I said I don’t know if it’s all true, - But people say he’s some old man who ’ist loves little boys - An’ keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an’ heaps of toys - W’ich he brings down in a big sleigh, with reindeers for his steeds, - An’ comes right down the chimbly flue an’ leaves ’ist what you needs. - My! he’s excited w’en I told him that! An’ afterwurds - He said they never had no toys at Overseer Bird’s. - - I’m fallin’ pretty near asleep w’en Billy Peeble said: - “Sh-sh! What’s that noise?” An’ w’en he spoke I set right up in bed - Till sure enough I heard it in the parlor down below, - An’ Billy Peeble, he set up an’ ’en he said: “Le’s go!” - So we got up an’ sneaked down stairs, an’ both of us could see - ’At it was surely Santa Claus, ’ist like Ma said he’d be; - But he must heard us comin’ down, because he stopped an’ said: - “You, Henry Blake an’ William Peeble, go right back to bed!” - - My goodness, we was awful scairt! An’ both of us was pale, - An’ Billy Peeble said up stairs: “My! Ain’t he ’ist a whale!” - We didn’t hardly dare to talk and got back into bed - An’ Billy pulled the counterpane clear up above his head, - An’ in the mornin’ w’en we looked down on the flour-sacks, - W’y sure enough we saw the soot where he had made his tracks, - An’ Billy got a suit of clothes, a drum, an’ sled an’ books, - Till he ’ist never said a word, but my! how glad he looks! - - ’En after w’ile it’s dinner time an’ Billy Peeble set - Right next to Pa, an’ my! how he ’ist et an’ et an’ et! - Till he ’ist puffed an’ had to leave his second piece of pie - -[Illustration: BILLY PEEBLE’S CHRISTMAS] - - Because he couldn’t eat no more. An’ after dinner, w’y, - Ma dressed him up in his new clo’es, an Billy Peeble said - He’s sorry he’s an orfunt, an’ Ma patted Billy’s head, - W’ich made him cry a little bit, an’ he said afterwurds - Nobody ever pats his head at Overseer Bird’s. - - An’ all day long Pa looked at Ma an’ Ma she looked at him, - Because, Pa said ’at Billy looked a little bit like Jim - ’At was my baby brother, but he died oncet, years ago, - An’ ’at’s w’y Billy Peeble makes my mother like him so. - She says ’at Santa brought him as a present, ’ist instead - Of little Jim ’at died oncet. So she ’ist put him to bed - On Christmas night an’ tucked him in an’ told me afterwurds - ’At he ain’t never goin’ back to Overseer Bird’s. - - - - -THE WAY HE USED TO DO - - - Sometimes when I come in at night - And take my shoes off at the stair, - I hear my Pop turn on the light - And holler: “William, are you there?” - And then he says: “You go to bed-- - I knew that stealthy step was you.” - And I asked how and then he said: - “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.” - - Sometimes when I come home at six - O’clock and hurry up my chores, - And get a big armful of sticks - Of wood and bring it all indoors, - My Pop he comes and feels my head - And says: “You’ve been in swimmin’--you!” - When I asked how he knew, he said: - “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.” - - Sometimes before a circus comes, - When I’m as willing as can be - To do my chores, and all my chums - They all take turns at helping me, - My Pop, he pats ’em on the head - And says: “You like a circus, too?” - When I asked how he knew, he said: - “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.” - And lots of times when he gets mad - Enough to whip me and declares - He never saw another lad - Like I am--well, at last he spares - Me from a whipping and he lays - His rawhide down: “I can’t whip you - For that, although I should,” he says, - “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.” - - - - -A BOY’S VACATION TIME - - - Hail, that long-awaited day - When, the school books laid away, - All the thoughts of merry youngsters turn from pages back to play! - Done with lesson and with rule, - Done with teacher and with school, - Stray the vagrant hearts of childhood to the tempting wood and pool! - - Who will tell in rune and rhyme - Of the glory and the grime - In the dusty lanes and byways of a boy’s vacation time? - Hark, the whistle and the cry - That is piping shrill and high - From the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riotously by! - - Say, did sun e’er brightly shine - As when, with his rod and line - Tramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water clear and fine? - Sweet the murmur of the trees, - And what glory now he sees - In the chatter of the wild birds and the buzz of bumble-bees! - - Hear the green woods cry and call, - Through the Summer to the Fall, - “We are waiting, waiting, waiting, with a welcome for you all!” - Hear the lads take up the cry, - With an echo, shrill and high: - “We are coming, coming, coming, for vacation time is nigh!” - - How the skies are blue and fair, - How the clover scents the air - With a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare! - How the blossoms bud and blow, - And the great waves flood and flow - In the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and fro! - - Ah, my heart goes back and sighs - When the piping calls and cries - From the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of triumph rise! - And I would that rune and rhyme - Might be splendid and sublime - In my heart to tell the story of a boy’s vacation time! - - - - -A BOY’S CHOICE - - - I’d ruther take a w’ippin’ ’an a scoldin’ any day, - ’Cuz a w’ippin’ makes you tingle, but you go right out an’ play, - An’ after w’ile you’re over it an’ ’en at dinner, w’y, - Your mother’s awful sorry an’ she brings a piece of pie - An’ says she hates to do it, ’cuz it hurts her ’ist as bad - As it does anybody w’en she w’ips her little lad. - - An’ ’en at night she kisses you an’ puts you into bed - An’ tucks the covers in an’ says you’re Mamma’s Turly-head, - An’ my! she’s ’ist so lovely! An’ she sits beside of you - ’Ist ’cuz she feels so sorry over w’at she had to do. - An’ ’en she leaves the candle burn an’ says for you to call - If you want anything from her, an’ you ain’t scairt at all! - - But w’en you get a scoldin’ she don’t never bring you pie, - Becuz you’ll surely break her heart; an’ ’en she starts to cry; - An’ my! you feel so sorry, an’ you wisht she wouldn’t, ’cuz - It shows you how you’ve grieved her an’ how turble bad you wuz. - An’ all day long she never smiles; an’ w’en you go to bed - She never leaves the candle burn or calls you Turly-head. - - An’ sometimes you see big, w’ite things a-lookin’ at your bed, - ’At makes you scairt an’ pull the covers up above your head, - An’ ’en you s’pose how would you feel if Mamma wuz to die, - An’ biumby you feel so bad ’at you ’ist start to cry. - So w’en she looks at you so hurt an’ talks to you ’at way-- - I’d ruther take a w’ippin’ ’an a scoldin’ any day! - - - - -A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER - - - ’Is mornin’ mamma told me - ’At I mus’ be awful dood, - ’Tuz I’m startin’ on my schooldays - An’ I promised her I would. - But I’m awful much ’iscouraged - ’Tuz I tried so hard to det - All the lessons teacher gave me, - But I tant read yet! - - My! it’s awful long till dinner, - An’ I couldn’t hardly wait - Wen I dot done wif my letters - An’ I wrote ’em on my slate, - An’ I’m ’shamed to tell my mamma - ’At I dess she’ll have to let - Me go back again tomorrow, - ’Tuz I tant read yet. - - She’ll be awful disappointed, - ’Tuz I’ve been there half a day, - An’ she’ll think I didn’t study - Or it wouldn’t be that way. - But I don’t s’pose I tan help it, - An’ it does no dood to fret, - ’Tuz I’ve been to school all mornin’ - An’ I tant read yet. - - I dess our teacher’s stupid, - ’Tuz she didn’t seem to care - W’en I went right up an’ told her - Were she’s sittin’ in her chair, - ’At I’m awful much ’iscouraged - An’ my Mamma she would fret - ’Tuz I’ve been to school all mornin’ - An’ I tant read yet. - - An’ ’en she started laughin’, - It’s as true as I’m alive, - An’ ast how old I am, an’ ’en - I told her half past five, - An’ ’en she tame an’ tissed me, - ’Tuz my eyes are dettin’ wet, - An’ told me not to worry - ’Tuz I tant read yet. - - I dess if she had Mother Goose - She’d be ’isturbed herself, - If she ’ud go an’ det it - Down f’m off th’ lib’ry shelf, - An’ ’en w’en it is open, - I dess she’s apt to fret - If she’s been to school all mornin’ - An’ she tant read yet! - - - - -THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS - - - Sometimes when I got to do errands at night - An’ th’ moon is all dark an’ th’ ain’t any light, - An’ th’ wind, when it blows, makes a shivery sound, - An’ everything seems awful still all around; - Sometimes when a hoot-owl goes “Woo-oo-oo-oo!” - My legs feel so funny; I’m all goose-flesh, too. - An’ maybe I’m startled when I hear it call, - But I ain’t a bit scairt; I’m thes’ nervous, that’s all. - - Oncet me an’ Joe Simpson wuz walkin’ one night - A’ past th’ old graveyard, an’ saw somethin’ white - ’Et looked like a ghost, standin’ right in th’ road, - An’ my, Joe wuz scairt! ’Cuz he said ’et he knowed - It wuz surely a ghost; an’ I wisseled, becuz - When you wissel you scare ’em; an’ all that it wuz - Wuz a great, big, white cow; an’ it thes’ walked away, - An’ I wuzn’t no more scairt ’n if it wuz day! - - ’Cuz I don’t b’lieve in ghosts, an’ I’d thes’ as lieve go - A’ past any graveyard an’ walk awful slow, - An’ wissel, an’ sit on th’ top of th’ fence, - ’Cuz th’ ain’t any ghosts if you got any sense. - An’ when we saw that big white thing by th’ road - ’Et Joe wuz so scairt of, I wuzn’t. I knowed - All th’ time it’s no ghost. I wuz nervous becuz - I knowed what it wuzn’t, but not what it wuz! - - - - -A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE - - - Pop took me to the circus ’cause it disappoints me so - To have to stay at home, although he doesn’t care to go; - He’s seen it all so many times, the wagons and the tents; - The cages of wild animals and herds of elephants; - This morning he went down with me to watch the big parade, - He was so dreadful busy that he oughtn’t to have stayed, - He said he’d seen it all before and all the reason he - Went down and watched it coming was because it’s new to me. - - Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he says: “I guess - You want a glass of lemonade, of course,” and I says: “Yes.” - And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank his he - Told me he drank it only just to keep me company; - And then he says, “The sideshow is, I s’pose, the same old sell, - But everybody’s goin’ in, so we might just as well.” - He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he - Went in and saw it was because it was all new to me. - - Well, by and by we both came out and went in the big tent, - And saw the lions and tigers and the bigges’ elephant - With chains on his front corner and an awful funny nose - That looks around for peanuts that the crowd of people throws; - And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its nose around - Until it found most every one that he threw on the ground; - He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he - Stayed there and threw ’em was because it was all new to me. - - Well, then the band began to play the liveliestest tune, - And Pop, he says he guessed the show would open pretty soon; - So we went in the other tent, and Pop, he says to me: - “I guess we’ll get some reserved seats so you will surely see.” - And then some lovely ladies came and stood there on the ground, - And jumped up on the horses while the horses ran around; - Pop said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he - Looked at the ladies was because it was all new to me. - - Well, finally it’s over, but a man came out to say - That they’re going to have a concert, and Pop said we’d better stay; - He said they’re always just the same and always such a sell, - But lots of folks was staying and he guessed we might as well. - Then by and by we’re home again, and Mamma wants to know - What kind of circus was it, and Pop said, “The same old show,” - And said he’d seen it all before and all the reason he - Had stayed and seen it all was ’cause it’s all so new to me. - - - - -THE LOST CHILD - - - I ’member when they cut my curls not very long ago, - Because they looked just like a girl’s, and I’m a boy, you know; - I used to wear ’em awful long, and once my Pa, he said, - It’s time I had my curls cut off and wore short hair instead; - Because I’m big enough for that; and then they took the shears - And snipped my curls off one by one right close up to my ears, - But every time a curl came off, my Mother, she just hid - Her face a little bit and cried. I wonder why she did! - - And after while she picked one up and held it in her hand - With something shining in her eyes I didn’t understand; - She petted it as if it was a little boy or girl, - And acted fond of it when it was nothing but a curl. - And after while they’re all cut off and down there on the floor, - And I looked much more like a boy than I had been before, - But there was something in her eyes she tried and tried and tried - To brush away, but still it came. I wonder why she cried. - - And after while I’m all trimmed off, and then my Pa, he said, - I’m not a baby any more, but I’m a boy instead, - And he is awful proud of me, and then my Ma, she smiled - And said we found a boy that day and lost a little child; - So I said I would hunt for him and bring him back but then - She said she was afraid that he would not come back again; - And picked the curls I had all up from off the floor and hid - Them in her bureau drawer and cried. I wonder why she did. - - - - -DOUGHNUTTING TIME - - - Wunst w’en our girl wuz makin’ pies an’ doughnuts--’ist a lot-- - We stood around with great, big eyes, ’cuz we boys like ’em hot; - An’ w’en she dropped ’em in the lard they sizzled ’ist like fun. - An’ w’en she takes ’em out it’s hard to keep from takin’ one. - - An’ ’en she says: “You boys’ll get all spattered up with grease, - An’ biumby she says she’ll let us have ’ist one apiece; - So I took one for me an’ one for little James McBride, - The widow’s only orfunt son ’at’s waitin’ there outside. - - An’ Henry, he took one ’ist for himself an’ Nellie Flynn, - ’At’s waitin’ at the kitchen door an’ dassent to come in - Becuz her mother told her not, an’ Johnny, he took two, - ’Cuz Amy Brennan likes ’em hot, ’ist like we chinnern do. - - ’En Henry happened ’ist to think he didn’t get a one - For little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater’s son, - Who never gets ’em home becuz he says he ain’t quite sure - But thinks perhaps the reason wuz his folkses are too poor. - - An’ ’en I give my own away to little Willie Beggs - ’At fell way down his stairs one day an’ give him crooked legs, - ’Cuz Willie always seems to know w’en our girl’s goin’ to bake, - He wouldn’t ast for none-oh, no! But, my! he’s fond of cake. - - So I went back an’ ’en I got another one for me - Right out the kettle, smokin’ hot an’ brown as it could be, - An’ John, he got one, too, becuz he give his own to Clare, - An’ w’en our girl, she looked, there wuz ’ist two small doughnuts there! - - My! She wuz angry w’en she looked an’ saw ’ist them two there, - An’ says she knew ’at she had cooked a crock full an’ to spare, - She says it’s awful ’scouragin’ to bake an’ fret an’ fuss, - An’ w’en she thinks she’s got ’em in the crock they’re all in us! - - - - -A MODERN MIRACLE - - - Once w’en I’m sick th’ doctor come - An’ ’en I put my tongue ’way out, - An’ he says, “H-m-m! Nurse, get me some - Warm water, please.” An’ in about - A minute, w’y, she did an’ ’en - He put a glass thing into it - An’ ’en he wiped it off again - An’ put it in my mouth a bit. - - ’En after w’ile he took it out - An’ held it up w’ere he could see, - An’ ’en he says, “H-m-m! ’Ist about - Too high a half of a degree.” - An’ ’en Ma asked him if I’m bad - An’ he says “Nope!” ’ist gruff an’ cross - ’An says “W’y you can’t kill a lad, - An’ if you do it ain’t much loss!” - - An’ ’en she’s mad an’ he ’ist bust - Out laughin’ an’ he says, “Don’t fret, - He’s goin’ t’ be all right, I trust. - W’y he ain’t even half dead yet.” - An’ ’en he felt my pulse, ’at way, - An’ patted me upon my head - An’ says “There ain’t no school today, - ’Cuz one of th’ trustees is dead!” - -[Illustration: A MODERN MIRACLE] - - An’ my, I’m awful sorry w’en - He told me that. An’ ’en he said - “He’ll be all right by noon.” An’ ’en - He went away. An’ Ma says “Ned, - How do you feel?” An’ ’en, you know, - Since Doctor told me that, somehow, - I’m awful sick a while ago, - But, my! I’m almost well right now! - - - - -NERVOUSTOWN - - - Oh, there’s never a noise in Nervoustown; - Not the cry of a youngster; and up or down - There’s never a cheer or a whistle shrill; - Just silence, like that of the grave, so still; - The horses trot with a muffled tread, - But the place seems lonesome and drear and dead, - For a cloth-bound head and a nervous frown - Are all you may see in Nervoustown. - - Sh-h! you must walk with noiseless tread - For there’s many a hot and aching head; - The doors are closed and the blinds are down, - For it must be dark in Nervoustown. - And you mustn’t whistle or shout or cheer - Or slam the doors! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! - Lest a cloth-bound head and a terrible frown - Poke out at you from Nervoustown. - - Oh, there’s never a person there but goes - On the very tip of his tippy-toes; - Nor ever a lad has heard at all - Of follow-my-leader or rude baseball; - It’s much as your life is worth to yell, - The flowers can’t grow for the camphor-smell; - While a big policeman, up and down, - Cries “Sh-h!” through the streets of Nervoustown. - - And a little boy, who didn’t know, - Once years and years and years ago, - Gave three loud, lusty cheers one day - For something or other, I can’t say, - And they snipped his head off--Oh! Oh! Oh! - With big, red, rusty shears, you know, - And cloth-bound heads bobbed up and down - With gladness all through Nervoustown. - - But, oh, it’s gloomy in Nervoustown, - With the doors tight shut and the blinds all down, - Where the frightened lad his whole life goes - On the very tips of his tippy-toes, - Where the hens don’t cluck and the birds don’t sing, - And even the church bells dare not ring - Lest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frown - Poke out at them from Nervoustown. - - - - -SONG OF SUMMER DAYS - - - Sing a song of hollow logs, - Chirp of cricket, croak of frogs, - Cry of wild bird, hum of bees, - Dancing leaves and whisp’ring trees; - Legs all bare and dusty toes, - Ruddy cheeks and freckled nose, - Splash of brook and swish of line, - Where the song that’s half so fine? - - Sing a song of summer days, - Leafy nooks and shady ways, - Nodding roses, apples red, - Clover like a carpet spread; - Sing a song of running brooks, - Cans of bait and fishing hooks, - Dewy hollows, yellow moons, - Birds a-pipe with merry tunes. - - Sing a song of skies of blue, - Eden’s garden made anew, - Scarlet hedges, leafy lanes, - Vine-embowered sills and panes; - Stretch of meadows, splashed with dew, - Silver clouds with sunlight through, - Cry of loon and pipe of wren, - Sing and call it home again. - - - - -WHAT MOTHER DOESN’T KNOW - - - Sometimes w’en I got to pile wood in the - yard, - ’Ist wringin’ with sweat ’cuz I’m workin’ so - hard, - An’ see all the neighbors’ boys startin’ to fish, - I can’t hardly work any more, an’ I wish - ’At I wuz a-goin’ an’ ’en right away - I run an’ ast Ma if I can’t go today, - An’ she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run - Off an’ fish ’ist as soon as your work is all done. - - You must work while you work, - You must play while you play - An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.” - An’ mebbe it’s so, - But my goodness! to go - With the boys ’at’s gone fishin’!--I guess she dunno! - - Sometimes w’en I got to hoe garden an’ hear - The boys playin’ ball in the next lot, so near - I hear ’em all cheerin’ an’ see ’em all score, - I can’t hardly stand it to hoe any more. - So ’en I ast Ma if I can’t go an’ play - An’ promise to hoe twict as much the next day, - But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run - Off an’ play ’ist as soon as your work is all done. - - You must work while you work, - You must play while you play - An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.” - An’ mebbe it’s so, - But, my goodness! to hoe - W’en you hear ’em a-playin’!--I guess she dunno. - - Sometimes w’en the snow gets all piled up so deep - On the walk ’at she tells me to go out an’ sweep - It all off, an’ Sam Russell comes by with his sled, - My broom ’at I’m usin’ gets heavy as lead. - An’ I can’t hardly sweep, an’ I ast Ma if I - Can’t go out a-slidin’ an’ sweep by an’ by, - But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run - Off and slide ’ist as soon as your work is all done. - - You must work while you work, - You must play while you play - An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.” - An’ mebbe it’s so, - But to have to sweep snow - W’en the boys are a-slidin’!--I guess she dunno. - - - - -SO LONESOME NOW - - - Over t’ Henry Murray’s, why, - They always had lots an’ lots o’ pie, - An’ toy automobiles an’ v’locipedes - An’ walkin’ toys, like a fellow reads - About sometimes, but he seldom sees, - An’ swings out under th’ big oak trees, - An’ childurn a-playin’ on every bough-- - But my! It is turrible lonesome now. - - Over t’ Henry Murray’s, why, - His mother an’ father ’ist seemed t’ try - An’ see if they couldn’t get some new toys - For Henry an’ all of us other boys - ’At played with him; an’ she used t’ make - Th’ dandiest currant an’ raisin cake, - An’ boys ’ist flocked there like flies, somehow-- - But my! It is turrible lonesome now. - - Over’t Henry Murray’s, why, - His mother ’ud see you goin’ by - An’ ast you why you didn’t come an’ play - With Henry an’ all of his toys, some day. - An’ every Christmas she’d have a tree - With presents, th’ finest you ever see, - An’ nobody got forgot, somehow-- - But my! It is turrible lonesome now. - - An’ over t’ Henry Murray’s, why, - We boys ’ist look while we’re goin’ by, - An’ see all his toys layin’ there outside. - Once Big Bill Skinner broke down an’ cried - An’ says he don’t care--it was ’ist too bad, - ’Cause Henry was all of th’ boy they had. - An’ th’ swings ’ist hang from th’ big oak bough bough-- - An’ my! It is turrible lonesome now. - - - - -A LITTLE LOVE STORY - - - She understands. I do not need to go - And tell her she is all the world to me. - I never speak a word to let her know - I will be faithful till Eternity, - But when, upon the way to school, she sees - Me come with two red apples in my hands - And hears me say: “Please, Sally Jane, take these,” - It is no wonder that she understands. - - Or when she sees me at the old front gate - With my new sled right after the first snow, - And from her window calls to me to wait - Until she asks her Mother can she go, - I do not need to tell her why I come - In my fur cap with mittens on my hands, - For even if my feelings make me dumb - She looks at me and then she understands. - - Or if she whispers something when in school, - As children are quite often apt to do, - Forgetting all about the teacher’s rule, - And teacher says to Sally: “Was that you?” - Why then I see how scared she is and rise - Up in my seat and hold up both my hands - And take the blame--she looks into my eyes eyes-- - I do not need to speak--she understands. - - Or if she has the measles so I dare - Not go up to her house, but I can look - In through the window and she sees me there, - And if I bring a dandy story book - And leave it on the fence post where the nurse - Can come and take it in, and if my hands - Have written, “Dear, I hope you’ll be no worse,” - I do not need to speak--she understands. - - I do not need to tell her how I feel-- - She only has to watch the things I do; - She knows my heart is true to her as steel, - And if it rains or if the sky is blue - I wait for her to walk to school with me, - And carry all her school-books in my hands, - And I am just as happy as can be, - And so is she--because she understands. - -[Illustration: A LITTLE LOVE STORY] - - - - -ON A NOISELESS FOURTH - - - On a noiseless street stood a crackerless lad with a screechless fife and - a headless drum, - Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a blareless band, all still and - dumb, - Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle corps blew a noteless blare, - While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a fireless path through - the silent air. - The blareless band played a soundless tune and the crackerless lad gave a - voiceless shout - As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the upheld standard fluttered - out. - “Hurrah!” he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth from his lips in a - speechless way. - “Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless Independence Day!” - - Then far away down the village street a smokeless gun belched a soundless - roar, - A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played a blareless tune once - more; - The clickless guns of the village guards with a thudless sound dropped on - the ground. - The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voiceless mob ranged - all around; - A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps joined in a tootless - screech, - The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongueless strains of - a wordless speech. - Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless lad, in a voiceless - way, - Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day. - - Oh, the pulseless thrill of the noiseless guns and the tootless fifes and - the headless drums, - The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the soundless pageant noiseless - comes - Down the village street, and the sightless glow of the hissless rocket’s - fireless glare - With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the measureless breadth - of the lightless air! - But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crackers popped and cannons - roared, - Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look of a lad who is greatly - bored; - And he cried aloud--’twas the only sound that was heard, not made in a - voiceless way: - “Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day!” - - - - -CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE - - - I’m only ’ist a little girl, - An’ w’en I want to play - An’ Mamma says don’t go outside - Our yard this livelong day, - An’ w’en some other girls ’ey come - An’ pester me to go, - It may be wrong, but I’m so young, - How does she s’pose I know? - - An’ ’en w’en she goes out sometimes - An’ says: “Now go to bed - At eight o’clock this very night,” - I ’member what she said. - But w’en the mantel clock strikes eight - An’ I don’t want to go, - It may be wrong, but I’m so young, - How does she s’pose I know? - - An’ w’en she says: “Now, don’t go near - The cookie jar this day,” - I want some cookies awful much - An’ try to stay away. - But all the time I’m hungry for - Some cookies, an’ I go-- - It may be wrong, but I’m so young, - How does she s’pose I know? - - I’m only ’ist a little girl - Not more ’n six years old, - An’ my, I always try to do - E’zactly as I’m told. - But w’en I make ’ist one mistake, - My Ma ought not to go - An’ punish me, ’cause I’m so young, - How does she s’pose I know? - - - - -THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL - - - Our Uncle Bill’s a bachelur, an’ it’s an awful shame, - ’Cuz he knows stories about bears an’ knows ’em all by name. - An’ growls ’ist like a really one an’ makes you think a bear - Is underneath th’ table, but of course it isn’t there. - An’ when he takes you on his knee he talks ’ist like a book - An’ after w’ile your eyes get big an’ you’re a-scairt to look - W’en he says: “Nen a bear come out an’ ’ist went Boo-oo-oo!” - Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you. - - An’ ’en he plays wild Indian an’ hides himself somewheres - W’ile we look in th’ corners an’ behind th’ parlor chairs, - An’ peek in th’ dark closets an’ p’tend we’re on a scout - Till after w’ile he makes a whoop an’ ’en comes rushin’ out - ’Ist like he’s on th’ warpath; an’ us chinnern run upstairs - An’ hide in Mamma’s closet an’ he makes us think ’at bears - Are comin’ in to get us an’ he growls ’ist like he’s one, - An’ my! we’re turble scairt an’ yet it’s awful lots o’ fun. - - An’ ’en he is a pirate an’ he makes us chinnern play - At we are in a shipwreck an’ th’ crew is cast away - Upon a desert island w’ere his treasure chest is hid, - An’ we are only sailors an’ his name is Captain Kidd. - An’ w’en we hear him comin’ he ’ist roars an’ ’en we run, - ’Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an’ pokers for a gun, - An’ after w’ile he kills us all but it don’t hurt, an’ w’en - He sails away in his big ship we come to life again. - - ’En after w’ile our Mother comes an’ taps him on th’ head, - An’ says it’s time for bears an’ scouts an’ things to be in bed, - An’ leads us chinnern all upstairs an’ maybe if we keep - Right still she’ll let th’ candle burn until we go to sleep. - ’En after w’ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good-night, - An’ see how snug an’ warm we are an’ all tucked in so tight, - An’ ’en he kisses us good-night an’ ’en his eyes ’ist blur: - I guess we make him sorry ’at he is a bachelur! - - - - -HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS - - - Don’t you dast kill a toad, Henry Blake says, for true - As your’re born it’ll rain right away if you do. - For Henry Blake says oncet some boys ’at he knowed - Were goin’ a-fishin’ an’ one killed a toad, - An’ it all clouded up an’ it got just as black, - An’ it thundered an’ lightninged before they got back - Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why, - But he thinks toads has somethin’ t’ do with the sky. - An’ Henry Blake showed - Us th’ place in th’ road - Where the boys went an’ kilt him an’ that’s how he knowed. - - Henry Blake says if you just split a bean - An’ put half of it on a wart when it’s green, - An’ throw half of it between midnight an’ dawn - In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart’ll be gone - Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it’s true - ’Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two - That took off a big wart, an’ th’ half was all black - An’ Henry Blake says that it never came back. - An’ Henry’s friend showed - Him th’ cistern he throwed - The other half into an’ that’s how he knowed! - - - - -THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES - - - His curls are like rings of red gold on his head, - His lips are as red as a cherry, - His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red, - His eyes full of mischief and merry. - His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air, - A fig for the whole of his troubles! - For he’s my Boy Careless--you’ve seen him somewhere, - And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles! - - Now he’s riding a stick that is legless and dead, - Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles, - For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head - In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! - He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath, - With a big wooden gun on his shoulder, - And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path - For never a huntsman was bolder. - - Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste, - He drops on one knee in the stubbles, - For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased - To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles! - His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots, - The sound of it echoes and doubles, - For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes - In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. - - Then out from the forest a savage all red - With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle, - A thrust from the big wooden sword--he is dead - With a most melancholy death-rattle. - Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse, - And back o’er the all-trackless stubbles, - For it’s many a mile to his cabin, of course, - In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. - - Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride - With the make-believe gun on his shoulder, - With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side, - And a sigh from the heart that is older! - A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips, - A fig for the whole of his troubles, - When he’s off like the wind on his make-believe trips - In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! - - - - -THE GINGERCAKE MAN - - - The Gingercake man was a lump of brown dough - Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so! - To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin, - His bones almost popped through the holes in his skin; - They sifted him over with flour and spice, - And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice, - And took some dried currants, the biggest and best, - To make him some buttons for closing his vest. - - The Gingercake man wabbled this way and that, - When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat - That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way, - For a Gingercake man is not made every day. - They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed! - And made him some teeth out of caraway seed, - And when he was finished they buttered a pan-- - The biggest they had--for the Gingercake man. - - Then into the oven they put him to bake - Until he was hard and could stand and not break - His legs when he stood; and they set him to cool - Until all the children should come home from school. - And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee, - When mother invited the children to see, - -[Illustration: THE GINGERCAKE MAN] - - All sifted with sugar and out of the pan, - The good-natured face of the Gingercake man. - - But alas and alas! ’Tis a short life and sweet - Is the Gingercake man’s--for they ate off his feet, - They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest, - And picked all the buttons from out of his vest; - They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat, - And everything edible went just like that, - Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan - As all that is left of the Gingercake man! - - - - -LONESOME - - - Say, little boy, be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you; - And I won’t never tell on you, no matter what you do. - It’s awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but it’s hard - To have your mother say that you must play in your back yard. - There’s lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as bright - As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light; - Perhaps you’d catch it in your cap if I would help you to-- - Come over and be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you. - - I’m all the children we have got--I’m lonesome as can be, - I wish you wouldn’t be afraid to come and play with me. - I don’t care if your face ain’t clean or if your clothes are torn, - I didn’t have no clothes at all the time that I was born. - We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost you so - That you can get some if you come, and when it’s time to go - We’ll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. Don’t you see - I’m willing to be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me? - - I’ve got a lot of wooden toys, as fine as they can be, - But I want something that’s alive to run around with me, - And play wild Indians and bears, and if you’ll come and play - Perhaps my Mamma ’ll let me come and play with you some day. - We’ve got some dandy hollow trees, the finest anywheres, - And one of us can hide in them when we are playing bears, - And growl just like he’s awful cross, and all the time you know - It’s only make-believe, of course, but then it scares you so. - - I wish you’d come and play with me. I’ve got a jumping-jack - I’ll give you for your very own to keep when you go back, - And you can ride my v’locipede most all the afternoon - And blow some bubbles with my pipe and play with my balloon. - I’ve got an awful lot of toys and I will let you play - That they are yours as much as mine for all the time you stay, - I’m all the boys my folks have got. I’m lonesome as can be, - Come on, and I’ll be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me. - - - - -THE GARDEN OF PLAY - - - Out in the Garden of Childhood gay - Romp three glad youngsters with merry cries, - Startling the birds with their boisterous play, - Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. - Ever you see them and hear them there, - Morning or evening or blossomy noon, - And oh, but the Garden of Youth is fair, - And oh, but the years of it pass too soon! - - Over the Garden arch cloudless skies, - (Ah, but the skies of all Youth are blue!) - Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes - Find in each nook something rare and new. - Cool is the shade of the coaxing trees, - Bidding them hide from the sun at noon, - And oh, but what glorious days are these, - And oh, but the hours of them pass too soon! - - Rare is the Garden with fragrant flowers - (Ah, but the flowers of Youth are fair!) - Garlands they weave of the golden hours, - Sweet with the song of the birds in air. - Splashed all the earth with a rosy light, - Light of the sun at its splendid noon, - And oh, but the sunshine of Youth is bright, - And oh, but the light of it dies too soon! - - Sweet to mine ears from the Garden gay - Echo their calls and their merry cries, - Startling the birds with their boisterous play, - Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. - Dips the red sun to its shadowed west, - These are the years of mine afternoon, - And oh, but the years of my youth were best, - And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon! - - - - -WE AIN’T SCARED O’ PA - - - Us boys ain’t scared o’ Pa so much, - He only makes a noise, - An’ says he never did see such - Onmanageable boys. - But when Ma looks around I see - Just somethin’ long an’ flat - An’ always make a point to be - Some better after that. - - Pa promises an’ promises, - But never does a thing; - But what Ma says she does she does, - An’ when I go to bring - Her slipper or her hair brush when - She says she’ll dust my pants, - I think I could be better then - If I had one more chance. - - Pa always says nex’ time ’at he - Will have a word to say, - But Ma she is more apt to be - A-doin’ right away; - Pa turns around at us an’ glares - As fierce as he can look, - But when we’re out o’ sight, upstairs, - He goes back to his book. - - Ma doesn’t glare as much as Pa - Or make as big a fuss, - But what she says is law is law, - And when she speaks to us - She’s lookin’ carelessly around - F’r somethin’ long an’ flat, - And when we notice it, we’re bound - To be good after that. - - So we ain’t scairt o’ Pa at all, - Although he thinks we are; - But when we hear Ma come an’ call, - No difference how far - We are away we answer quick, - An’ tell her where we’re at, - When she stoops down and starts to pick - Up somethin’ long an’ flat! - - - - -A PEARL OF PRICE - - - She isn’t worth a fortune and she hasn’t any stocks, - Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores and frocks. - In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laughing eyes, - In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees and butterflies. - But when she comes in tired from play and crawls upon my knee - She’s worth a hundred millions to her mother and to me. - - She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn’t seem to care - If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair. - She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips - A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her lips. - And when she puts her arms around my neck and goos in glee, - She’s worth uncounted millions to her mother and to me. - - And when she’s in her crib at night and daintily tucked in, - The wealth of Croesus couldn’t buy the dimple in her chin, - And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a-boo, - She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken goo. - And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will agree, - She’s a fortune, more than money, to her mother and to me. - - - - -DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN - - - Dear little, queer little man, - With his hair all a tumble of curls, - With a light in his eyes - Like the blue of the skies - When the dawn’s rosy banner unfurls! - Sweet little, fleet little man, - Who fills all the house with his toys, - Whose laugh has the truth - Of the heart of his youth: - A toast to the health of our boys! - - Dear little, queer little man, - With a big, paper cap on his head, - And a sword at his side - As he gets up to ride - On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red! - Play, little, gay little man; - Fill all of the house with your noise, - For, oh, it were ill - If your laughter were still! - A toast to the laughter of boys! - - Dear little, queer little man, - With dreams of the future to be, - When he shall grow tall - And shall care for us all, - His mother, his sister and me! - Brave little, grave little man, - With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete, - But bearing the seed - That shall blossom and lead - To manhood all gracious and sweet. - - Dear little, queer little man, - Whose heart is so boyish and pure, - May the sweetness and truth - That are flowers of youth - Through all of your being endure! - Play, little, gay little man; - Fill all of the house with your noise, - For, oh, what so sweet - As the pattering feet - And the echoing laughter of boys? - - Dear little, queer little man, - The light of the dawn’s rosy beams - Be evermore spread - On your dear, curly head, - And truth to your innocent dreams! - Blest little, best little man, - God keep you as pure as the truth - That lingers and lies - In the light of your eyes: - Long life to the heart of your youth! - - - - -GIRL OF MINE - - - Oh, her frock is crisp and white, - And her hair is curled up tight - To her roguish little head, just like an aureole of light. - Not a heart but she could win - With the ribbon at her chin - And her cheeks that have such very little merry dimples in. - - Ah, the laughter in her eyes, - And the wonder and surprise - As she toddles through the waving grass in search of butterflies; - And the flowers nod and sway - In their love of her and say - By their homage as she passes she’s a fairer flower than they. - - Ah, the sweetness and the grace - In her radiant little face - As she scampers through the sunlight in her airy, fairy race; - How the roguish laughter trips - From the gateway of her lips - Like the lilting of the robin through the leafy bough that slips. - - And the birds in branches high - Seem to join her merry cry, - And to chirp a fearless greeting as she gaily toddles by; - And so light her footsteps fall - That the clover blossoms call: - “See! She stepped on us in passing but we’re scarcely bruised at all!” - - - - -CHUMS - - - He lives acrost the street from us - An’ ain’t as big as me; - His mother takes in washin’ ’cuz - They’re poor as they can be; - But every night he brings his slate - An’ ’en I do his sums, - An’ help him get his lessons straight, - ’Cuz him an’ me is chums. - - His clo’es ain’t _quite_ as good as mine, - But I don’t care for that; - His mother makes his face ’ist shine, - An’ I _lent_ him a hat. - An’ every mornin’, ’ist by rule, - W’en nine o’clock it comes, - He takes my hand an’ goes to school, - ’Cuz him an’ me is chums. - - Nobody better plague him, too, - No matter if he’s small, - ’Cuz I’m his friend, for tried and true, - An’ ’at’s th’ reason all - Th’ boys don’t dare to plague him, ’cuz - I ’ist wait till he comes, - An’ he walks close to me, he does, - ’Cuz him an’ me is chums. - - He fell an’ hurt hi’self one day - Th’ summer before last, - An’ ’at’s w’at makes him limp ’at way - An’ don’t grow very fast. - So w’en I get a piece of pie, - Or maybe nuts or plums, - I always give him some, ’cuz I - Get lots--an’ we are chums. - - An’ w’en it’s nuttin’ time, we go, - An’ I climb all th’ trees, - ’Cuz he can’t climb--he’s hurt, you know-- - But he gets all he sees - Come droppin’ down, an’ my! he’s glad; - An’ w’en th’ twilight comes - He says w’at a fine time he had, - ’Cuz him an’ me is chums. - - But my! his mother’s awful queer; - ’Cuz w’en we’re home again, - She wipes her eye--a great, big tear-- - An’ says: “God bless you, Ben! - Th’ Lord will bless you all your days - W’en th’ great Judgment comes.” - But I say I don’t need no praise, - ’Cuz him an’ me is chums. - - - - -THE LOST BOY - - - Little Boy Careless has strewn his blocks - From end to end of the nursery; - He has broken the top of the gaudy box - That held sliced animals--My, Ah Me! - His wooden soldiers are seamed and scarred - From battle with him, and his jumping-jack - Is lodged half-way from a blow too hard, - Nor all of my coaxing will get him back. - - Little Boy Careless has split his drum - And bent the tube of his screeching fife - Till all of its martial airs are dumb, - And the doll that squeaked has lost her life - From a mallet blow on her waxen head, - And none of her sister dolls knows or cares - How the sawdust in her is strewn and spread - From the bedroom door to the hall downstairs. - - Little Boy Careless has gone away - And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me, - The toys that were scattered here yesterday - Are stored up there in the nursery. - The broken drum and the jumping-jack, - The waxen doll in her crib alone, - Nor Little Boy Careless will e’er come back - To scatter the toys by his years outgrown. - - And ah, but the heart of me aches and cries - For the Little Boy Careless to come and play, - The light of the dawn in his big, brown eyes, - With the toys that are gathered and laid away. - The Big Boy Hopeful will come to pine - For the world out there and will yearn to go, - But the Little Boy Careless was mine, all mine, - And that is the reason I loved him so! - - - - -LINES TO A BABY GIRL - - - Oh, she has such a way with her! - I stay with her - And play with her, - Her cheeks are round and dimpled and - Her eyes are Heaven’s blue; - My life is spent quite half with her, - I laugh with her - And chaff with her, - Till she looks up with laughing eyes, - And all she says is “Goo!” - - Sometimes I try to walk with her, - I talk with her - And rock with her; - She knows some way my love for her - Is tender and is true. - And so I sit and speak with her - And seek with her - The cheek of her - To brush with little kisses and - Quite all she says is “Goo!” - - She toddles in to share with me - My chair with me; - Her air with me - Is that of queen imperious, - My heart her subject true. - Upon the floor she lies with me - And tries with me - To rise with me - When romping time is over, and - She looks up and says “Goo!” - - Oh, she is such a part of me, - The heart of me, - And art of me - Could not express my love for her, - So tender and so true; - She is the treasure blessed of me, - Heart’s guest of me, - The best of me, - This little baby girl of me - Who looks up and says “Goo!” - - - - -LITTLE MISCHEFUSS - - - Somebody went and broke my doll, an’ let her sawdust out - On Mamma’s floor an’ my! there’s sawdust scattered all about! - Dess scandalous! An’ bien by my Mamma’ll come an’ say: - “I see ’at Little Mischefuss has been around today!” - - An’ sometimes w’en th’ sugar bowl’s lef’ open, she says ’en: - “I dess ’at Little Mischefuss has been around again!” - An’ my! I’m awful much surprised! an’ ast how does she know, - But she dess says a little bird flew in an’ told her so! - - One time somebody went, she did, and broke my jumpin’-jack - An’ Mamma says: “I see ’at Little Mischefuss is back.” - An’ w’en somebody spilled p’eserves right on the pantry shelf - She says: “I see ’at Mischefuss has tried to he’p herself!” - - One day somebody tored my dress an’ en she says: “I see - At Little Mischefuss is dess as busy as can be!” - An’ my! I’m awful much surprised an’ ast how does she know, - But she dess says a little bird flew in an’ told her so! - - Somebody frowed my blocks out doors an’ ’en ’ey dot all wet - An’ all peeled off tuz why it rained an’ Mamma says she bet - ’At Little Mischefuss is back from Topsyturvytown - An’ mus’ be hidin’ in th’ house or else somew’eres aroun’. - - Oncet Mamma’s goin’ t’ spank her w’en she catches her, an’ so - I ast her not to tuz she’s dess a little girl, you know, - An’ don’t know any better ’an t’ plague an’ pester us, - Till she dess laughs, tuz why she says _I’m_ Little Mischefuss! - - - - -THE TRAVELS OF MORTIMER BROWN - - - This is the story of Mortimer Brown - Who went for his mother some errands in town, - Who was told he must come back as quick as he could - And as earnestly promised his mother he would. - He went down the front steps full three at a time - And swung on the gate, for the swinging was prime. - - He teetered on all the loose boards in the walk - And met Jimmy Brady and sat down to talk; - He climbed up the trunk of a big tree that stands - Not so far from his home, and he swung with both hands. - He passed the cow pasture and stopped for a stroll, - Climbed the fence and turned twice on the very top pole. - - Then he turned a few handsprings all through the long grass - And sat on the fence to watch Peter Bates pass - With a big flock of sheep, and he got himself chased - By the biggest black ram and he fell in his haste - Down the bank of the brook and he sat there about - Half an hour in the sun till his clothes were dried out. - He laid off his coat since the day was so hot - And chose a bypath through the strawberry plot; - He gathered some berries to eat on his way - Till alarmed by the watch-dog’s deep, ominous bay. - Then he followed a rabbit as far as he could - Until it was lost in the depth of a wood, - And marked a bee tree so to find it again - When he and Jim Brady should visit Beech Glen. - So tired then he was that he sat down to rest - And he fell sound asleep with his coat and his vest - - Spread under his head, when the rumble of wheels - On the road waked him up and he saw Elmer Beals - Driving by in the lane and he climbed up beside - On a big load of squashes and had a fine ride, - And helped lead the horses to water as soon - As they both reached the town in the late afternoon. - And then, oh, alas! The long list Mother wrote - Of the things he should get had dropped out of his coat, - - So he bought some stick candy and cookies--he knew - Of the things she would need they must surely be two, - And munching them sadly the whole of the way - Back homeward he wondered what Mother would say. - I wonder if ever in country or town - You have known such a lad as this Mortimer Brown? - - - - -ADVENTURERS THREE - - - I know a little sailor who has never been to sea, - But walks the deck of our back porch as bold as he can be. - He never shows a sign of fear when in the stoutest gale, - Nor ever lost a ship, although he never reefed a sail. - I’ve heard him send his crew aloft when fearful tempests blew, - But though I’ve searched the rigging oft, I never saw the crew. - I’m sure he is a sailor, for his mother showed to me - His clothes, such as the sailors wear when they go forth to sea. - - I know a little hunter who has never fired a gun, - But roams about our orchard with a painted wooden one; - A hunter of such prowess that he hasn’t left a bear, - A tiger or an animal of that description there. - I know he used to see them, for I’ve seen him creep and crawl, - And finally destroy one that I never saw at all. - I’m sure he was a hunter, for I saw his buckskins spread - Just as a plainsman leaves them--on the foot-board of his bed. - - I know a little soldier who has never been to war, - But wears a splendid uniform, all buttoned down before. - I’ve seen him drill in our back yard a dozen times a day, - I’ve seen him march and counter in a military way. - I’ve heard him shout commands with all a captain’s dignity, - But though I’ve searched the lawn, I never saw his company. - I’m sure he was a soldier, for I saw the clothes he wore - Last night beside his bed, when he had finished with the war. - - Sometimes he gets a wetting when the seas are very high, - And has to have his sailor clothes hung on the line to dry, - So he becomes a soldier and upon a march he goes, - And what he is this moment quite depends upon his clothes. - He never shoots a lion when he wears a sailor suit, - Or walks the deck in buckskins, which he only wears to shoot, - And never thinks of drilling or of marching off to war - Unless he wears his uniform with buttons down before. - - - - -WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO - - - One time I’m awful sick in bed, - An’ sometimes I’m delirious, - ’Cuz I got fever in my head, - An’ when I’m th’ most serious - My Pa, he sits beside of me - An’ ’en he rubs my head, an’ ’en - He says when I get well, why, he - Won’t ever scold his boy again. - - An’ ’en my Ma, she rubs my head - ’Ist burnin’ hot, an’ ’en her chin - ’Ist shivers an’ she says: “Poor Ned! - His little hands so white an’ thin!” - An’ ’en she says she never knew - How precious ’ist a boy could be, - An’ when I’m well she’s goin’ t’ do - ’Ist what I want her to for me. - - An’ by and by my Aunty comes - An’ says when I get well why she - Don’t care if I have twenty drums, - An’ she will buy a sled for me. - An’ my big sister’s goin’ t’ buy - A really pony ’ist as quick - As ever doctor says ’at I - Am well again from bein’ sick. - - An’ even our old hired man - Comes in an’ stays a while with me, - Whenever doctor says he can, - ’Ist kind an’ gentle as can be, - ’Cuz once he had a boy, an’ ’en - He had th’ fever an’ ’at’s why - He’s awful kind to me an’ when - He sees me, why he starts t’ cry. - - An’ even teacher comes to see - Me on her way from school, an’ ’en - She says it won’t be hard for me - When I come back to school again. - ’Cuz she won’t make my lessons long, - Or keep me after school; an’ she - ’Ist wants me to get well an’ strong - An’ ’en she stoops an’ kisses me. - - An’ ’at’s th’ way you really know - How much they love you, when your head - ’Ist burnin’ up an’ you can’t go - Nowheres except to stay in bed. - An’ even if you’re awful bad - An’ hot with fever, why, you know, - It makes you feel ’ist sweet an’ glad - Becuz they all ’ist love you so. - - - - -SOMEBODY DID - - - Somebody stood up right on top of a chair - An’ reached in the cooky-jar, way, way up there, - W’en nobody’s lookin’ an’ Mamma’s asleep, - An’ all of us chinnern wuz playin’ Bo-peep - Now’eres near the pantry; an’ tryin’ to get - Some cookies, an’ someway the jar got upset, - An’ my! it ’ist busted all over the floor. - But John, he ain’t scairt; an’ he rapped on the door, - W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid, - An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!” - - An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid, - ’Cuz we don’t know who done it--but Somebody did! - - Somebody crawled up in the big leather chair - By the lib’ary table w’at stood over there - W’en we wuz a-playin’ now’eres near the ink - An’ Mamma was sewin’--an’ w’at do you think? - Somebody upset it and knocked it, ’ist Chug! - Right off’n the table an’ down on the rug, - An’ my! it ’ist busted an’ runned everyw’eres. - But John, he ain’t scairt; an’ he runned right upstairs, - W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid, - An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!” - - An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid, - ’Cuz we don’t know who done it--but Somebody did! - - An’ wunst w’en the kitchen wuz all scrubbed so clean, - The floor wuz ’ist shiny as ever you seen, - An’ we wuz all playin’ outdoors in the street, - Somebody went in with the muddies’ feet - An’ tracked it all over the floor, ’ist a sight; - An’ my! when we seen it we ’ist shook with fright, - ’Cuz none of us chinnern went near it all day. - But John, he ain’t scairt; an’ he went right away, - W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid, - An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!” - - An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid, - ’Cuz we don’t know who done it--but Somebody did! - - - - -THE WADERS - - - The queerest things rained down all over our street, - With long legs, like spiders, and muddy brown feet; - They must have rained down, for I saw them all run - Through puddles and mud ere the shower was done. - They’re some sort of Waders, and all over town - Through pools and deep gutters they splash up and down, - Bareheaded, barelegged, barefooted and wet, - The Waders of Frogpond--I hear them splash yet. - - The rain fell in torrents, the gutters’ deep tides - Were black, and the rain barrels ran o’er their sides, - The frothy white waters whirled from the eavespout, - But with the first lull all the Waders came out. - They danced in the frogponds, they sounded the streams - In gutters and made the air shrill with their screams, - They rolled up their dresses and trousers and dashed - Through mud, froth and water, and waded and splashed. - - And forth with the Waders came all kinds of dogs, - Came sailors with bark boats, came navies of frogs. - Came big rubber boots on such tiny brown legs, - Came floating armadas of cans and half-kegs; - Came long poles for sounding, came all sorts of crafts, - Unseaworthy boxes made over to rafts, - I wonder if ever in my life again - I’ll see so much gladness come down with the rain. - - They must have rained down, for a minute ago - The frogpond was dry and deserted, you know; - There wasn’t a Wader, a dog or a craft, - A pair of gum boots, a bark boat or a raft; - The eave’s but done dripping, scarce dry is the spout, - When lo, all the navy of Waders is out! - The pond’s full of ships as the old Spanish Main. - Who’d think so much fun could come down with the rain? - -[Illustration: THE WADERS] - - - - -THEN THE PRISONED PUPIL - - - She kept him aftur skool when awl the burds - Were singen swetely in the woods an wurds - Kood not deskribe his sufferens. the air - Was full uv blossums an the urth was fare - Ecksept to himm. becaws he did not no - His jogafy she wood not let him go - An when he hurd us cloas the dore the teers - Rolld down his cheeks an he livd menny yeers - In just a singul owr. it was like sum - Old torchure ur sum krewel marturdum. - - How kood he study when he noo that we - Were goen gayly homewurd glad an free - Wile he was kept a prizzuner becaws - He did not no ware venna zweela was. - An when he thot uv how weere ap too go - In swimmen aftur skool his greef an wo - Was almoast moar than he kood bare an yet - She sturnly kept him thare an wood not let - Him leev his seet altho he felt he must - An so she bowd his spearut in the dust. - - An aftur wile when its too late to play - She lookt at him in sutch a skornful way - Az tho he was a krimminle an sed - He mite go home. his proud and hotty hed - Was bent with greef and he went slowly owt - The skoolroom dore and then lookt awl abowt - Az tho releest from prizzen an the brand - Uv sin on him was moar than he kood stand. - An he went sloly homewurd bowd with shaim - O liburtey the krimes dun in thi naim. - - - - -A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS - - - Dear Lord, excuse Jim Banks and me - For hitting Aunty Griggs when we - Threw snowballs at the cat, because - We did not know where Aunty was! - - Jim Banks and me are sorry, Lord, - For, drawing Teacher on the board, - And after what we got, we do - Not need more punishment from you! - - Excuse Jim Banks especially, - Because his mother’s dead and he - Just heard of you the other day - And is too bashful yet to pray! - - But you would like him if you knew - Jim Banks as well as we all do. - And if you have some clothes to spare - Remember him, for he’s quite bare! - - He says old shoes will help him some, - And some worn pants; and he will come - Most any night, but where he stays - He earns his keep by working days! - - And if there is an angel there - Who might like him and you can spare, - Would you mind telling this to him - And see what he can do for Jim? - - And Jimmy’s hat is straw and old, - You know the weather’s pretty cold, - And Jimmy’s ears stick out into - The weather, and his nose gets blue! - - Dear Lord, please do the very best - You can for him! I’ve got a vest - And sweater on the closet shelf - That I am going to give myself! - - And beg your pardon, Lord, and pray - My soul to keep; and Jimmy may - Be President some day, and then - We’ll all be proud of him. Amen! - -[Illustration: A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS] - - - - -A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS PRAYER - - - Dear Lord, be good to Santa Claus, - He’s been so good to me; - I never told him so because - He is so hard to see. - He must love little children so - To come through snow and storm; - Please care for him when cold winds blow - And keep him nice and warm. - - Dear Lord, be good to him and good - To Mary Christmas, too. - I’d like to tell them, if I could, - The things I’m telling you. - They’ve both been very good to me, - And everywhere they go - They make us glad;--no wonder we - All learn to love them so. - - Please have him button up his coat - So it will keep him warm; - And wear a scarf about his throat - If it should start to storm. - And when the night is dark, please lend - Him light if stars are dim, - Or maybe sometimes you could send - An Angel down with him. - - Please keep his heart so good and kind - That he will always smile; - And tell him maybe we will find - And thank him after while. - Please keep him safe from harm and keep - Quite near and guard him when - He’s tired and lays him down to sleep. - Dear Lord, please do! Amen. - - - - -HENRY BLAKE’S CHUM - - - Henry Blake’s chum he had awful red hair, - And most of his clothes were too small; - And often and often he wore his feet bare - Until it was late in the fall. - But he would just whistle as though he had shoes, - Was never discouraged or glum; - And most any boy would be sorry to lose - A fellow like Henry Blake’s chum. - - Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about trees, - And woodticks and crickets and birds, - And all of the things that a boy really sees - But can’t always tell them in words; - And he knew where fish were the most apt to bite, - And when the first blackberries come, - And how to catch birds in a trap when they light-- - No wonder he’s good for a chum. - - Henry Blake’s chum, he had rabbits for pets, - And crows that he taught how to speak, - And dogs that will haul you, and he often gets - A new dog or two every week. - And often he crawls up and catches a frog - Between his first finger and thumb, - Where it may be sitting alone on a log; - And my! Henry’s proud of his chum! - - Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about flowers - And always could tell you their name, - And didn’t mind thunder or lightning or showers - Because he said it’s all the same - So long as you’re barefoot and haven’t much clothes. - And he knew how partridges drum, - And whistled just like a Bob White’s whistle goes-- - No wonder he’s somebody’s chum. - - Henry Blake’s chum, he came up from the farm, - And my! he was awful ashamed - In school not to know the big bone in your arm - Or what the equator was named. - But when it came recess we all stood about - And waited until he would come, - And he told us things we had never found out-- - And my! Henry’s proud of his chum! - - - - -ONCE UPON A TIME - - - Once upon a time rare flowers grew - On every shrub and bush we used to see; - The skies above our heads were always blue, - The woods held secrets deep for you and me; - The hillsides had their caves where tales were told - Of swart-cheeked pirates from a far-off clime, - When cutlases were fierce and rovers bold-- - Don’t you remember?--Once upon a time. - - Once upon a time from sun to sun - The hours were full of joy--there was no care, - And webs of gaudy dreams in air were spun - Of deeds heroic and of fortunes fair; - The jangling schoolhouse bell was all the woe - Our spirits knew, and in its tuneless chime - Was all the sorrow of the long ago-- - Don’t you remember?--Once upon a time. - - Once upon a time the witches rode - In sinister and ominous parade - Upon their sticks at night, and queer lights glowed - With eery noises by the goblins made; - And many things mysterious there were - For boyish cheeks to pale at through the grime - That held them brown; and shadows queer would stir-- - Don’t you remember?--Once upon a time. - - Once upon a time our faith was vast - To compass all the things on sea and land - That boys have trembled o’er for ages past, - Nor ever could explain or understand, - And in that faith found happiness too deep - For all the gifted tongues of prose or rime, - And joys ineffable we could not keep-- - Don’t you remember?--Once upon a time. - -[Illustration: ONCE UPON A TIME] - - - - -THE WAY TO SCHOOL - - - Five minutes chasing butterflies - Way over, off the road; - Five minutes watching Willie Price - Do tricks with his pet toad; - Five minutes helping Gibbsie get - His pig back in the pen-- - I wonder if it’s school-time yet? - I guess I’m late again. - - I think I lost a little time - Because I walked so slow - Where Johnny Watkins lost a dime - A day or two ago. - It’s underneath the leaves somewhere, - And Johnny feels so blue - That I just stopped a minute there - Because he asked me to. - - And then it rained a little bit, - And Dominick McPhee - Had his straw hat and had to sit - Under a good thick tree, - Or else he’d get it spoiled and get - The top all swelled. You see, - A straw hat is not safe to wet-- - His kind, especially. - - And after we had saved his hat - From getting spoiled for him, - A big woodpecker came and sat - Upon a rotten limb; - And Johnny said when they’re about, - Somebody told the boys, - You see a lot of worms come out - To see what makes the noise. - - So then we boys all stayed about - A couple minutes more, - In hopes to see the worms come out - Which he was rapping for; - But after he went b-r-r-r! and b-r-r-r! - A while, he flew away, - And Johnny said he guessed there were - No worms at home that day. - - So then we hurried up, and ran - As fast as we could run, - To get there just as school began. - And just when it’s begun - I had to run back to the tree - To get my slate and rule; - And yet the teacher cannot see - Why boys are late for school. - - - - -A PRESENT FOR LITTLE BOY BLUE - - - Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue - Whenever he goes by our yard; - And he says, “Good-morning” or “How-do-you-do?” - But sometimes he winks awful hard. - I guess he don’t know what my name really is, - Or else he forgot, if he knew; - And my! You would think I am really part his-- - He calls me _his_ Little Boy Blue! - - Our Neighbor, he told me that Little Boy Blue - Once stood all his toys in a row, - And said, “Now, don’t go till I come back for you”-- - But that was a long time ago. - And one time, at Christmas, when I had a tree, - He brought me a sled, all brand-new, - And smiled when he said it was partly for me - And partly for Little Boy Blue. - - Our Neighbor, he’s not going to have any tree, - So he says the best he can do - Is try to get something to partly give me - And partly give Little Boy Blue, - Because, if he’s here, it would make him so glad, - And he said he knew it was true - That ever and ever so many folks had - A boy just like Little Boy Blue. - - Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue, - And said he would like to help trim - Our tree when it came--he would feel that he knew - It was partly for me and for him. - He said he would fix it with lights and wax flowers, - With popcorn and berries--you see, - He’d like to come over and help to trim ours-- - He’s not going to have any tree! - - - - -THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION - - - He’s ’ist a little orfant boy - W’at goes to school with me; - An’ ain’t got any parents ’cuz - His folks is dead, you see. - An’ w’en he sees my toys an’ things-- - My, but his eyes ’ist shine; - An’ he ain’t got no marbles, so - I give him half of mine. - - An’ once it’s orful stormy w’en - It’s noon an’ he can’t go - Back where he works for board an’ clo’es - To get his lunch, an’ so - I had some san’wiches an’ things - ’At he thought was ’ist fine, - An’ ’cuz he didn’t have no lunch - I give him half of mine. - - An’ once w’en we went down to fish - He come along with me, - An’ w’en we’re there says he ’ist wish - ’At he could fish. You see - He’s orful poor an’ brought a pole - But didn’t have a line, - An’ w’en I saw how bad he felt - I give him half of mine. - - An’ one time I ’ist told my Ma - How he don’t have much fun - ’Cuz he ain’t got no Ma or Pa - Or Aunt or any one. - An’ ’en I told her how I thought - ’At it would be ’ist fine - ’Cuz he ain’t got no mother if - I’d give him half of mine. - - He ain’t my brother, really true, - He’s ’ist an orfant, so - My Ma she took him, ’cuz she knew - He had no place to go. - I’m awful glad we got him an’ - My Pa thinks it ’ist fine-- - He didn’t have no mother, so - I give him half of mine. - - - - -SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW - - - My Mamma says ’at once ’ere was - A little girl she knew - Who went an’ cried, an’ ’ist because-- - Because she wanted to; - An’ w’ile her face was all askew - The wind changed, so they say, - An’ Mamma told me ’at it’s true, - Her face ’ist staid ’at way! - An’ w’en she told me ’at, w’y nen - I said I’ll never cry again. - - My Mamma said ’at once she heard - A little girl like me - Tell ’ist one fib, an’ says, my word! - Her Mamma looked to see - W’ere was her tongue, an’ goodness me! - Her mouth was ’ist all bare, - An’ w’ere her tongue ’ud ought to be - There wasn’t any there! - An’ w’en she told me ’at, w’y nen - I said I’ll never fib again! - - My Mamma knew a little girl - ’At used to run away - W’en her dear mother ’d start to curl - Her hair; an’ one fine day - Some gypsies took her off, somehow, - An’ stole her from her home, - An’ my! Her hair is awful now, - ’Cause gypsies never comb! - An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nen - I never runned away again! - - An’ never don’t make fun, she says, - Of folks ’at’s blind or lame, - Or got red hair or warts, unless - You want to be the same. - ’Cause lots of times it happens so, - An’ surely if you do, - You never, never, never know - What’s going to happen you. - An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nen - I never don’t make fun again. - - - - -GONE - - - He fell in a puddle and muddied his dress, - He struck little Bob with a hammer, I guess; - He cut sister’s curls with a big pair of shears - And left ragged edges down over her ears; - He muddied the floor that was just scrubbed so clean, - He lighted a match near the canned gasoline, - He broke all his soldiers and smashed all his toys, - And yet we forgave him, for boys will be boys. - - He singed the cat’s whiskers and cut off its tail - And then turned it loose with its discordant wail; - He dropped bread and jelly upon a big chair - And thought of it only when Aunty sat there; - He sheared the pet poodle one midwinter day, - His father is frantic, his mother is gray, - His Aunt and his Grandma protest at his noise, - And then all forgive him, for boys will be boys. - - He clamors for cookies, for jelly and jam, - He shuts ne’er a door, but he gives it a slam, - He dabbles in paint, be it red, blue or green, - He loves to play hob with the sewing machine; - And then--well, he’s gone into trousers and vests, - For years must be passing and time never rests, - And some day we look at a picture--and then - We wish--strange it is--that we had him again. - - - - -THE NEIGHBOR’S BOYS - - - Somebody shot our cat’s eye out, - An’ stole our gate an’ just about - Scared Aunt Sophia Jane to death - So’s she could hardly get her breath, - By puttin’ on some sheets, all white, - ’At just gave her a turble fright, - An’ who on earth do you suppose - Put on them big, white ghostes’ clothes - An’ made that turble screechy noise?-- - The neighbor’s boys! - - An’ every night it’s dark, you know, - Somebody plays some tick-tack-toe - On folkeses’ windows what’s a-scared, - An’ just as if they never cared - If they get caught or not, an’ when - You’re gone to bed they come again - Until you’re just so nervous you - Don’t hardly know just what to do; - An’ who makes such a scary noise? - The neighbor’s boys. - - An’ ’en somebody tears your clothes - An’ skins your face an’ hurts your nose - Until it bleeds, an’ then your Ma - Says ’at she never, never saw - -[Illustration: THE NEIGHBOR’S BOYS] - - Such heathen youngsters, an’ they come - An’ break your sled an’ pound your drum - Until it busts, an’ wont go ’way, - It ain’t no matter what you say, - An’ they’re the ones ’at break your toys-- - The neighbor’s boys. - - An’ my, it’s funny, ’cause, you know - You ain’t the only ones ’at’s so. - ’Cause all the next door neighbors say - It seems e’zactly the same way, - An’ when their boys gets hurted so’s - It gives ’em turble bloody nose, - An’ some one shoots their cat’s eye out, - An’ plays tick-tack, they know about - Who does it an’ who makes the noise-- - The neighbor’s boys! - - - - -A QUIET AFTERNOON - - - My Mamma, she did go to call about an hour ago, - An’ said if I ain’t bad at all an’ stayed at home with Flo, - Which is the maid that cooks for us, she’d bring me something good, - But if I’m one bit misschefuss she didn’t think she would. - - An’ my! I’m still, ’ist like a mouse. I never went outdoors, - But ’ist sat down, inside the house, an’ took her bureau drawers - An’ emptied ’em ’ist one by one, an’ w’en they’re emptied ’en - I ’ist looked through what’s there for fun an’ put ’em back again! - - An’ ’en I found the nicest ink, an’ one of ’em was red, - An’ one was black an’ ’en I think I spilt some on the bed, - But my! I wiped it up, ’ist so, an’ sopped it with a quilt - So clean you wouldn’t hardly know it’s ever once been spilt. - - Well, ’en I looked up on the shelf an’ found her scissors there - An’ got ’em down all by myself an’ cut off all my hair, - ’Tuz I don’t think it’s nice for girls like me ’at’s almost through - First reader to wear such a curls like Mamma makes me do. - - ’En Flo gave me some bread and jam, ’tuz I ’ist cried and cried - ’Ist tuz I’m hungry now, I am, an’ ’en I went inside, - An’ maybe I did let it lay around the room somewhere, - ’Tuz Flo came in to watch me play and squoshed it on a chair. - - An’ after while I wish my Ma would ’ist come back, she would, - ’Tuz my, I’m gettin’ drefful tired of simply bein’ good. - My eyes, ’ey’re ’ist so full of sand an’ heavy, ’ist like lead, - Oh-oh! I dess it’s Sleepyland! I dess I’ll go to bed! - - - - -THE OWNERLESS TOYS - - - Our Uncle Bill’s attic is half full of toys, - With some that are almost brand-new; - He’s got things up there for most all kinds of boys - From ten years old clear down to two. - And one day he gave me some books from up there - Like boys had a long time ago; - And I asked if the boy they belong to would care, - But he just sort of smiled and said no. - - Sometimes we would go in his attic to play - And find such a lot of fine things, - A whole lot of picture books all piled away - And tops that were wound up with strings. - And Uncle Bill told us to use what was there - Just as if it was ours, and we’d go, - But we’d ask if the boy they belong to would care, - And he just sort of smiled and said no. - - And my! There were sleds with their runners all rust, - And five or six good pairs of skates, - Some old-fashioned toys that were covered with dust, - And fishlines and schoolbooks and slates, - Which Uncle Bill told us we fellows might share, - But always put back when we go; - And we thought that the boy they belong to might care, - But he just sort of smiled and said no. - - And the boy they belong to, I guess, was away. - At least, we all thought he must be; - For all through the house they could hear us at play, - But he never came up there to see. - And we would pile everything back up with care - And ask Uncle Bill when we’d go - If the boy they belong to would know we’d been there, - But he just sort of smiled and said no. - - Our Uncle Bill’s attic is half full of toys, - Some old ones and some almost new; - He’s got things up there for most all kinds of boys - From ten years old clear down to two. - And often when we boys go up there to play - We ask Uncle Bill when we go - If the boy they belong to will be back that day, - And he smiles sort of sad and says no. - - - - -THE STRANGER - - - Serious-minded little maid, - Wondering and half afraid, - Half inclined to speak with me, - Half disposed to let me be; - Hesitating yet, and shy, - Half a twinkle in your eye, - Half in doubt and half in fear, - Staying neither far nor near. - - How I wonder what you see - With those eyes that question me; - What the instinct bids you know - If I may be friend or foe; - Fawnlike, full of grace and sweet, - Ready with fast-flying feet - In the orchard’s deepest shade - To find cover, little maid. - - Grave and curious little lass, - Like a wild bird in the grass, - Still intently watching me, - With your wings half spread, to see - If my smile bodes good or ill, - Willing to make friends and still - Undecided if to stay - Here and near or fly away. - - Serious-minded little maid, - When, with smiles and unafraid, - O’er the lawn you come to me, - Stranger to you though I be, - When your curious eyes have tried - Soul with mine and, satisfied, - Looked still into mine and smiled, - Blessed am I, little child. - - Blessed am I to be just - Worthy of your childish trust, - More than conqueror of kings - When the wild bird of your wings - Bids you fly not forth but see - Something tender, kind, in me; - Oh, the gladness you have laid - At my heart’s gate, little maid! - - - - -IN VACATION TIME - - - There’s a hole in his hat with the hair sticking through, - And a toe that peeps out from a hole in his shoe; - There’s a patch in his trousers, a darn in his hose, - And a freckle that tilts on the bridge of his nose; - But oh, in his heart there’s the glimmer and shine - Of a sun that I wish could be shining in mine. - - There’s a smudge on his face that is dusty and dark, - But a song in his heart like the song of a lark; - There’s a rent in his coat where the lining shows through, - But the whistle he tunes to the wild bird is true; - And, oh, in his heart, with a sparkle like wine, - Is a gladness I wish could be sparkling in mine. - - There’s an imp in his hair that may keep it awry, - But a twinkle so rare in the blue of his eye; - There’s an uneven slant of his trousers, made fast - With a nail through their tops, for a button won’t last; - But deep in his heart lies a spring cool and fine - Of good cheer that I wish could be bubbling in mine. - - There’s a tan on his cheek where the flush of health glows, - And the skin has all peeled from the tip of his nose; - His pockets are bulged with tops, marbles and strings, - With jack-knives and other uncountable things; - But the brooks and the woods bring a music divine - To his ears that I wish they were bringing to mine. - - - - -BEREAVED - - - Guess he must be awful old; we had him years and years, - And he’s so old the ends were worn all off of both his ears. - He couldn’t hardly eat, because his teeth were all worn out, - And all his legs got stiff, so he could hardly drag about. - One day he lay down by the house, right near the cellar door, - And gasped and gasped for breath, until he couldn’t any more; - So I went out and patted him, and when he heard me call - He looked at me and wagged his tail, which died the last of all. - - My! he was black and curly once, when he was new and young, - And he would open up his mouth at us and curl his tongue, - Just like he laughed, and play with us; and he would go into - The creek, and bring our hats to us, or anything we threw. - In winter we would hitch him up, and he would haul our sled, - And walk or trot or run with it, or anything we said; - So when he wagged his tail at me I laid him right beside - The cellar door, and then I went behind the barn and cried. - - He was a friend of all the boys, and when they came to play - He’d wag his tail and bark and look at them the smartest way; - And he’d pretend to bite at them and nip their pants, but he - Would never bite, ’cause he was just as kind as he could be. - And Henry Watson looked at him beside the cellar door, - And said, “He’ll never haul us boys on our sled any more.” - He turned his ears back straight and nice; he liked him awful well; - Because he had tears in his eyes, and then a big one fell. - - So after while we got a spade, and Billy Gibson came, - And Tommy Dean and Eddie Brink, and they all felt the same. - We dug some turf up in the yard, right underneath a tree, - And laid him in and left him there, all covered carefully; - It was an awful solemn day for all of us, for though - He’d got worn out and couldn’t eat, we boys all liked him so; - And Eddie Brink, he didn’t think the Lord would really care - If we boys sang a hymn for him and said a little prayer. - - My! it was awful sad that day! And Tommy said he thought - We wouldn’t play that afternoon, because he’d rather not. - And Mamma made some nice ice-cream, which cheered us up, but when - We wanted her to eat she said she couldn’t eat just then. - And Amy Robbins heard of it, and brought some leaves and flowers - To scatter over him, because he was a friend of ours; - And I told her I patted him, and when he heard me call - He looked at me and wagged his tail, which died the last of all. - - - - -TWO LITTLE MAIDS - - - Little Miss Nothing-to-do - Is fretful and cross and so blue, - And the light in her eyes - Is all dim when she cries - And her friends, they are few, Oh, so few! - Her dolls, they are nothing but sawdust and clothes, - Whenever she wants to go skating it snows, - And everything’s criss-cross, the world is askew! - I wouldn’t be Little Miss Nothing-to-do - Now, true, - I wouldn’t be Little Miss Nothing-to-do - Would you? - - Little Miss Busy-all-day - Is cheerful and happy and gay - And she isn’t a shirk - For she smiles at her work - And she romps when it comes time for play. - Her dolls, they are princesses, blue-eyed and fair, - She makes them a throne from a rickety chair, - And everything happens the jolliest way, - I’d rather be Little Miss Busy-all-day, - Hurray, - I’d rather be Little Miss Busy-all-day, - I say. - - - - -A NEW CHRISTMAS CAROL - - - Come, children, I’ll tell you a wonderful tale, - I learned it one night in a dream; - The snow lay all white and the full moon shone pale, - The housetops about were agleam; - I’d fallen asleep in my big easy chair, - I heard a gruff voice in my ear, - I knew that Saint Nicholas surely was there - And listened to see what I’d hear. - - “Come, follow with me,” were the first words he said, - “I’m off for my Palace of Snow; - I’ve emptied my pack of each doll, toy and sled, - It’s time for old Santa to go. - But, Oh, I’ve a treat waiting for me tonight, - I’ve planned it for years in my mind; - Come, follow with me, while the moon is still bright”-- - I rose and we sped like the wind. - - We flew like a flash to the Palace of Snow, - By hilltop and valley and plain, - Nor ever I will be permitted, I know, - To make such a journey again; - And there in the warmest and cosiest nook - He bade me sit down while he dressed - In robes of rich scarlet and said to me: “Look! - Here come the Child Hosts of the Blest.” - - A flash of his eye and my wonderment grew, - A word and a wave of his rod, - Forth came Orphan Annie and Little Boy Blue, - And Wynken and Blynken and Nod. - With Alice from Wonderland, blue-eyed and fair, - Tom Tucker--Jack Horner with him, - And Oh, at the last, can you guess who was there?-- - Poor Topsy and Dear Tiny Tim! - - He spread out his arms and they passed one by one, - Each laden with treasures and toys, - And never or ever a night of such fun - Was passed by such girls and such boys; - Nor ever will Annie be orphan with him, - He told me, and Little Boy Blue - Came back from the shadows all misty and dim, - So glad that the toy dog was true. - - And always and always he’ll keep them with him, - He told me, through all of the years, - Poor Topsy and Alice and Dear Tiny Tim, - And Topsy will know no more tears. - But tales of them all he will bring Christmas night, - The brightest and sweetest and best, - That our boys and girls may know joy and delight - From Santa’s Child Hosts of the Blest! - - - - -THE RECONCILIATION OF PA - - - My Pa, he’s disappointed tuz I ain’t a boy. ’At is - He ain’t now but he used to was. He likes me tuz I’m his - An’ buys me lots of toys an’ things; but w’en I first begun - Ma said he’s awful fond of boys an’ ’ist wished I was one. - But now he don’t care any more, tuz I’m growed up so nice - He likes me better ’n before, an’ there ain’t any price - ’At you could offer him for me an’ he would take it, tuz - I’m so much nicer, don’t you see, ’an my Pa thought I was. - - W’en I’m come first my Mamma said ’at he ’ud ruther I - ’Ud been a boy the stork ’ud brought; she says she don’t see w’y, - Tuz she ’ist thinks ’at little girls are awful nice, an’ w’en - You wash ’eir face an’ brush ’eir turls, ’ey’re nicer ’n ever ’en. - But he is disappointed tuz at first he didn’t know - How rilly truly nice I was; but w’en I came to grow - He wouldn’t take the world for me, so he told Ma, ’ist tuz - I’m so much nicer, don’t you see, ’an my Pa thought I was. - - An’ my Ma says ’at if I grow up ’ist so nice an’ sweet - As I am now, my Pa ’ll know ’at stork was hard to beat; - An’ he won’t never wish again ’at I’m a boy, ’ist tuz - He’ll know how sweet I am, an’ ’en he’s glad I’m w’at I was; - Tuz boys are awful nice at first, ’at is, you think they are, - An’ w’en they’re big they’re ’ist the worst! An’ girls is better far, - An’ Ma says if you want ’em sweet, ’ist sweet as sweet can be, - You’ll find it awful hard to beat a little girl like me. - - - - -A WORLD WITHOUT CARE - - - There’s a song that is sweet - And a whistle that’s clear; - There’s a dog at his feet - And another one near; - There’s a fish in the brook - And a line that is whirled, - There’s a worm on a hook-- - All is well with the world. - - There’s a rock that has slipped - From the bank to the brink, - There’s a hat that is dipped - In the brook for a drink; - There’s a line that is cast - Where an eddy is swirled, - There’s a fat perch caught fast-- - All is well with the world. - - There’s a heartful of joy - And a handful of fish, - There’s a satisfied boy - Glad as gladness could wish; - There are leaves green and cool - Where the fat perch is curled, - There are more in the pool-- - All is well with the world. - - There’s an angler come home - At the close of the day, - There’s a chirp in the gloam - Of a whistle so gay, - There’s a monster near-caught - Where the foam danced and curled, - There’s a meal piping hot-- - All is well with the world. - - - - -RIGHT AFTER SCHOOL - - - I Know where’s the happiest Kingdom in all of the world I have seen, - No bigger than Grandfather’s orchard, and all of it’s grassy and green, - It has but a few dozen people, the happiest youngsters alive, - ’Tis ruled by a Princess of seven, and one little soldier of five; - There’s one little crown made of daisies and one little sword made of tin, - And one little drum that goes rolling betimes with a terrible din; - You’d think that a war was beginning by all of the noise that is made, - When, really, it’s only the army declaring itself on parade. - - In all of the bounds of the Kingdom there isn’t a book or a chore; - The reign of the Princess begins when the schoolday is over at four; - Her castle with turrets and towers is right near a big apple tree. - It isn’t a visible castle, but if you were there you could see; - And if you should chance to be looking that way when the proud - Princess comes, - You’d see a bold soldier go marching and hear a fierce rattle of drums, - You’d see loyal subjects and happy, with no thought of table or rule, - You’d want to belong to the Kingdom--the Kingdom of Right-After-School! - - It’s really a well-behaved people--they put by their slates and their books - And have little use for an army except as a matter of looks; - But nobody dares say addition, division, subtraction--if you - Should mention a one of these subjects the tin sword would run you right - through! - But you can say swinging or jumping or follow-my-leader, nor fear - You break any law of the country--and if from your window you hear - A chorus of voices or laughter, when evening grows twilit and cool, - You’ll know ’tis the music they make in the Kingdom of Right-After-School! - - There’s not a sad heart in the Kingdom, nor ever or ever a tear, - And all of the sorrows of schooldays are lost or forgotten in here; - The make-believe fairies go singing with songs that are wondrously sweet; - The green turf is flecked with white dresses and patters with fast-flying - feet; - It’s just between School’s-Out and Teatime--an hour or so of the day, - And often I see them there crowning with daisies the Princess of Play; - Then some one calls: “Supper-time, children!”--when evening grows twilit - and cool. - It fades from my sight till tomorrow--the Kingdom of Right-After-School! - - - - -A PLEA FOR OLD FRIENDS - - - I was fond, indeed, of Paul Revere, - In the days of my earlier age, - And the picture of him stands out clear - From the old school reader page; - And I’ve seen the light in the belfry tower, - I’ve heard the hoof beats, too, - But, alas! alas! in an evil hour, - They say it’s all untrue! - - And Barbara Frietchie--all these years, - From guileless boyhood down, - I’ve seen the flag and heard the cheers - In far off Fredericktown; - And I’ve seen Jackson lift his hat - And bid his troops march on, - But now, alas! they tell me that - Is a dreamer’s tale, and gone! - - And oft at night, as though ’t were real, - I’ve heard the flame’s wild roar, - I’ve seen Jim Bludso hold the wheel - Till the last galoot’s ashore; - I thought the better of men for it, - And of duty to die or do, - But some wise men, of little wit, - Say none of the tale is true. - - Oh, leave me the ride of Paul Revere - And the story of Fredericktown! - The nozzle agin’ th’ bank--so clear - From guileless boyhood down! - Leave me the curfew that was not rung, - Leave them for me and you; - And let more songs like these be sung, - Though none of the tales be true! - - - - -THE BOYVILLE CADETS - - - Hark! What is that clatter and patter of feet? - The Boyville Cadets are half-way up the street! - They march two by two, a most bloodthirsty horde, - Led by Captain Tom Jones, with a big wooden sword. - They’re mostly barelegged and coatless and brown, - A make-believe army from all parts of town, - With guns on their shoulders all whittled from lath, - And woe to the foeman who crosses their path. - - Bob Brown has a fife and Bill Blake has a drum. - See now in what martial procession they come; - Jim Dobbs waves the flag with victorious flirt, - A long willow pole with a red woolen shirt. - And Corporal Brownlegs, he squints down the line: - “Attention! Right shoulder! Guide right!” Oh, it’s fine - To know you’ve no troubles, no worries, no debts, - And march down the street with the Boyville Cadets! - - Now Sergeant Big Freckles cries, “Hep! Hep!” and “Hep!” - To see that the army keeps right perfect step. - And General Red Hair reins up with great force, - To shout some command from his make-believe horse. - Then Captain Tom Jones gives a formal salute, - And rests his big sword on the toe of his boot, - For woe to the foe that harasses or frets - The solid platoon of the Boyville Cadets! - - Then Corporal Barefoot is ordered to scout - For bloodthirsty redskins, and look all about. - They march, single file, through the thick-growing trees, - For favorite haunts of the red men are these. - Far off in the woods, is an ear-splitting shout. - Alas! ’Tis the death-cry of Barefoot, the scout! - And now all the air rings with war-whoops and cries; - Bang! bang! go the laths, and the red savage dies! - - A hand-to-hand fight, and the battle is done; - In the orchard the redskins lie dead, every one. - But, oh, woe is me! For all gory and red - Lies Barefoot, the scout, by the red men struck dead! - The Boyville Cadets lift him out of the dirt; - They wrap him about with the old woolen shirt; - And then, with drums muffled and heads sadly bowed, - They bear him back home, with the flag for a shroud. - - Then General Red Hair, in orders, gives thanks - To all of his soldiers, and bids them break ranks. - For out of the distance he hears a shrill call: - “Tom! Joe! Bill! Jim! Children! Why, where are you all?” - Then Barefoot, the scout, to his life is restored, - And Captain Tom Jones hides his big wooden sword; - For there’s wood to be split and there’s water to get - In the dull private life of the Boyville Cadet. - - - - -A LITTLE BOY I KNOW - - - A little boy I used to know, from whom I’ve been away, - Oh, very many years, took me upon a trip today. - It seemed so ood to be with him, and he was glad to be - Companion, guide, and friend until the journey’s end with me. - I quite forgot my cares with him, nor could I well be sad, - As long as he was at my side, for he was blithe and glad, - And oh, the merry songs he sang, the tunes he whistled clear - That I had half forgotten till he sang and whistled here! - - By many a winding stream we went, and many a limpid brook, - Where oft he bade me stop and cast a line and fishing hook - Until we drew a struggling fish from out some eddy deep, - And once upon the bank we lay and both fell fast asleep. - By clover meadows sweet we strayed, where cow bells tinkled far, - Deep in the woods where hollow logs and darting squirrels are, - And here and there he bade me stop till he would climb a tree - To shake a limb and rattle down some nuts for him and me. - - Down many a shady lane we walked, through some familiar land, - Where dreams of faces long forgot arose on every hand; - We saw a cottage by the road, and in the kitchen door - A woman with the sweetest face--a glimpse and nothing more. - And as she vanished from our sight I saw the teardrops shine - In both his eyes, and I could feel the tears well up in mine; - He plucked his shabby sleeve to brush the teardrops from his eye - And whispered, “I saw Mother there!” and I said, “So did I!” - - And there were spreading apple trees where oft he bade me lie - Upon the grass and watch the clouds that swept across the sky. - He lent me many a dream to dream--of fame and love and truth, - Such dreams as Fancy stores within the Treasureheart of Youth! - Ofttimes we found a sparkling spring and lay upon the brink - Our lips laved with its bubbling stream, to drink and drink and drink; - And oh, the joys we two renewed, and oh, the hum of bees, - The songs of birds, the violets and treasures such as these! - - A little boy I used to know, a lad of nine or ten, - Took me a journey glad today--I hope he’ll come again - To take my hand and walk with me where golden sunshine gleams, - To lead me by familiar ways and lend me all his dreams! - To keep me near the hopes we had, to whistle merry tunes, - To find me dawns like those we knew and sunny afternoons; - A little boy his Mother loved!--a lad of nine or ten; - Perhaps you’ve known and walked with him--I hope he comes again! - - - - -ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS - - - Now the last roasted peanut is swallowed, - The last clown has gone on parade; - The last sugared popcorn been followed - By sips of the last lemonade. - His eyes, once so big, that shone brightly - Through all of the glad afternoon, - Are shut, and his fingers close tightly - And cling to his gaudy balloon. - - The last acrobat’s been applauded, - And shuffled his way from the mat; - The last bareback rider’s been lauded; - The clown, with his sugar-loaf hat, - Has gone with his powder and spangles; - The diver has made his last leap; - And here in my arms are brown tangles - Of curls, and a boy fast asleep. - - One sticky hand rests on my shoulder, - One holds fast the gaudy balloon, - That shrinks, and before it’s much older - Will fade like the glad afternoon. - His dreams, it may be, of the maddest - Of somersaults, recklessly hurled; - The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest - And stickiest lad in the world! - - And oh, but the spangles were splendid! - And oh, but the music was grand! - The side-splitting clown laughter blended - With soul-stirring airs by the band, - Till naught of the glad marvel lingers - Save what in his dreams he may keep, - As he clasps his balloon with close fingers - And rests in my arms, fast asleep. - - And so from these joys without number, - Ere aught of the glitter was gone, - He went to his dream-laden slumber, - Where on plays the music, and on. - For him all the revel is maddest, - For him not a flag has been furled, - The tiredest, sleepiest, gladdest - And stickiest lad in the world! - -[Illustration: ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS] - - - - -THE BARRIERS - - - Scrub out his freckles, ’twas Nature who gave ’em; - Silence his whistle and comb out his hair, - Muffle his footsteps, for People--Lord save ’em em-- - Want something noiseless and soulless and fair; - Bleach out the spots where the Summer sun kissed him, - Still all the tunes and the bird calls he knew, - Then, when he’s boy no more, who could resist him? - Sun and the Wind, here’s a lesson for you. - - Sun and the Wind and the freshness of showers, - How could you tempt him to revel and roam - Past the long hedges and through the wild flowers? - Did you not know it would cost him a home? - Did you not know when the gay bluebird glistened - Up on the bough and with wonder he rose, - Rose with his heart beating glad, as he listened, - Did you not know it would freckle his nose? - - Hide your heads, Daisies, that wave over yonder, - Gleam in the sunlight and dance by the creek, - You bade him leave the pale shadow and wander-- - Did you not know he might freckle his cheek? - You, too, the larks through the green meadows winging, - Did you not tempt him with glad song and free? - Why did you not let him learn through your singing - He would be outcast through following thee? - - Heartless blackberries, you led him from shelter; - Nuts, without shame, you did bid him to climb; - Butterflies bright, that he chased helter-skelter, - Have you no shame for the depths of your crime? - What if the heart of him beats but the truer, - What if the soul of him still sweeter grows, - What if the eyes of him sparkle the truer, - Do you not see you have freckled his nose? - - Scrub out the freckles--oh, well, doesn’t matter; - Maybe they’ll wash out with plentiful tears; - Muffle his footsteps, that no boyish patter - Rise to offend supersensitive ears; - Bid him not whistle the songs the fields taught him, - Let him be pale, still, anaemic, and thin, - Teach him and bleach him, and when you have got him - Thoroughly colorless, let him come in! - - - - -THE PLAINT OF THE NEW DOLL - - - We dot a doll to our house; - It tum on Trissmus day; - It wuzn’t hangin’ on a tree; - It tum some uzzer way; - ’Ey wouldn’t let me play wiz it, - ’Ey said ’at it might fall; - En so it laid ’ere all day long - En squall en squall en squall. - - ’E funniestes’ ’ittle sing, - Espeshully fer a doll; - En Mamma told me wen it tum - It wuzn’t dressed at all; - ’Ey only let me take one peek, - I ast ’em if I tould - ’Es press to see if it would squeak - Like my own dolly would. - - En ’en ’ey laughed en laughed en laughed, - En wouldn’t tell me why; - I dess tant ’magine why ’ey laughed, - It ain’t no use t’ try; - En how ’ey fussed en fussed en fussed - En I dess almos’ all - ’E uncles en ’e aunts I dot - Tum in to see ’at doll. - - En ’en ’ey laughed en Papa laughed - ’Es like a silly boy; - I never saw growed up folks make - Such fuss about a toy. - I dess I dot mos’ fifteen dolls, - ’E nices’ ever wuz, - En never tissed one half as much - As my own Papa does. - - I dess ’ey’ve everyone fordot - ’At I’m ’eir little dirl; - ’Ey haven’t changed my dress today, - My hair’s all out of turl; - ’Ey’s tandy on my face an’ hands, - I don’t look nice at all, - ’Ey’ve everyone fordotten me - Fer dess a nasty doll! - - I wis’ ’et I tould det it onct; - I’d frow it all about, - En knock it--so! En slap it--so! - En shake its sawdust out; - En ’en w’en ’ey saw how it looked - I dess know ’ey’d all be - Ez dlad ez tould be ’ess t’ have - One little dirl--like me! - - - - -A CHILD’S ALMANAC - - - My Mamma says ’at w’en it rains - ’Ey’re washin’ Heaven’s window-panes - An’ careless angels ’ist do fill - ’Eir pails too full an’ ’atway spill - Some water down on us. ’At’s w’y - It rains some days w’en maybe I - Would like to play. An’ ’en she says - It’s ’ist ’em angels’ carelessness - ’At makes ’em raindrops fall ’at way - At picnics an’ on circus day. - - My Mamma says ’at w’en it snows - ’Ey’re angels pickin’ geese, she knows, - An’ ’stead o’ usin’ ’em t’ stuff - ’Eir pillow cases, ’ey ’ist puff - An’ blow an’ don’t clear up ’eir muss - Till all ’em feathers fall on us. - An’ she says ’ey ’ist pick ’atway - ’Cuz ’ey want geese f’r Tris’mus day, - An’ ’at’s w’y ’ere’s ’e mostes’ snow - Right close t’ Tris’mus time, you know. - - My Mamma says w’en wind ’ist roars - An’ blows, ’at’s w’en ’e angels snores, - But w’en it lightnings, she says, w’y, - ’Ey’re scratchin’ matches on ’e sky. - An’ w’en it rumbles ’bove our heads - ’Ey’re movin’ furniture an’ beds - Up ’ere, an’ cleanin’ house an’ shakes - ’Eir moth balls out an’ ’at’s w’at makes - It hail. An’ weather, she ’ist ’clares - Is ’ist w’at angels does upstairs. - - - - -THE LOSER - - - The sun withheld its light that day; that night the stars were dim; - The portent of the earth and sky was ominous for him; - There was no gladness in the world; the fields held no delight; - The day of all his joys dissolved and melted into night; - He rubbed his pitching arms and felt the muscles rise and fall; - He wondered what the cruel fate that lost the game of ball; - He wandered idly by the brook, forsaken and alone, - To be a hero nevermore, unsung, unwept, unknown. - - ’Twas only yesterday he was the idol of the team! - Those cheers and loud hurrahs he heard--could they have been a dream? - They called him Tim the Tiger then! Small boys by scores he saw - To bear his glove, his coat, his shoes, with gratitude and awe. - With joy they saw his arm laid bare--that mighty arm and brown - That wound itself about his head and mowed the batsmen down; - And when he went upon the field, the mighty cheer for him - Showed how their hopes of victory were all bound up in Tim! - - It was but yesterday he bore the laurels on his brow, - But who, alas! is there so low to do him honor now? - His heart swells, bursting in his chest; the heart so bruised and sore; - Could he but go back on the field and pitch that game once more! - The tears fall from his eyes like rain, the hot and angry tears, - No sorrow has he known like this in all his fifteen years; - How will he meet the Tigers now? How look intothe eyes - Of those who staked their all on him and saw him lose the prize? - - To school he walks secluded ways where once with pride he strode, - With awestruck youngsters all about, the middle of the road; - Far from the madding crowd he stands upon the playground there - His honors fallen like the leaves in Autumn’s frosty air; - A humble Tiger is he now, and small boys pass him by - With cruel sneers where once he heard the cheers ring shrill and high; - And Reddy Blake, the Cyclone Curve, is pitcher forthe team, - While he’s but the somnambulist of a quick-vanished dream! - - - - -BACK TO SCHOOL - - - Fell in the creek twice yesterday! - Slipped and slid from a load of hay, - Stepped on a stone and bruised my toe; - Hardly walk ’cause I’m blistered so; - Hit my knee till it’s blue and black, - Sat in the sun and burned my back - When I went to swim, but my, I’m glad! - Best vacation I ever had. - - Slid off the old red barn last week. - Wind all gone so I couldn’t speak - When they laid me in upon the bed - And put cold water on my head. - Got poison-ivy on my legs - When I went in the weeds to look for eggs; - But I’ve had more fun since I don’t know when! - Hate to go back to school again. - - Burned my hands till they’re awful sore - When the calf ran out of the big barn door - And I tried to hold the rope and fell - Most twenty feet down the old dry well. - Lost my hat that was almost new, - In the great big lake, when the high wind blew; - And my pants are torn from many a climb, - But I never had such a summer-time. - - Ate poison berries by the creek - Till they thought I’d die, I felt so sick; - But they gave me ipecac to take, - And it cured up all my stomach-ache! - Got stung by bees, but I got stung best - When I started home with a hornet’s nest, - And I all swelled up; but I’m gone down now, - And it’s all in a boy’s life, anyhow! - - Nose all peeled till it’s red and rough, - Hands all brown, but I’m awful tough - From the exercise, and I’m big and strong, - ’Cause I hoed in a corn-field all day long. - And my uncle said that I might stay - For harvest-time, and he’d give me pay; - And I’d like to stay, but I have to go - Back home to school, ’cause my Ma said so. - - - - -DISENCHANTMENTS - - - Here is the brook where the bold pirates ferried, - Swashbuckling wretches, cold-blooded, unkind; - Here is the tree where vast treasure was buried, - Doubloons we dug for but never could find. - How things have changed since these waters were riven, - Splashed with our paddles and churned into foam! - Since the dark nights when the pickaxe was driven - Where the lost treasure lay under the loam! - - Here is the wood with its fastness unbounded, - Whence the red savage stole noiselessly out, - Warning us not till his warwhoop was sounded, - Leaving us scalped on the greensward about. - How things have changed from the steed and the stirrup, - Flintlock and tomahawk whittled from lath, - Where our blood ran there’s no fluid but syrup - From the sap maples along our war path! - - Here is the plain where our scouts reconnoitred, - Crawling and creeping through morass and glade, - Sighting some bloodthirsty savage who loitered - Near by the scene of some scalp-lifting raid. - How things have changed since the red deer went leaping, - Since came the bison by hundreds to browse, - Silent the plain where our brave scouts went creeping, - Save for the lowing of far distant cows. - - Here is the cave where our clans were assembled, - Guarded by sentries, nor traitor could reach; - Ghostly and tomb-like, where heroes dissembled - Blood-chilling fears in their boldness of speech. - Bruce had a refuge here, Wallace lay wounded, - Hallowed its clammy walls, safe its retreat, - Once ’twas a labyrinth, gloomy, unsounded, - ’Tis but a gravel pit, just off the street. - - How things have changed in the years since we knew them, - Pirate and redskin and treasure and clan; - Men walk beside them and past them and through them, - Giving no heed that our blood there once ran; - Making no sign for the struggles that swept them, - Flintlock and scalplock, raid, warfare, and strife, - How things have changed since we cherished and kept them! - All of the romance has gone out of life! - - - - -A RAINY NIGHT - - - ’Bout eight o’clock first night that we - Were down at the academy - ’Twas awful rainy out, and so - We both of us stayed in, you know; - But we could hear the wind and rain - Come splashing on the window-pane; - And after while, why, Henry Stout - Put up the curtain and looked out, - And said, “My! Ain’t she coming down! - I wish I was in Beaverstown.” - - And then nobody spoke at all, - Just listened to the rain-drops fall; - And Henry sniffled up his nose - Because he had a cold, I s’pose. - And then he said, “I wonder how - Our folks are getting on by now.” - And I said, “Oh, I guess all right. - My! Ain’t it rainy out to-night!” - And Henry gave a great big sigh - And swallowed hard--and so did I. - - And then he said, “My! Such a noise! - I guess there’s lots of homesick boys - Around tonight.” And I said, “Oh,”-- - Just careless like--“Oh, I don’t know.” - And then he said, “I guess Jim Brown - Is glad he stayed in Beaverstown - And didn’t have to come down here.” - And I said, “Do your eyes feel queer? - I got a speck in mine, I guess, - They water so.” And he said, “Yes.” - - And then he looked and tried to smile, - And we kept still for quite a while, - And heard it rain; and then he said, - “I s’pose our folks are gone to bed - And sound asleep by now, I guess.” - And then I swallowed and said, “Yes.” - So then we both got into bed - And heard it rain; and then he said, - “My! Ain’t she just a-pouring down! - I wish I was in Beaverstown.” - - - - -KITCHEN MIRACLES - - - In Aunt Amelia’s kitchen there are many wonders done, - Such miracles are wrought as never seen beneath the sun: - A pumpkin from the garden--just a yellow sphere that lies - Beneath her skilful handling ripens quickly into pies; - The corn grows into fritters, you must marvel at the change; - The apples change to dumplings in the glowing kitchen range - She waves her hands above it, and the milk is cottage cheese. - You merely watch her, and you see such miracles as these. - - She finds it easy, quite, to make blueberries into rolls; - And eggs are changed to omelets above the glowing coals; - And sometimes when she’s fixing the materials for pies - She turns cider into mince-meat right before your very eyes! - Sometimes she makes a currant roll--you would not think she could-- - Or makes a peach turn over, or does something just as good; - But she says quite the hardest task that ever she has found - Is, when she has her boys at tea, to make these things go ’round! - - - - -JIM BRADY’S BIG BROTHER - - - Jim Brady’s big brother’s a wonderful lad, - And wonderful, wonderful muscles he had; - He swung by one arm from the limb of a tree - And hung there while Jim counted up forty-three - Just as slow as he could; and he leaped at a bound - Across a wide creek and lit square on the ground - Just as light as a deer; and the things he can do, - So Jimmy told us, you would hardly think true. - - Jim Brady’s big brother could throw a fly ball - From center to home just like nothing at all; - And often while playing a game he would stand - And take a high fly with just only one hand; - Jim Brady showed us where he knocked a home run - And won the big game when it stood three to one - Against the home team, and Jim Brady, he showed - The place where it lit in the old wagon road! - - Jim Brady’s big brother could bat up a fly - That you hardly could see, for it went up so high; - He’d bring up his muscle and break any string - That you tied on his arm like it wasn’t a thing! - He used to turn handsprings, and cart-wheels, and he - Could jump through his hands just as slick as could be, - And circuses often would want him to go - And be in the ring, but his mother said no. - - Jim Brady’s big brother would often make bets - With boys that he’d turn two complete summersets - From off of the spring-board before he would dive, - And you’d hardly think he would come up alive; - And nobody ever who went there to swim - Could do it, but it was just easy for him; - And they’d all be scared, so Jim said, when he’d stay - In under and come up a half mile away. - - Jim Brady’s big brother, so Jim said, could run - Five miles in a race just as easy as one. - Right often he walked on his hands half a block - And could have walked more if he’d wanted to walk! - And Jimmy says wait till he comes home from school, - Where he is gone now, and some day, when it’s cool, - He’ll get him to prove everything to be true - That Jimmy told us his big brother could do! - - - - -THE SCAPEGOAT - - - If anybody comes in late - To dinner and don’t shut the gate, - Or doesn’t sweep the porch, or go - Right out and shovel off the snow, - Or bring in wood or wipe his feet, - Or leave the woodshed nice and neat-- - It’s me! - - If anybody doesn’t think - To carry out the cow a drink, - Or tracks mud on the kitchen floor, - Or doesn’t shut the cellar door, - Or leaves the broom out on the stoop, - Or doesn’t close the chicken coop-- - It’s me! - - If anybody doesn’t bring - The hammer in, or breaks a thing, - Or dulls the axe, or doesn’t know - What has become of so-and-so - That’s lost for maybe six weeks past, - If anybody had it last-- - It’s me! - - If anything is lost or gone, - They’ve got some one to blame it on; - I get the blame for all the rest - Because I am the little-est; - And if they have to blame some one - For what is or what isn’t done-- - It’s me! - - - - -A TRAGEDY OF CENTER FIELD - - - He muffed the fly that lost the game; he never did before; - The boys don’t think he’ll ever be light-hearted any more. - Our captain didn’t say a word; he just picked up his bat - And started home with downcast head--what words could equal that? - Nobody spoke on our whole side, or didn’t even ask - How Stubby came to muff the fly. Bud Hicks picked up his mask - And sighed an awful sorry sigh. Stub Weeks is not the same-- - Our boys don’t think he ever will, because he lost the game. - - Nobody asked him to explain. They couldn’t understand - How Stubby dropped it when he had the ball right in his hand. - It sailed from Pudgy Williams’ bat and soared just like a bird - To center field where Stubby was. Nobody hardly stirred - Because it was so critical, but Bud Hicks gave a shout, - He knew a fly in center field was just as good as out - When Stubby Weeks was under it. And then he gave a cry - Of agony too great for words when Stubby muffed the fly. - - Our boys all slowly walked away, and even Red Blake’s team - Were too surprised to cheer because it seemed just like a dream. - And over there in center field Stub Weeks was dreaming, too, - As though he was Napoleon and this was Waterloo. - The blow was such an awful one he acted sort of stunned, - And then he walked in from the field expecting to be shunned - Forevermore by all his friends. His throat was hoarse and dry; - We knew his heart was broken then because he muffed the fly. - - He saw us all pick up our things and walk away, and then - The awful stain upon his name came back to him again. - He thought of how it should have been--the loud hurrahs and cheers, - And leaned against the back-stop fence and drenched it with his tears, - Till all the boys felt sorry then, and told him not to mind - Because the sun was in his eyes and must have made him blind. - But weeks and weeks have passed since then--his heart is awful sore, - Our boys don’t think he’ll ever be light-hearted any more! - - - - -IN SWIMMING - - - ’Ist boys--th’ kind you used t’ know, - What-d’-y’-call-him, So-and-so - An’ What’s-His-Name--an’ every one - ’Ist full o’ health an’ out for fun. - No meanness in a one of us, - ’Ist brown an’ strong an’ mischievous, - ’Cuz that’s th’ way ’at boys all grow-- - ’Ist boys--th’ kind you used t’ know. - - ’Ist boys--th’ kind you used t’ be. - What! Never climbed an apple tree - An’ shook ’em down? Why, Mister, you-- - You never was a boy, real true. - I’ll bet ’at you was mischievous - As you could be. You’re foolin’ us - ’Cuz you can’t help but see ’at we - Are boys--’ist like you used t’ be. - - Of course we ought t’ be at school, - But my! The water’s nice an’ cool - An’ when it calls you, w’y, you ’ist - Can’t be a real boy an’ resist. - An’ say! We caught a fish down there - ’Most two feet long--right close t’ w’ere - You’re standin’ now. Now don’t you see - We’re boys--’ist like you used t’ be? - - Say, you ain’t goin’ t’ tell our Ma - ’At you was passin’ by an’ saw - Us swimmin’ here. W’y, Mister, you - Won’t never feel right if you do. - Don’t be a tattle-tale! W’y, say, - If you should give us boys away - You couldn’t never bear to see - A boy--’ist like you used t’ be. - - Come on, now! You ain’t goin’ t’ tell - On us. I know it, ’ist as well - As anythin’. You wouldn’t hurt - Her feelin’s ’ist t’ do us dirt. - You won’t? Thanks, Mister. You’re a brick. - We’re goin’ home, Sir, pretty quick. - It’s awful fine here, ’cuz, y’ see, - We’re boys--’ist like you used t’ be. - -[Illustration: IN SWIMMING] - - - - -AN UNUSUAL CHUM - - - Henry Blake’s father goes fishing with him, - And goes in the creek so’s to teach him to swim; - He talks to him just like they’re awful close chums - And sometimes at night he helps Henry do sums; - And once he showed Henry how he used to make - A basket by whittling a peach stone and take - The bark off of willows for whistles although - He hadn’t made one since a long time ago. - - Henry Blake’s father is just like his chum, - And when he goes fishing he lets Henry come; - He fixes two seats on the bank of the brook - And shows Henry how to put frogs on his hook; - And sometimes he laughs in the jolliest way - At some little thing that he hears Henry say, - And dips up a drink in his hat like you do - When only just boys go a-fishing with you. - - Henry Blake’s father will take him and stay - Somewhere in the woods for a half holiday - And wear his old clothes and bring home a big sack - Of hick’ries and walnuts to help Henry crack; - And sit on a dead log somewhere in the shade - To eat big sandwiches his mother has made; - And Henry Blake’s father, he don’t seem as though - He’s more than his uncle, he likes Henry so! - - - - -AND JUST THEN - - - Don’t you remember when the ship, the pirate ship, that flew - The black flag with the gleaming skull, in the fierce gale that blew, - Went on the rocks? I think it was upon the Spanish Main; - The sails were torn to tatters and there fell a driving rain, - The air was pierced with cries of fear, shocks followed upon shocks, - “Come, man the lifeboats,” called the mate, “the ship is on the rocks!” - And just when lightnings rent the air and all the sky was red, - Your mother said, “You’ve read enough, my boy! It’s time for bed!” - - Don’t you remember when the score stood six to six, until - The very ending of the game and every heart stood still? - The Red Sox pitcher took his place, while not a watcher stirred, - A hit, a pass, an error and a runner got to third. - Don’t you remember, as you read, you almost heard the crack - As bat met ball and you could feel cold chills go down your back? - And just as you had but a page to find which players led, - Your mother said, “You’ve read enough, my boy! It’s time for bed!” - - Don’t you remember when Wild Bill and Deadshot Dick, the scout, - Were prisoned in the rocky cave with redskins all about, - With all their ammunition gone, nor food to eat, as they - Had been a thousand times before, but always got away? - The war-whoops rang out fierce and shrill. Said Dick, “I have a plan; - We will escape or sell our lives as dearly as we can.” - And just as you turned o’er the page to see what plans they’d lay, - The clock struck nine--your mother came and took the book away. - - Oh, Captain Kidd, it seemed to me when you went on the rock - You always timed the hour of it to be at nine o’clock! - And Dick, the scout, the redskins came and fell on you with rage - Just when my boyhood bed time came and I turned down the page! - And Spike, the wizard of the slab, who mowed the batsmen down - Like blades of grass, the hero of the little country town, - You seemed to time the crisis of your fiercest game, someway, - At nine o’clock, when Mother came and took the book away! - - - - -AFTERWARD - - - I’m glad I was always so good to her; - I was just up there in the nursery - Picking up things--you know--that were - Left strewn about as carelessly - As a child will do when she’s called from play; - I picked them up with a mist and blur - In my eyes, and I laid them all away-- - I’m glad I was always so good to her. - - And many’s the picture that came to me, - That came to me o’er a Teddy bear - Or a doll or a whole tin infantry - Arrayed in a battle column there; - Picture on picture of girls and girls - (One year and two years and three) that were; - Of pinafores and blue frocks and curls-- - I’m glad I was always so good to her. - - Dreams on dreams and they ride me down, - Column and phalanx, and voices call; - And grasses grow green and come sere and brown, - And leaves bud, blossom and blow and fall; - She had been six now--and seven--and ten-- - _So_ tall--and _so_ tall--how fair they were, - How fair they were and they would have been, - Those lost ones--I’m glad I was good to her. - - - - -CIRCUS DAY - - - If you’re waking call me early, call me early, Mother dear. - I think at 4 o’clock A.M., the circus will be here; - If it was any other day ’twould take an awful shock - To rouse me from my little bed before quite 8 o’clock; - You needn’t mind my breakfast, for I’ll be in dreadful haste, - And if I see the cars unload I’ll have no time to waste; - Perhaps they’ll wash the cages, Ma, and I’ll be there to see - The men take off the sideboards from the whole menagerie. - - If you’re waking call me early, call me early, Mother dear, - Because the place where it unloads is full two miles from here; - I’d faint without my breakfast if ’twas any other day, - But I’ll be strong enough, I think, to run quite all the way; - The boys I know will all be there; ’twill be a wondrous sight - To see the elephants led out before it’s hardly light; - And hear the lions roar, which makes goose pimples when you hear-- - If you’re waking, call me early, call me early, Mother dear. - - If you’re waking call me early, call me early, Mother dear, - No matter if you whisper it I’ll be quite sure to hear; - If I was being waked to turn the wringer it would be - A good deal harder job, of course, for you to waken me; - But I will leave my stockings on and put my shirt in place, - And if I’m rushed for time I will not need to wash my face; - And in the early morning light you’ll see me leaving here - About three minutes after four, so call me, Mother dear. - - If you’re waking, call me early, call me early, Mother dear; - I will not yawn and rub my eyes and ask if morning’s here; - I will not pull the covers up as I have done before - And ask you if I cannot sleep just half an hour more; - I’ll jump right out of bed as soon as ever you may call - And be all dressed and down the stair and gone out through the hall - Before you say Jack Robinson--the circus will be here - At 4 o’clock, so call me early, early, Mother dear! - - - - -THE TOUR OF A SMILE - - - My papa smiled this morning when - He came down stairs, you see, - At Mamma; and when he smiled, then - She turned and smiled at me; - And when she smiled at me, I went - And smiled at Mary Ann, - Out in the kitchen and she lent - It to the hired man. - - So then he smiled at someone, who - He saw, when going by; - Who also smiled and ere he knew - Had twinkles in his eye; - So he went to his office then - And smiled right at his clerk, - Who put some more ink on his pen - And smiled back from his work. - - So when his clerk went home he smiled - Right at his wife, and she - Smiled over at their little child - As happy as could be; - And then their little child, she took - The smile to school, and when - She smiled at teacher from her book, - Teacher smiled back again. - - And then the teacher passed on one - To little James McBride, - Who couldn’t get his lessons done, - No matter how he tried; - And Jamesy took it home and told - How teacher smiled at him - When he was tired and didn’t scold, - But said, “Don’t worry, Jim!” - - And when I happened to be there - That very night to play, - His mother had a smile to spare - Which came across my way; - And then I took it after while - Back home, and Mamma said: - “Here is that very self-same smile - Come back with us to bed!” - - - - -WHEN GRANDPA PLAYS - - - I don’t know what makes Grandpa tired; he’s hardly done a thing - Except to put some hammocks up and help us children swing; - He only came an hour ago, and we’ve been here all day. - He says we’re most too much for him and thinks he’ll hardly stay; - He just played drop-the-handkerchief and blind man’s buff, but he - Says, My! we’ve got him out of breath and tired as he can be. - He says it’s most too much for him to play leap-frog and ball, - But we have been here all day long, and we’re not tired at all! - - He started to play hide and seek, and first he had to blind - And then he ran with all his might to see who he could find, - And Tommy Watkins beat him in from there behind a tree, - Till Grandpa had to give it up and say, “All’s out’s in free!” - And then he sat down on a stump and said he’s tired to death. - He had to hold his sides a while till he could catch his breath. - He said he’d like to shake a tree and make some apples fall, - But he’s too tired, and we boys here are hardly tired at all! - - He only ran in under once when we were in the swing, - And then he had to rest because he’s tired as everything; - And once he showed us how to climb a great, tall tree, but when - He only got a few feet up he slid right down again. - He said he used to climb a tree, oh, very, very tall - And sit across a branch way up and never tire at all, - But now he’s out of practice, and his legs won’t stay around - The trunk, and he feels safer when he stays down on the ground! - - And sometimes when he goes back home and holds us by the hand, - All wringing wet and out of breath, our Ma says “Goodness, Land! - I think you are the youngest boy of all the boys in sight.” - But Grandpa rubs his legs and arms and limps and says “Not quite!” - And sometimes in the parlor, why, he says he was so strong - When he was just a boy they used to take him right along - To lift the heavy things and do the hardest work, you know, - But now us boys ’ll tire him out in just an hour or so! - - - - -THE PARTED WAYS - - - I used to know a little lad, - A youngster of thirteen, - Who wasn’t very good or bad, - But somewhere in between. - He had such freckles on his nose - As your nose seems to bear; - Indeed, I’d almost think that those - Were some he used to wear. - - He used to have an old straw hat - All frazzled at the brim, - Indeed, I’d almost think that that - Came down to you from him. - And he had such a dog as now - Barks joyfully along - With you--it makes me wonder how - It could have lived so long. - - And in his heart he held such song - As fell upon my ear, - And echoed through the shadows long - When you came whistling near; - So when at twilight, dawn or noon - This overture you bring, - It seems to be the very tune - This other lad would sing. - - And he had pockets bulged with things - By which he set much store, - With knives and marbles, tops and strings - And half a hundred more; - I see your pockets emptied now, - Your things cast up with care, - Until they seem to be, somehow, - His treasures you have there. - - I know not where it was or when, - But with his heart of song - He went and came not back again, - And took his dreams along; - So some day in a little while - He’ll wave a sun-browned hand. - And leave you with his cheery smile-- - And you will understand. - -[Illustration: THE PARTED WAYS] - - - - -A MESSAGE HOME - - - Say, Little Boy, ’twixt dawn and dusk who treads such devious ways, - I wish you would remember me to all your sunny days; - For once they were such friends of mine; so bid them my good cheer - And say you saw an old, old friend, who holds them very dear; - Remember me to those cool paths, that led by fields and streams, - Where what were my songs now are yours and what were mine your dreams; - Just say you saw an old, old friend, who wanted you to tell - Them all he sent them love and cheer and wished them always well. - - And, Little Boy, if you should lie beneath some spreading tree, - Be good enough to say it has remembrance sweet from me; - For once it used to cover me with shade so thick and cool - And bid me lie and rest and dream as I came home from school; - And when you romp with comrade boys at noontime, Lad, I pray, - Remember me to all of them and to the games they play; - And let no games too humble be, no youngsters be too small - To know an old, old friend sends love and blessings to them all. - - Remember me to all your dreams, to rose and bush and stem, - To days too short to hold your joys, remember me to them; - To all your secrets deep and vast, of things that are and were - And are to be, half-whispered in the twilight’s dusk and blur; - Just say an old friend, long away, but still remembering - Would have them know his heart is full of memories that bring - Delight to bygone fellowships, and he would have you tell - Them all he sends them love and cheer, and wishes them so well! - - For, over land and over sea the hearts of us that fare - Swell with the messages they bid the homebound comrade bear; - And over days and over years have I fared forth and so - I bid you bear my greetings, Lad, to all the joys you know. - Remember me to all the hearts and hopes and dreams and deeds, - Bear blessings of mine everywhere the path of boyland leads; - Just say you saw an old, old friend, who wanted you to tell - The joys and boys of youth he loved and wished them always well. - - - - -LULLABY - - - Sleepy little, creepy little goblins in the gloaming - With their airy little, fairy little faces all aglow, - Winking little, blinking little brownies gone a-roaming - Hear their rustling little, bustling little footfalls as they go; - Laughing little, chaffing little voices sweetly singing - In the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies, - Creep, creep, creep! - Time to go to sleep! - Baby playing ’possum with his big, brown eyes! - - Cricket in the thicket with the oddest little chatter - Sings his prattling little, rattling little, tattling little tune, - Fleet the feet of tiny stars go patter, patter, patter, - As they scamper from the heavens at the rising of the moon; - Beaming little, gleaming little fire flies go dreaming - To the dearest little, queerest little baby lullabies, - Creep, creep, creep! - Time to go to sleep! - Baby playing ’possum with his big, brown eyes! - -[Illustration: LULLABY] - - - Quaking little, shaking little voices all a-quiver - In the mushy little, rushy little, reedy, weedy bogs, - Droning little, moaning little chorus by the river - In the joking little, croaking little cadence of the frogs, - Eerie little, cheery little glowworms in the gloaming - Where the clover heads like fairy little night caps rise, - Creep, creep, creep! - Time to go to sleep! - Baby playing ’possum with his big, brown eyes! - - - - -DISGUISING TOIL - - - When I was just a little boy and sent to cut the weeds, - I played myself a hero bold and given to mighty deeds; - I played myself an armored knight, my scythe a broadsword keen, - The weeds an army of my foes come marching o’er the green; - I laid my good broadsword about, they broke and ran pell-mell, - At every stroke some stubborn lout and his retainers fell. - And when I told them of my play, with lusty shouts and glee, - The neighbor boys brought scythes and fell to cutting weeds for me. - - When I was just a little boy and sent to cut the wood, - I played myself a frontier scout, six feet in buckskin stood; - I played the red men swarmed about and all the timbers laid - Must be quick hewed and fashioned for an old frontier stockade; - Quick fell my axe with flashing blade, for all about I heard - The war-whoop of the warriors who in the thicket stirred. - And when I told them of my play, with lusty strokes and cry, - The neighbor boys fell to and wrought my woodpile brimming high. - - When I was just a little boy and sent to scrub the walk - With hose and broom, I used to play it was the good ship Hawk - Or Hornet, Spider or Whatnot, afire far out at sea, - Nor help at hand where’er I looked, to windward or to lee; - And how I fought the tongues of flame that swept by stern and bow! - The clouds of smoke that rolled above--I almost see them now! - And when I told them of my play, with many a lusty shout, - The neighbor boys plied hose and broom to put the fire out. - - And when I had to shovel snow I led’ some hardy band - Of undismayed discoverers, in far-off Arctic land; - With stores and goods and blubber, too, all buried deep below - The mark that I had left beneath some good six feet of snow; - And almost famished, there I dug, full knowing I should find - At last the goodly stores of stuff that we had left behind. - And when I told them of my play, with many a lusty shout, - The neighbor boys plied willing spades and helped me dig them out. - - - - -LITTLE GIRL WITH THE CURLS - - - Little girl with the curls, and the passionless eyes, - With your heart that is pure as the cool springs that rise - In the green of the hills, and with cheeks that are fair - And unsoiled of the world as the snowflake in air, - With your dreams that are sweet and that always come true, - Little girl with the curls, here’s a blessing for you. - - Little girl with the curls and with grace that is sweet - From the toss of your head to your fast-flying feet, - With the light in your eyes that is brimming with truth - And the straightforward gaze that’s the glory of youth, - With your smiles that are glad and your days that are fair, - Here’s a blessing as rich as the gold of your hair. - - Little girl with the curls and the kisses as light - As the butterfly’s kiss of the flower in its flight, - With your heart all atune to the beauties you see, - With the song of your days sweet as music can be, - With your peace like the pardon of heaven unfurls, - Here’s a blessing for you, little girl with the curls. - - And Oh, be the days of thy trial as far - From the deeps of the sea as the snowy peaks are! - And Oh, be thy heart in its singing atune, - Thy skies be but blue with the splendors of June. - So bless thee and keep thee and spare thee--with pearls - Be thy days strung through life, little girl with the curls. - - - - -MY WONDERFUL DAD - - - My Daddy, he lived in a wonderful house, and he played with such wonderful - boys; - They were neighbors of his; and the attic they had was a storehouse of - wonderful toys; - He slept every night in a wonderful bed, with a tick that his grandmother - made - From the feathers of geese that she picked all herself, and so soft he was - almost afraid - He would sink out of sight when he got into bed; he could look from his - window right out - And see where the vines used to bring him sweet flowers just by crawling - along up the spout; - And he could look over and see where the woods and the squirrels and birds - used to be. - He must have had wonderful times where he lived from the way that he tells - them to me! - - My Daddy, he caught the most wonderful fish--there were thin ones and fat - ones and round, - And some were so long that their tails when he walked would be dragging right - down on the ground; - He scraped off their scales on a log that he had at the woodpile, and said - he would know - That log just as well if he saw it today, although that was a long time ago. - He used to dig worms of a wonderful size--he has never seen any like those - Since he was grown up; and on Saturdays he wore a wonderful old suit of clothes - And a hat that an uncle of his had forgot, for on Friday he did all his sums, - And Saturday always he went off somewhere with his one or two wonderful chums. - - My Daddy, he lived in a wonderful place when he was a twelve-year-old lad, - For no matter what kind of a day it might be there was always some fun to - be had. - He learned how to swim in a wonderful creek, where all of the whole summer - long - The water was warm, and the springboard they had it was springy and slippery - and strong. - And on the way home they found berries to eat, and he said he remembers them - well, - And it didn’t seem nearly a mile to back home, for there always was - something to tell - That took up the time both for him and his chums, and sometimes they came - home a new way, - And always all summer they had it all planned what to do on the next Saturday. - - My Daddy, he said he could go back there now and could take me as straight - as a string - To all of the wonderful places he knew--where the first flowers came in the - spring; - Where you almost were sure to catch fish in the brook--where the nuts would - come dropping in fall; - Where the most berries were on the way to back home--he is sure he remembers - them all. - He knows where the squirrels were most apt to be, and the lane where the - hay wagon comes; - And said he’d find names in the bark of a tree that were cut there by him - and his chums - Twenty-five years ago, and the log where they sat when they found the big - garter-snake curled. - My Daddy, he must have had wonderful times in the splendidest place in the - world! - - - - -REMEMBRANCES, BILL - - - I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, - The fresh morning glories that crept up the sill - And nodded at us when the night time was gone - And curtains thrown open to let in the dawn; - The light over there, and the edge of the sun - That blazed on the hill when the day was begun, - The air on our cheeks and the sparkle of dew, - Our hearts and our hopes like the day that was new. - - I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, - The way of a thousand delights up the hill, - Through lanes and by hedges, where orchards were sweet, - And clover dews healing the woes of bare feet; - The chatter of squirrels, the rattle of leaves, - The round, yellow pumpkins, the wind-tattered sheaves, - The shade that was deep and lent splendor to dreams - And lips that were laved by the bubbles of streams. - - I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, - The times when the cup of all nature would spill - Its gladness for us, when the days overflowed - With the laughter of playtime, and far down the road - Were milestones all marked by delights jointly shared, - To set off the days where adventure’s steps fared; - Nor ever a secret but innocence knew, - The heart of youth hallowed and joy bubbled through. - - I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, - The times in the twilight, on hedgerow and hill - When we whistled homeward, upon the old road - With hearts full of gladness that quite overflowed; - The pillows where nestled two tangles of hair, - The joy-freighted dreams, with a left-over share - For the dawn of the morrow--a thread that was pearled - With jewels of joy that were strung ’round our world. - - I wonder if you still remember them, Bill, - Our vows to the future we thought to fulfill; - Our day dreams to cherish, our faith to endure, - Through trials how bitter our hearts to keep pure; - No gladness of living but we two would share-- - The lanes and the byways are wondrously fair, - But somehow the voices grow tuneless and still-- - I wonder if you still remember them, Bill. - - - - -THE BEREAVEMENT - - - We’re all alone, ’ist Pop an’ me, - ’Cuz Mamma’s gone away somew’eres - T’ stay the longest time; an’ we - Are all alone; an’ Pop ’ist stares - A-past me an’ he never hears - Me when I ast w’ere she could be, - An’ both his eyes are full o’ tears - W’en we’re alone, ’ist Pop an’ me. - - An’ after w’ile I ast him w’y - She don’t come back; but he don’t know; - An’ ’en some way he starts t’ cry - Till I say, “Please, Pop, don’t cry so.” - An’ put my arms part way around - His neck an’ hug him, ’ist cuz we - Are lonesome; he don’t make a sound; - An’ we’re alone, ’ist Pop an’ me. - - An’ he ’ist hugs me up so tight - An’ sez my Mamma’s gone so fur - She won’t come back, but sez we might - ’Ist some day, maybe, go to her. - An’ I ast w’y can’t we go now - ’Cuz we’re so lonesome here; but he - Don’t seem to hear me ast, somehow, - An’ we’re alone, ’ist Pop an’ me. - - An’ ’en I ’ist fergit she’s gone - An’ think it’s almos’ time fur her - T’ come an’ put th’ supper on, - But w’en Pop’s eyes are all a blur - I ’member ’at’s she’s gone away, - An’ can’t git supper; Pop sez he - Ain’t hungry, an’ I ain’t, I say; - An’ we’re alone, ’ist Pop an’ me. - - An’ ’en Pop rocks me in his lap - An’ rubs my head, ’ist soft an’ kind, - An’ asts me if I’ll take a nap - If he pulls down th’ parlor blind. - An’ in a little w’ile I fall - Asleep an’ he ’ist rocks; but he - Don’t never go t’ sleep at all, - An’ we’re alone, ’ist Pop an’ me. - - - - -IN CHILDHOOD TIME - - - Hark! I hear the happy laughter that from children’s voices rings, - Swelling out like some vast golden harp with half a thousand strings, - Every one vibrating grandly in an ecstatic acclaim, - In a medley of sweet melodies that set the birds to shame; - On the harp of childhood’s happiness each note rings clear and true, - For the heart is pure and perfect and each quivering string is new, - And it tells and swells like bells afar that ring and rhyme and chime - The sweetest music ever told in note or tune or time. - - When the heart is growing older and the harp of laughter rings, - There’s a false note clashing somewhere in the swelling of the strings; - There’s a chord that strikes imperfect, where some sorrow echoes through - The melody, and grief has warped the strings to strains not true. - Sometimes there’s brilliant music that rings from an empty heart, - But it’s not the melodious laughter of the child, that knows no art, - But just flows full and free, for Nature’s teachings, undefiled, - Make music that is heart-true in the sweet voice of a child. - - Could I gather every note that floats and rings and swells and tells - The gladness of the child’s heart, true as any chime of bells - May tell the passing hour, and fashion them into a song, - ’Twould thrill and fill the air with melody as though a throng - Of seraphim, as tinkling cymbals struck the twinkling stars - In heaven’s perfect music, where no din or discord mars, - And a myriad strings would mingle in a melody sublime, - The rhyme and chime of laughter gathered from all Childhood’s Time. - - - - -DON’T - - - A hundred times a day I hear - His mother say: “Don’t do that, dear!” - From early morn till dusk ’tis all - “Don’t do that, dear!” I hear her call - From the back porch and front and side - As though some evil would betide - Unless she drummed it in his ear: - “Don’t do that, dear! Don’t do that, dear!” - - If he goes out and slams the door; - “Don’t do that, dear!” and if the floor - Is newly scrubbed and he comes near; - “Don’t do that, dear!” is all I hear. - If he comes romping down the stairs; - “Don’t do that, dear!” and if he wears - No coat, but hangs it somewhere near, - She sees and says: “Don’t do that, dear!” - - If he goes shinning up a tree: - “Don’t do that, dear!” If he should be - Astride a roof I know I’ll hear - Her call to him: “Don’t do that, dear!” - His life is all “Don’t this,” “Don’t that,” - “Don’t loose the dog,” “Don’t chase the cat,” - “Don’t go,” “Don’t stay,” “Don’t there,” “Don’t here,” - “Don’t do that, dear!” “Don’t do that, dear!” - - Sometimes he seems to me as still - As any mouse until a shrill - “Don’t do that, dear!” falls on the air - And drives him swift away from there. - So when he finds another spot: - “Don’t do that, dear!” and he says: “What?” - And she replies and cannot say say-- - But--“Well, don’t do it, anyway!” - - - - -EXTINGUISHED - - - The boy stood on the burning deck, whence all but him had fled”-- - When Tommy Gibbs stood up to speak he had it in his head, - But when he saw the schoolroom full of visitors, he knew, - From his weak knees and parching tongue, the words had all fled, too. - - “The boy stood on the burning deck”--a second time he tried, - But he forgot about the boy, or if he lived or died; - He only knew the burning deck was something nice and cool - Beside the rostrum where he stood that awful day in school. - - “The boy stood on the burning deck”--he felt the flames and smoke. - His tongue was thick, his mouth was dry, he felt that he would choke. - And from the far back seats he heard a whisper run about: - “Come back here, Tom, and take your seat. They’ve put the fire out!” - - - - -THE UNCHEERED HERO - - - Tim Brooks he studies awful hard - And faithful all the year, - But goes out in the school house yard - And never gets a cheer; - And Billy Gibbs, he shirks and frets-- - He hates to work at all-- - But you should hear the cheer he gets - Because he hits the ball. - - Tim Brooks he always leads his class - And gets his lessons done; - But Billy Gibbs lets hours pass - Just thinking up some fun; - But no one cheers and throws his hat - And says: “Hurrah for Tim!” - But when Bill Gibbs goes up to bat - The boys all cheer for him. - - Bill Gibbs he suffers awful pain - When he comes to recite; - He cannot do his sums again - Or get his grammar right; - Then teacher calls on Timmy Brooks - And points to him with pride, - But when we play a game she looks - And cheers for Bill outside. - - Sometimes Tim Brooks he sees the game - And watches Bill at bat, - He gets excited just the same - And cheers and throws his hat; - But when he has his sums in school - And Bill is watching him, - Bill quite forgets the Golden Rule - And never cheers for Tim. - - I guess I’d rather be like Tim - Than Billy Gibbs, but when - The boys outside are cheering him - It sounds quite pleasant then; - And it must sometimes seem quite hard - To study all the year, - And go out in the school house yard - But never get a cheer! - - - - -OLD HALLOWE’EN FRIENDS - - - Oho! Mr. Ghost, with your raiment of white, - Come to frighten me out of my wits in the night! - With your eyes flaming forth like two coals and your breath - Bearing fire that would scare a poor mortal to death; - With your rows of great teeth grinning widely at me - And your loose-hanging gown flapping under the tree - In the orchard out there--Oh! I know how you’re made, - And the youngsters who made you, so I’m not afraid. - - Oho! Mr. Ghost, I am waiting for you; - You’re an old friend of mine, both trustworthy and true; - For that big head of yours that near gave me a fright - Was in somebody’s pumpkin patch only last night. - And out of my window not two hours ago - I saw your head scooped out by Bill, Jack, and Joe; - And I saw you stuck up on the end of a lath - Before you were stationed right here in my path. - - Oho! Mr. Ghost, with your garments so fine! - I know what became of that sheet on the line - In the neighbor’s back yard, newly washed and alone, - It is hiding that lath that you use for backbone. - And the candle that burned in the kitchen last night - Lights those cavernous eyes that near gave me a fright; - Indeed, you are made from such odds and such ends - That I feel we’re the warmest of very old friends. - - And those sepulchral groans you are making at me, - I know whence they come--from that big apple tree - That is right behind you--I have heard them before; - They were begging for cake at the side kitchen door. - So you see, Mr. Ghost, with your pumpkin and lath, - With your candle and sheet, when I came up the path - I heard a boy chuckle up there in the tree, - And that is the reason you can’t frighten me! - - - - -A REFUGE IN DISTRESS - - - A fellow’s father he looks wise - Of office work and such, - But when it comes to things like what - A boy wants, he ain’t much. - For when it comes to cuts or warts - Or stone bruise on your toes, - A fellow’s father don’t know, but - A fellow’s mother knows. - - A fellow’s father he looks wise - And says: “A-hem! A-hem!” - But when it comes to cakes and pies, - What does he know of them? - He knows the price of wheat and rye - And corn and oats, it’s true, - But if you get the leg ache, why, - He don’t know what to do. - - And if you burned your back the time - That you went in to swim, - And want some stuff to heal it, why, - You never go to him, - Because he doesn’t know a thing - About such things as those, - But you just bet, and don’t forget, - A fellow’s mother knows. - - And if your nose is sunburned, till - It’s all peeled off, and you - Go to him for some healin’ stuff, - He don’t know what to do. - He’s just as helpless as can be, - But when a fellow goes - And asks his mother, why, you see, - A fellow’s mother knows. - - A fellow’s father knows a lot, - But it ain’t any use, - So if a fellow’s really got - The leg ache or a bruise, - Or if there’s anything he wants - He gets right up and goes - And asks his mother, for, you see, - A fellow’s mother knows. - - - - -THE LOST HEART - - - Back among the trees and trellises, along the leaf-strewn lane, - Sitting on the bank of the mill stream and dreaming dreams again, - Drinking water sweet as nectar from the bucket at the well, - In the orchard’s leaf and silence, watching windfalls as they fell, - Trying here, at five and thirty, just to be a boy again, - To recall the joys of boyhood and forget the cares of men; - But I listen to a lesson in the twitter of the wren: - When the boy’s heart turns to man’s it never throbs the same again. - - Once the sun marks noon of lifetime, once the morning steals away, - Once the shadows growing shorter and then fall the other way, - Once the play time ends at manhood, once the frolicking is done, - Once the face is turned from dawning to the setting of the sun, - You may sit among the flowers that you plucked and threw away, - Turn the leaves of Time all backward, try to read them as you may, - You may kindle fires of Memory, you may sit and watch the flame, - But there’s something changed within you that can never be the same. - - You may lay aside the burden of your troubles as you will, - But the bent and sunken shoulders tell the story to you still; - The story of the troubles and the trials that are sealed - From the simple hearts of children, and to men alone revealed. - The sorrow dulls, the sigh is stilled, the sore hearts soothed are, - The smarting wound is healed again, but always leaves a scar, - The fire of youth burns only once, and dies in its dead flame, - The simple heart of boyhood that can never be the same. - - So I sit among the trellises and trees and wonder why: - Clear the air as in my boyhood and as blue the unflecked sky, - Full the leaves as ever blowing, sweet the bird songs and as free, - But the boy’s heart that throbbed to them is untuned and dead in me. - There’s a longing, longing, longing, speaking in a deep-drawn sigh, - For the heart that throbbed in boyhood, cloudless as the azure sky; - For the heart that was the sunlight and the air--that tongue nor pen - Can ever paint or picture--that I cannot know again. - - - - -VERSES OF A LITTLE CHILD - - - Never care as she lies asleep, - Dear little lassie with red-brown hair; - Angels of Light a sweet vigil keep, - Keep for the little one slumbering there. - Never a dream as she lies so still, - Never a dream but of Fairyland, - Fairyland and the flowers that fill - Her bed, and the lilies within her hand. - - Never a tear as she lies at rest, - Now or ever or evermore; - Never a sorrow to bruise her breast, - Ever the gladness of fairylore. - Never the rough way to bruise her feet, - Never or ever a discord sound, - Only the murmur of music sweet, - And the laughing of Cherubim, all around. - - Never a sigh from the silent lips, - For the dollies all carefully laid away; - Only the music of laughter slips - Out of the realm of the sunlit day. - Never or ever a thought or care, - For the little hat with its flowered wreath, - Bearing a vision of red-brown hair - Flying in tangled curls beneath. - -[Illustration: VERSES OF A LITTLE CHILD] - - - Dead? Ah, no! She is just asleep, - Asleep where the dreams and daisies are; - Angels of Light a sweet vigil keep, - Keep in the light of a twinkling star. - Asleep, and the odors of flowers fill - Her bed, and the lilies within her hand; - Asleep, and the whispering angels still - Her sighs with the dreams of Fairyland. - - - - -GOLDEN DAYS IN SLOWVILLE - - - These are golden days in Slowville; there is gladness up and down; - For they’re sticking circus posters ’round the little country town. - Flaming sheets of red and yellow on its every barn and fence - Tell of wonders aggregated disregardful of expense. - Tell of wildernesses threaded for the fierce Bigrigmajig; - Tell of jungle-beasts made captive and of marvels small and big, - “In a most stupendous spectacle of splendor and renown,” - Say the flaming circus posters in the little country town. - - They have wielded monster brushes from the dewy hours of morn, - They have covered half of Jones’s barn with grandeur heaven-born; - They have pictured fluffy ladies on the backs of dashing steeds, - They have ornamented Slowville with a wealth of daring deeds; - They have left a Ripperumptus on the back of Robbin’s fence, - Captured in the wilds of Africa at marvelous expense; - They’ve a retinue of big-eyed lads as they move up and down - When they put up circus posters in the little country town. - - Oh! the multicolored marvels done in wonder-rousing haste - With a broad red barn for background and no means but brush and paste. - “Hi, there, Jimmy! See the monkeys!” All the air is shrill with cries - As the likenesses of wild beasts are upreared in gorgeous dyes; - There’s the fierce Ornithorinktus and the dreadful Whatisnot, - The blood-sweating Crinklawoozum and the awful Bingleswat. - Tent and sideshow, flag and streamer, elephant, parade, and clown-- - Oh! they’re sticking circus posters ’round the little country town. - - These are sleepless nights in Slowville; sleepless nights and anxious days; - There’s a hoarding of stray pennies got in half a hundred ways; - There are lads in wonder raptured; open-mouthed, with bulging eyes, - Where the marvelous menageries from gorgeous posters rise; - Oh! there’s glory, glory, glory in the chariots arrayed, - There’s rapture in the promise of the splendorous parade; - And new life has come to Slowville and is surging up and down - Since they put up circus posters in the little country town. - - - - -THE HEART OF A CHILD - - - Give me thy happy heart, Oh little child! - Where love springs like the sweetest flower, wild, - From all its virgin soil, and radiantly - Reflects its fresh, unsullied purity. - - Give me thy heart, that knows not heat or hate, - Nor passion thrills, nor grief makes desolate, - When love, lone, reigned, and Life but smiled and smiled, - Give me thy spotless heart, Oh little child! - - Give me thine artless tongue that to deceive - Knows not; but lisps to laugh and wakes to weave - In whispered words diviner melody - Of love than speaks in grandest symphony. - - Give me thine eyes that see but happiness, - Nor aught of else in all the hours that bless - Thy childhood time, nor any graver ray - Than the glad sunshine of an endless day. - - Would we could cleanse our hearts and make them young, - As when were sweeter chimes of childhood rung - From them, and when were flowers springing wild - From the untrampled soil, Oh little child! - - - - -THE STRENUOUS LIFE - - - That is your father, dear - Just going out the door; - Oh, he’s been living here - For seven years or more! - In business he’s so deep - He has no time to fret - With little girls, but keep - Up hope--we’ll meet him yet! - - That is your mother, dear, - Just getting in the car, - She knows that you are here - And also who you are! - But what with clubs to meet - And bridge to play, you see, - With hours so short and fleet - She’s turned you o’er to me. - - But there, my dear, don’t fret, - Or let those blue eyes blur, - Some time I know you’ll get - Acquainted, too, with her. - Why, sometimes, in the night - When angels vigil keep, - She asks if you’re all right - And when you went to sleep! - - I think you’d like them both, - I think they’d both like you, - But what with “higher growth” - And many things to do - They’re simply rushed to death, - But there, my dear, don’t cry, - If they should stop for breath - We’ll meet them bye and bye. - - - - -A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD - - - Sew, sew, sew! For there’s many a rent to mend; - There’s a stitch to take and a dress to make, - For where do her labors end? - Sew, sew, sew! For a rent in a dress she spies, - Then it’s needle and thread and an aching head - And see how the needle flies! - - Brush, brush, brush! For there’s many a boy to clean, - And start to school with a slate and rule, - With a breakfast to get between. - Comb, comb, comb! In the minute she has to spare, - For what is so wild--unreconciled - As the wastes of a youngster’s hair? - - Sweep, sweep, sweep! Oh, follow the flashing broom, - And with towel bound her forehead round - She goes from room to room. - Dust, dust, dust! As down on her knees she kneels, - For there’s much to do in the hour or two - Of interval ’twixt meals. - - Bake, bake, bake! For the cookie jar piled high - But yesterday in some curious way - Is empty again, Oh my! - Stir, stir, stir, in the froth of yellow and white, - For well she knows how the story goes - Of a small boy’s appetite. - - Scrub, scrub, scrub! For the floor that was spick and span, - Alas, alack! has a muddy track - Where some thoughtless youngster ran. - Splash, splash, splash! For the dishes of thrice a day - Are piled up high to wash and dry - And put on the shelves away. - - Patch, patch, patch! And oh for a pantaloon - That would not tear or rip or wear - In the course of an afternoon! - Patch, patch, patch! And see how the needle flies, - For a mother knows how the fabric goes - Where the seat of trouble lies. - - Toil, toil, toil! For when do her labors end, - With a dress to make and a cake to bake - And dresses and hose to mend? - Stew, stew, stew! Fret and worry and fuss, - And who of us knows of the frets and woes - In the days when she mothered us? - - - - -YOUTH - - - Don’t you recall when apples grew, - Oh, twice as big as now? - When fish, however they were few, - Were monster ones somehow? - When Gaines’s mill-dam made a roar - As though the water hurled - Were gathered in a mighty store - From all the wide, wide world? - - Don’t you remember when the trees, - The oak trees and the beech, - Were lost in clouds on days like these - And eyes could hardly reach - Their waving tops? When noonday skies - Were oh, such deeper blue? - When Jack’s great bean stalk in our eyes - Just grew and grew and grew? - - And there were bells, so more than fine, - Of blue and white and red, - Upon the morning glory vine - That climbed up on the shed, - To be a wonder and delight, - So fresh and full of dew, - To bud and open in a night night-- - I see them now--don’t you? - - Don’t you remember when the caves - Were thick and full of gloom, - Where captive maidens, once, like slaves, - Were chained in some damp room? - When twilight rustling in the brush - Was some fierce beast? A cow - It was, but cows at dusk are--Hush! - I think I hear one now. - - Come, take a little trip with me, - Forget the things that fret, - For you may close your eyes and see - Some things that I forget. - Why, I’ve seen Bluebeard’s hidden room - And Cinderella’s shoe! - And I have seen where violets bloom bloom-- - So blue! So blue! So blue! - - - - -AFTER THE YEARS - - - When you went back to the old home place had the mountain become a hill? - Had the raging river your boyhood knew shrunk down to a peaceful rill? - Were the monster trees in the old front yard but half of their former size? - Was something gone--and you don’t know what what--from the blue of - the arching skies? - Was the swimming-hole but a muddy pool when once it was crystal clear? - Were the apples but half as big and red as they were in that other year? - - When you went back to the old home place did the red barn seem so small - It didn’t look like the one you’d known? Was the mighty waterfall - That used to roar in your boyish ears but a little dash of spray - That fell so light you could hardly hear a dozen feet away? - Were the corn rows only half as long as they were in the long ago, - When you measured them with aching arms and the weight of a heavy hoe? - - When you went back to the old home place had the mill pond dwindled down? - Was Main Street only a muddy track in the heart of a sleepy town? - And the well that was fathoms, fathoms deep, with its wheel and creaking - chain, - Did it seem to you like a shrunken thing when you looked at it again? - Was something gone of the bygone days, from the sod and the arch of sky - That we used to see when we played as boys in the old days--you and I? - - Nay, Heart, the mountain rises high as it did of yore; the rill - Was a river once and the boys near by see a raging river still. - The well is fathoms, fathoms deep and the apples ripe and red; - The sod is cool and green and soft, and the sky up overhead - Is blue and clear, and the days are rare and glad as they used to be-- - But where is the Heart of the olden time--hast thou brought it back with - thee? - - - - -A VERSE TO MEMORY - - - Now Memory, like a little child, - Takes me by one soft hand, - By dreams of keen delight beguiled - We stray through Flowerland; - And like the child, sweet Memory - By many a by-way strays, - Plucks flowers and bears them back to me - To fashion my bouquets. - - By many sweet, secluded ways - She wanders, far or near; - A rose upon my garland lays - Bejeweled with a tear; - The rose of some far-flown ideal, - A fragrance, ah, how rare! - My fingers close but to reveal - The ashes crumbling there. - - Now tinkling laughter ripples clear - As some new flower she spies, - Some far-forgotten joys appear - As fairy faces rise. - My thoughts in revel, flower-wreathed, - Heart-full, my garlands lie, - While on the scented air is breathed - A greeting and good-bye. - - Come, Child, away! The frolic ends, - The flower in ashes, dead; - The perfume with the air that blends - We’ll bear away instead. - Here at the hedge we kiss and part, - Some sterner duties find. - Bear all the sweetness in the heart - But leave the flowers behind. - - Thank God, thank God for Memory, - Half smile and half a tear; - The flowers are there eternally, - And when the days are drear, - In through the tangled hedge of days - We wander, hand in hand, - And I may dream, while Memory strays, - A child is Flowerland. - - - - -LEST I FORGET - - - When from my earliest abode in boyhood’s merry days I strode, - Oh, well do I remember how my mother came--I see her now-- - And, standing in the old front door, repeated to me o’er and o’er: - - “Oh, William, don’t do this and that, and William, wear your other hat. - Please, William, don’t forget my note, and William, wear your overcoat. - And William, hurry on your way, or you’ll be late to school today.” - And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to my ear - Came floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I forget. - - When from my lessons, shirked or done, came homeward I at waning sun, - Oh, well do I remember how my mother came--I see her now-- - And greeted me at that front door with admonitions o’er and o’er: - - “Oh, William, don’t do this and that, and wipe your feet upon the mat, - And do not slam the door and wake the baby, William, and please take - This package down to Howe and Hatch and tell them that it doesn’t match, - And don’t forget to hurry back, because the kitchen fire is slack”; - And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to my ear - Come floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I forget. - - I’m married now--at man’s estate, and yet, quite mournful to relate, - My wife it is who, as before, comes with me to the new front door, - And standing there, bombards me for a block or two, and o’er and o’er: - - “Oh, William, don’t you wet your feet, and William, don’t forget the meat, - And William, don’t forget to mail my letter promptly, and don’t fail - To pay the ice bill, order wood; and William, would you be so good - As to stop in at Jones’s store and get a bit of ribbon for - The baby’s hair?”--and so ’tis yet--lest I forget--lest I forget! - - - - -ECHO OF A SONG - - - To my fancy, idly roaming, comes a picture of the gloaming, - Comes a fragrance from the blossoms of the lilac and the rose; - With the yellow lamplight streaming I am sitting here and dreaming - Of a half-forgotten twilight whence a mellow memory flows; - To my listening ears come winging vagrant notes of woman’s singing, - I’ve a sense of sweet contentment as the sounds are borne along; - ’Tis a mother who is tuning her fond heart to love and crooning - To her laddie such a - Sleepy little, - Creepy little, - Song. - - Ah, how well do I remember when by crackling spark and ember - The old-fashioned oaken rocker moved with rhythmic sweep and slow; - With her feet upon the fender, in a cadence low and tender, - Floated forth that slumber anthem of a childhood long ago. - There were goblins in the gloaming and the half-closed eyes went roaming - Through the twilight for the ghostly shapes of bugaboos along; - Now the sandman’s slyly creeping and a tired lad half sleeping - When she sings to him that - Sleepy little, - Creepy little, - Song. - - I am sitting here and dreaming with the mellow lamplight streaming - Through the vine-embowered window in a yellow filigree; - On the fragrant air come winging vagrant notes of woman’s singing, - ’Tis the slumber song of childhood that is murmuring to me; - And some subtle fancy creeping lulls my senses half to sleeping - As the misty shapes of bugaboos go dreamily along, - All my sorrows disappearing, as a tired lad I’m hearing - Once again my mother’s - Sleepy little, - Creepy little, - Song. - - - - -LOVERS’ LANE - - - How good to remember Life’s June from September, - The days that were fairer than ever again; - When hearts held no sorrow to last o’er the morrow - And heads were brimful of the wisdom of ten; - No skies were e’er bluer, no heart was e’er truer - Than mine when I waited in sunshine or rain - With joy that enriched me for one who bewitched me - And bade me to wait till she came down the lane. - - Our trysting-place gaining, my eyes they were straining - Afar down the road, and my lips hummed a tune - That held all the sweetness of first love’s completeness - The whiles that I waited at morning and noon; - For last when we parted, beloved, fond hearted, - She pledged me to wait for her, sunshine or rain, - And so I kept humming, I knew she was coming, - A girl queen in gingham, somewhere down the lane. - - And there with a vision of futures Elysian - I traced both our names with my toe in the dust, - And not a temptation could alter my station - As knight of the faithful heart, true to its trust. - -[Illustration: LOVER’S LANE] - - With ecstasy thrilling, I heard a far trilling - So sweeter than bird song, and heard it again, - The heart of the maiden, care-free and joy-laden, - Was borne on the music I heard down the lane. - - Ah, who knows the story of Life and its glory, - The unending bliss of the days that were then; - And who knows the sweetness of first love’s completeness - Who has not the wisdom of thirteen and ten? - For back went a trilling to her that was spilling - Its burden of gladness through all of the air, - With infinite yearning her message returning - To show I was true and awaited her there. - - Oh, hearts that are older, what secrets I told her! - What dreams of the future, of grown girl and boy! - For what of the weather, when two walk together - The pathway to school in the heyday of joy? - When hours are but measures of innocent pleasures, - When days brim with gladness, as winecups to drain, - When Life learns the sweetness of first love’s completeness - In waiting for Her as she comes down the lane! - - - - -DADDY KNOWS - - - Let us dry our tears now, laddie, - Let us put aside our woes; - Let us go and talk to daddy, - For I’m sure that daddy knows. - Let us take him what we’ve broken, - Be it heart or hope or toy, - And the tale may bide unspoken, - For he used to be a boy. - - He has been through all the sorrows - Of a lad at nine or ten; - He has seen the dawn of morrows - When the sun shone bright again; - His own heart has been near breaking, - Oh, more times than I can tell, - And has often known the aching - That a boy’s heart knows so well. - - I am sure he well remembers, - In his calendar of days, - When the boy-heart was December’s, - Though the sun and flowers were May’s. - He has lived a boy’s life, laddie, - And he knows just how it goes; - Let us go and talk to daddy, - For I’m sure that daddy knows. - - Let us tell him all about it, - How the sting of it is there, - And I have not any doubt it - Will be easier to bear; - For he’s trodden every byway, - He has fathomed every joy, - He has traveled every highway - In the wide world of a boy. - - He will put aside the worries - That his day may follow through, - For the great heart of him hurries - At the call for help from you. - He will help us mend the broken - Heart of ours or hope or toy, - And the tale may bide unspoken-- - For he used to be a boy. - - - - -TO CHILDREN AT THE HEARTH - - - It is you, my dears, and the gladness - You bring to the tasks to do, - Who can lessen this old world’s sadness - By as much as the joy of you. - It is you, my dears, and your glory - Of sunshine and word and song - Who can make life a sweeter story - Wherever you smile along. - - It is you, my dears, with your beauty - And freshness of mind and heart - Who must offer your share of duty - And play yet a nobler part. - For the world, it has need of beauty - And youth that is fine and new, - And the call you may hear to duty - Is for you, my dears--just you. - - It is you, my dears, that the sages - Have written their counsels to, - It is you, my dears, that the ages - Leave legacies to--just you. - And remember that every letter - That Wisdom has graven through - The years, so the world be better, - Is for you, my dears--just you. - - It is you who must be the bravest - To fight, if the cause be true; - It is you who must be the gravest - In word and in deed--just you. - It is you who must be the strongest - To stand till the battle’s through, - And you who must smile the longest - And never despair--just you. - - It is you, my dears, and your glory - Of gladness and youth and smile, - Who shall help to say if the story - Of life and the world’s worth while. - For the years of all time have shaped us, - And the lore of the Ages, too, - And to say if the Truth’s escaped us - Is for you, my dears--just you. - - - - -A TOAST TO THE SMALL BOY - - - He knows the vagrant country roads - Where sleepily they wind; - He has his pockets full of toads, - His smile is broad and kind; - His dreams of lands and seas--who knows? - His joys are never still, - And whistling through the world he goes, - The rugged small boy--Bill! - - His world is full of song and shine, - His days are all his own; - His nights are full of plans so fine - That youngsters all have known; - With all the joy that health can give - His ruddy pulses thrill, - And, bless me, how he loves to live, - This rugged small boy--Bill! - - His trousers know the ample patch, - His shoes gape at the toes, - But see him gladly toe the scratch - For any chum he knows; - The heart of him is good as gold, - And songs of gladness spill - From his red lips, this sunny-souled - And rugged small boy--Bill! - - His scratch-scarred legs are never tired, - His eyes bright-souled and starred, - His heart with hopeful youth is fired, - His sunny soul unscarred; - The world is his, the fields, the trees, - The brook, the wood, the hill, - To do his will, as he may please, - This rugged small boy--Bill! - - He knows the song of life by heart, - In fancy he may weave - Such dreams as make the pulses start, - A King of Make-Believe; - And when I speak with him I hear - Truth ripple like a rill - From him, and gladness and good cheer, - This rugged small boy--Bill! - - Oh, bide thee, bide thee, overlong, - Health, happiness, and youth; - Be glad thy heart and light thy song - And pure and clear thy truth! - Nor cloud to dim thy sunny ways, - Nor aught to bring thee ill, - And year on year of perfect days, - My rugged small boy--Bill! - - - - -AN ADVENTUROUS DAY - - - One time in vacation we boys all left town - To stay in the country for Sunday; and down - By Deacon Gray’s pasture a rabbit came out - Right close to the highway and looked all about - Until it saw us and it started to run - Right down the highroad like a shot from a gun; - So Billy Beggs threw off his coat and his hat - And chased it till both of its ears were down flat, - And, my, it just ran as if it saw a ghost, - And Bill ran so fast that he caught it--almost! - - And under the bridge where it crosses the creek - We saw some fish swimming and darting as quick - As a flash in the water, and one fish would flop - Himself till he almost would come to the top; - So then we got down on the bridge and we tied - A pin on a string and dropped it down the side - With a bug on the pin, and the fishes would look - While Billy Beggs wiggled the bug on the hook; - And one fish was hungry and came up so close - That Bill gave a jerk and he caught it--almost! - - And over by Skinner’s a big hawk flew by - And lit on a stump that was not very high, - But didn’t see us and we crawled up quite slow - Through the grass to the stump with a big stone to throw; - And Billy Beggs said that the hawk was asleep - For it never stirred once; and the grass was so deep - That we got to within a few feet from the stump, - And Billy Beggs peeked, and his heart gave a thump; - And when he got ever and ever so close - He stood up and threw and he hit it--almost! - - And then it got cloudy and thundered and then - It lightened just awful and thundered again; - It rained some big drops and we started to run - To get in the barn till the shower was done; - And lightning just spattered and crackled and flashed - And we were all scared as could be, and we splashed - All through mud and water, and then a big crack - Of lightning came down and Bill Beggs hollered back - From ’way up ahead, just as pale as a ghost, - And said that last lightning had struck him--almost! - - And over by Griggs’s somebody came out - And hollered to us when we’re all just about - So tired we could drop, and they took us right in - By the big kitchen fire ’cause we’re wet to the skin; - And Mrs. Griggs gave us some blankets to wear - While all of our clothes were hung over a chair; - And she made some tea till she got us warmed through - And then the storm stopped and the sky got all blue; - And Billy Beggs told her the flash came so close - That he ’membered the whole of the Lord’s Prayer--almost! - - - - -POEM OF THE FORAGERS - - - School’s out, and homeward with the ebbing day - They come--Tom Jones, Jim Brooks and Eddie Gray; - And half a million others far or near, - Not much unlike the boys I know right here; - With empty dinnerpails and schoolbooks slung - Across their shoulders by a strap. The tongue - Of boyhood at the kitchen door gives cry: - “Ma, can’t I have a doughnut, or some pie?” - For, say, the appetite of boys is prime - And cannot be content till suppertime. - - ’Tis four o’clock, and I can hear them go-- - A million youngsters--homeward, fast and slow; - The drowsy schoolroom clock has dragged its hands - Across its face until Time’s signal stands - At long-awaited four--that blessed hour - When schoolbooks close and teachers lose the power - That despot rulers have--and flags unfurled - Lead schoolboy armies to a waiting world! - And up the back steps bound returning feet: - “Ma, can’t I go and get a bite to eat?” - - School’s out--what ransacking of cooky jars! - What letting down of pantry gates and bars! - What dipping into barrels here and there, - With heads far down and feet high up in air, - For Winesaps, Baldwins, Pippins! What a charge - Upon the jars of jam and loaves baked large - And round and brown--what a tumultuous cry: - “Ma, can’t I have a little piece of pie?” - And so this schoolboy army waxes fat - Upon its foraged commissariat! - - -Thanks are due to the Editors of The Saturday Evening Post, The Century -Magazine, The New York Times, and The Youth’s Companion, in which papers -the greater number of these verses originally appeared, for permission -to reprint. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Boys and Girls, by James W. 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