A DOMESTIC RIPPLE

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 knowA 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 knowAnd 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 doMost always they feel better and they smile right back at you.And when so many smile at me and ask me for a curlIt makes me think most everybody likes a little girl;And once when I was playing and a man was going byHe smiled at me and then he rubbed some dust out of his eye,Because it made it water so, and said he used to knowA 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.

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 knowAnd 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 doMost always they feel better and they smile right back at you.

And when so many smile at me and ask me for a curlIt makes me think most everybody likes a little girl;And once when I was playing and a man was going byHe smiled at me and then he rubbed some dust out of his eye,Because it made it water so, and said he used to knowA 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.

SOME days my Pa is thist so cross’At Ma, she snaps him off an’ said:“I guess your father must ’a’ gotUp on th’ wrong side of th’ bed.”An’ ’en Pa says he’d like to eatThist bread, he would, in peace once more;An’ Ma, she bu’sts out cryin’ nenAn’ Pa goes out an’ slams th’ door—An’ ’en I git a spankin’!Thist ’fore he gits his breakfast, PaHe never hardly speaks to us,An’ Ma, she says it shames her soT’ have him go an’ make a fussBefore th’ girl. Pa, he don’t care,An’ ’en he says—“Th’ girl be——!”An’ Ma says—“Oh, t’ think he’d swearBefore his child!” Th’ door gits slammed—An’ ’en I git a spankin’!An’ ’en, ’em days, th’ littlest thingsI 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, nenShe 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 ashamedTo face her after such a sceneAn’ says she surely can’t be blamedFor Pa’s mean, ugly, hateful ways,An’ Ma ain’t got no heart to eat,Nen, thist ’cuz I want honey onMy bread, er jam, er sumpin sweet—Why nen I git a spankin’!An’ ’en, along ’bout supper timePa sneaks in thist th’ easiestYou ever see; an’ nen he looksFor Ma; an’ she’s th’ freeziest’At ever was. An’ Pa, he’s gotSome candy an’ he says he’s ’shamed,An’ fin’ly Ma says mebbe sheWas also partly to be blamed,An’ ’en ’at ends my spankin’!

Thist ’fore he gits his breakfast, PaHe never hardly speaks to us,An’ Ma, she says it shames her soT’ have him go an’ make a fussBefore th’ girl. Pa, he don’t care,An’ ’en he says—“Th’ girl be——!”An’ Ma says—“Oh, t’ think he’d swearBefore his child!” Th’ door gits slammed—An’ ’en I git a spankin’!

An’ ’en, ’em days, th’ littlest thingsI 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, nenShe 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 ashamedTo face her after such a sceneAn’ says she surely can’t be blamedFor Pa’s mean, ugly, hateful ways,An’ Ma ain’t got no heart to eat,Nen, thist ’cuz I want honey onMy bread, er jam, er sumpin sweet—Why nen I git a spankin’!

An’ ’en, along ’bout supper timePa sneaks in thist th’ easiestYou ever see; an’ nen he looksFor Ma; an’ she’s th’ freeziest’At ever was. An’ Pa, he’s gotSome candy an’ he says he’s ’shamed,An’ fin’ly Ma says mebbe sheWas also partly to be blamed,An’ ’en ’at ends my spankin’!

THE Adams’s children, they just romp and playAnd 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 headAnd drinks from a dipper, and all over townThe boys will tell you how he drinks upside down.The Adams’s children, they make enough noiseIn the yard where they live for three times as much boys,And sometimes they laugh and you hear it as clearAs can be up to Tinker’s and way over here;And they’ve got a dog which is almost the sameAs the rest of the boys and will play every game,And bark all the time, and he makes so much noiseHe’s just like the rest of the Adams’s boys.The Adams’s children, they go out to rideOn a pony of theirs, with them all three astride,And the boy up in front makes him kick up and thenThe boy way behind, he gets thrown off again;And the Adams’s pony, he looks just as thoughHe’s trying to laugh when the others laugh so;It looks like a laugh, but he can’t make a noiseLike the dog or the rest of the Adams’s boys.The Adams’s children, they go out to playAnd 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 hearsThe laughing and barking way over to Geer’s,Which is most half a mile, and she smiles, because thenShe knows they’ll be home when they’re hungry again.The Adams’s children, they get on as thoughThey 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 funFor the Adams’s children as though there’s just one!

The Adams’s children, they make enough noiseIn the yard where they live for three times as much boys,And sometimes they laugh and you hear it as clearAs can be up to Tinker’s and way over here;And they’ve got a dog which is almost the sameAs the rest of the boys and will play every game,And bark all the time, and he makes so much noiseHe’s just like the rest of the Adams’s boys.

The Adams’s children, they go out to rideOn a pony of theirs, with them all three astride,And the boy up in front makes him kick up and thenThe boy way behind, he gets thrown off again;And the Adams’s pony, he looks just as thoughHe’s trying to laugh when the others laugh so;It looks like a laugh, but he can’t make a noiseLike the dog or the rest of the Adams’s boys.

The Adams’s children, they go out to playAnd 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 hearsThe laughing and barking way over to Geer’s,Which is most half a mile, and she smiles, because thenShe knows they’ll be home when they’re hungry again.

The Adams’s children, they get on as thoughThey 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 funFor the Adams’s children as though there’s just one!

THE ADAMS’S BOYS

BILLY Peeble, he ain’t got no parents—never had none, ’causeWhen he’s borned he was an orfunt; an’ he said ’at Santa ClausNever didn’t leave him nothin’, ’cause he was a county charge,An’ the overseer told him that his fambly was too largeTo remember orfunt children; so I ast Ma couldn’t weHave 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 tubAn’ 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 afraidSanta 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 afterwurdsHe 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, heCould hardly go to sleep at all—’ist tossed an’ tossed. You seeWe had such w’ite sheets on the bed an’ he said afterwurdsThey never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird’s.So we ’ist laid an’ talked an’ talked. An’ Billy ast me whoWas 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 boysAn’ keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an’ heaps of toysW’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’ afterwurdsHe 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 bedTill 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 bedAn’ 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 setRight 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

My his clo’es was awful ragged! Ma, she put him in a tubAn’ 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 afraidSanta 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 afterwurdsHe 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, heCould hardly go to sleep at all—’ist tossed an’ tossed. You seeWe had such w’ite sheets on the bed an’ he said afterwurdsThey never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird’s.

So we ’ist laid an’ talked an’ talked. An’ Billy ast me whoWas 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 boysAn’ keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an’ heaps of toysW’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’ afterwurdsHe 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 bedTill 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 bedAn’ 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 setRight 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

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 saidHe’s sorry he’s an orfunt, an’ Ma patted Billy’s head,W’ich made him cry a little bit, an’ he said afterwurdsNobody 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 insteadOf little Jim ’at died oncet. So she ’ist put him to bedOn Christmas night an’ tucked him in an’ told me afterwurds’At he ain’t never goin’ back to 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 insteadOf little Jim ’at died oncet. So she ’ist put him to bedOn Christmas night an’ tucked him in an’ told me afterwurds’At he ain’t never goin’ back to Overseer Bird’s.

SOMETIMES when I come in at nightAnd take my shoes off at the stair,I hear my Pop turn on the lightAnd 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 sixO’clock and hurry up my chores,And get a big armful of sticksOf wood and bring it all indoors,My Pop he comes and feels my headAnd 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 beTo do my chores, and all my chumsThey all take turns at helping me,My Pop, he pats ’em on the headAnd 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 madEnough to whip me and declaresHe never saw another ladLike I am—well, at last he sparesMe from a whipping and he laysHis rawhide down: “I can’t whip youFor that, although I should,” he says,“’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

Sometimes when I come home at sixO’clock and hurry up my chores,And get a big armful of sticksOf wood and bring it all indoors,My Pop he comes and feels my headAnd 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 beTo do my chores, and all my chumsThey all take turns at helping me,My Pop, he pats ’em on the headAnd 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 madEnough to whip me and declaresHe never saw another ladLike I am—well, at last he sparesMe from a whipping and he laysHis rawhide down: “I can’t whip youFor that, although I should,” he says,“’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

HAIL, that long-awaited dayWhen, 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 rhymeOf the glory and the grimeIn the dusty lanes and byways of a boy’s vacation time?Hark, the whistle and the cryThat is piping shrill and highFrom the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riotously by!Say, did sun e’er brightly shineAs when, with his rod and lineTramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water clear and fine?Sweet the murmur of the trees,And what glory now he seesIn 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 airWith a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare!How the blossoms bud and blow,And the great waves flood and flowIn the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and fro!Ah, my heart goes back and sighsWhen the piping calls and criesFrom the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of triumph rise!And I would that rune and rhymeMight be splendid and sublimeIn my heart to tell the story of a boy’s vacation time!

Who will tell in rune and rhymeOf the glory and the grimeIn the dusty lanes and byways of a boy’s vacation time?Hark, the whistle and the cryThat is piping shrill and highFrom the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riotously by!

Say, did sun e’er brightly shineAs when, with his rod and lineTramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water clear and fine?Sweet the murmur of the trees,And what glory now he seesIn 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 airWith a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare!How the blossoms bud and blow,And the great waves flood and flowIn the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and fro!

Ah, my heart goes back and sighsWhen the piping calls and criesFrom the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of triumph rise!And I would that rune and rhymeMight be splendid and sublimeIn my heart to tell the story of a boy’s vacation time!

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 pieAn’ says she hates to do it, ’cuz it hurts her ’ist as badAs it does anybody w’en she w’ips her little lad.An’ ’en at night she kisses you an’ puts you into bedAn’ 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 callIf 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, ’cuzIt 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 bedShe 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!

An’ ’en at night she kisses you an’ puts you into bedAn’ 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 callIf 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, ’cuzIt 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 bedShe 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!

’IS mornin’ mamma told me’At I mus’ be awful dood,’Tuz I’m startin’ on my schooldaysAn’ I promised her I would.But I’m awful much ’iscouraged’Tuz I tried so hard to detAll the lessons teacher gave me,But I tant read yet!My! it’s awful long till dinner,An’ I couldn’t hardly waitWen I dot done wif my lettersAn’ I wrote ’em on my slate,An’ I’m ’shamed to tell my mamma’At I dess she’ll have to letMe 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 studyOr 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 careW’en I went right up an’ told herWere she’s sittin’ in her chair,’At I’m awful much ’iscouragedAn’ 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’ ’enI 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 GooseShe’d be ’isturbed herself,If she ’ud go an’ det itDown f’m off th’ lib’ry shelf,An’ ’en w’en it is open,I dess she’s apt to fretIf she’s been to school all mornin’An’ she tant read yet!

My! it’s awful long till dinner,An’ I couldn’t hardly waitWen I dot done wif my lettersAn’ I wrote ’em on my slate,An’ I’m ’shamed to tell my mamma’At I dess she’ll have to letMe 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 studyOr 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 careW’en I went right up an’ told herWere she’s sittin’ in her chair,’At I’m awful much ’iscouragedAn’ 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’ ’enI 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 GooseShe’d be ’isturbed herself,If she ’ud go an’ det itDown f’m off th’ lib’ry shelf,An’ ’en w’en it is open,I dess she’s apt to fretIf she’s been to school all mornin’An’ she tant read yet!

SOMETIMES when I got to do errands at nightAn’ 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 nightA’ 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 knowedIt wuz surely a ghost; an’ I wisseled, becuzWhen you wissel you scare ’em; an’ all that it wuzWuz 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 goA’ 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 knowedAll th’ time it’s no ghost. I wuz nervous becuzI knowed what it wuzn’t, but not what it wuz!

Oncet me an’ Joe Simpson wuz walkin’ one nightA’ 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 knowedIt wuz surely a ghost; an’ I wisseled, becuzWhen you wissel you scare ’em; an’ all that it wuzWuz 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 goA’ 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 knowedAll th’ time it’s no ghost. I wuz nervous becuzI knowed what it wuzn’t, but not what it wuz!

POP took me to the circus ’cause it disappoints me soTo 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 heWent down and watched it coming was because it’s new to me.Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he says: “I guessYou want a glass of lemonade, of course,” and I says: “Yes.”And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank his heTold 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 heWent 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’ elephantWith chains on his front corner and an awful funny noseThat looks around for peanuts that the crowd of people throws;And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its nose aroundUntil it found most every one that he threw on the ground;He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason heStayed 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 heLooked at the ladies was because it was all new to me.Well, finally it’s over, but a man came out to sayThat 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 knowWhat kind of circus was it, and Pop said, “The same old show,”And said he’d seen it all before and all the reason heHad stayed and seen it all was ’cause it’s all so new to me.

Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he says: “I guessYou want a glass of lemonade, of course,” and I says: “Yes.”And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank his heTold 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 heWent 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’ elephantWith chains on his front corner and an awful funny noseThat looks around for peanuts that the crowd of people throws;And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its nose aroundUntil it found most every one that he threw on the ground;He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason heStayed 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 heLooked at the ladies was because it was all new to me.

Well, finally it’s over, but a man came out to sayThat 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 knowWhat kind of circus was it, and Pop said, “The same old show,”And said he’d seen it all before and all the reason heHad stayed and seen it all was ’cause it’s all so new to me.

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 shearsAnd snipped my curls off one by one right close up to my ears,But every time a curl came off, my Mother, she just hidHer face a little bit and cried. I wonder why she did!And after while she picked one up and held it in her handWith 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 triedTo 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 smiledAnd 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 thenShe said she was afraid that he would not come back again;And picked the curls I had all up from off the floor and hidThem in her bureau drawer and cried. I wonder why she did.

And after while she picked one up and held it in her handWith 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 triedTo 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 smiledAnd 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 thenShe said she was afraid that he would not come back again;And picked the curls I had all up from off the floor and hidThem in her bureau drawer and cried. I wonder why she did.

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 inBecuz 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 oneFor little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater’s son,Who never gets ’em home becuz he says he ain’t quite sureBut 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 meRight 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!

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 inBecuz 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 oneFor little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater’s son,Who never gets ’em home becuz he says he ain’t quite sureBut 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 meRight 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!

ONCE w’en I’m sick th’ doctor comeAn’ ’en I put my tongue ’way out,An’ he says, “H-m-m! Nurse, get me someWarm water, please.” An’ in aboutA minute, w’y, she did an’ ’enHe put a glass thing into itAn’ ’en he wiped it off againAn’ put it in my mouth a bit.’En after w’ile he took it outAn’ held it up w’ere he could see,An’ ’en he says, “H-m-m! ’Ist aboutToo high a half of a degree.”An’ ’en Ma asked him if I’m badAn’ 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 bustOut 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 headAn’ says “There ain’t no school today,’Cuz one of th’ trustees is dead!”

’En after w’ile he took it outAn’ held it up w’ere he could see,An’ ’en he says, “H-m-m! ’Ist aboutToo high a half of a degree.”An’ ’en Ma asked him if I’m badAn’ 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 bustOut 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 headAn’ says “There ain’t no school today,’Cuz one of th’ trustees is dead!”

A MODERN MIRACLE

AN’ my, I’m awful sorry w’enHe told me that. An’ ’en he said“He’ll be all right by noon.” An’ ’enHe 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!

OH, there’s never a noise in Nervoustown;Not the cry of a youngster; and up or downThere’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 frownAre all you may see in Nervoustown.Sh-h! you must walk with noiseless treadFor 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 cheerOr slam the doors! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!Lest a cloth-bound head and a terrible frownPoke out at you from Nervoustown.Oh, there’s never a person there but goesOn the very tip of his tippy-toes;Nor ever a lad has heard at allOf 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 dayFor 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 downWith 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 goesOn 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 ringLest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frownPoke out at them from Nervoustown.

Sh-h! you must walk with noiseless treadFor 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 cheerOr slam the doors! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!Lest a cloth-bound head and a terrible frownPoke out at you from Nervoustown.

Oh, there’s never a person there but goesOn the very tip of his tippy-toes;Nor ever a lad has heard at allOf 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 dayFor 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 downWith 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 goesOn 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 ringLest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frownPoke out at them from Nervoustown.

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.

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.

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