LITTLE MISCHEFUSS

OH, she has such a way with her!I stay with herAnd play with her,Her cheeks are round and dimpled andHer eyes are Heaven’s blue;My life is spent quite half with her,I laugh with herAnd 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 herAnd rock with her;She knows some way my love for herIs tender and is true.And so I sit and speak with herAnd seek with herThe cheek of herTo brush with little kisses andQuite all she says is “Goo!”She toddles in to share with meMy chair with me;Her air with meIs that of queen imperious,My heart her subject true.Upon the floor she lies with meAnd tries with meTo rise with meWhen romping time is over, andShe looks up and says “Goo!”Oh, she is such a part of me,The heart of me,And art of meCould 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 meWho looks up and says “Goo!”

Sometimes I try to walk with her,I talk with herAnd rock with her;She knows some way my love for herIs tender and is true.And so I sit and speak with herAnd seek with herThe cheek of herTo brush with little kisses andQuite all she says is “Goo!”

She toddles in to share with meMy chair with me;Her air with meIs that of queen imperious,My heart her subject true.Upon the floor she lies with meAnd tries with meTo rise with meWhen romping time is over, andShe looks up and says “Goo!”

Oh, she is such a part of me,The heart of me,And art of meCould 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 meWho looks up and says “Goo!”

SOMEBODY went and broke my doll, an’ let her sawdust outOn 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’-jackAn’ Mamma says: “I see ’at Little Mischefuss is back.”An’ w’en somebody spilled p’eserves right on the pantry shelfShe says: “I see ’at Mischefuss has tried to he’p herself!”One day somebody tored my dress an’ en she says: “I seeAt 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 wetAn’ all peeled off tuz why it rained an’ Mamma says she bet’At Little Mischefuss is back from TopsyturvytownAn’ mus’ be hidin’ in th’ house or else somew’eres aroun’.Oncet Mamma’s goin’ t’ spank her w’en she catches her, an’ soI 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 saysI’mLittle Mischefuss!

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’-jackAn’ Mamma says: “I see ’at Little Mischefuss is back.”An’ w’en somebody spilled p’eserves right on the pantry shelfShe says: “I see ’at Mischefuss has tried to he’p herself!”

One day somebody tored my dress an’ en she says: “I seeAt 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 wetAn’ all peeled off tuz why it rained an’ Mamma says she bet’At Little Mischefuss is back from TopsyturvytownAn’ mus’ be hidin’ in th’ house or else somew’eres aroun’.

Oncet Mamma’s goin’ t’ spank her w’en she catches her, an’ soI 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 saysI’mLittle Mischefuss!

THIS is the story of Mortimer BrownWho went for his mother some errands in town,Who was told he must come back as quick as he couldAnd as earnestly promised his mother he would.He went down the front steps full three at a timeAnd swung on the gate, for the swinging was prime.He teetered on all the loose boards in the walkAnd met Jimmy Brady and sat down to talk;He climbed up the trunk of a big tree that standsNot 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 grassAnd sat on the fence to watch Peter Bates passWith a big flock of sheep, and he got himself chasedBy the biggest black ram and he fell in his hasteDown the bank of the brook and he sat there aboutHalf an hour in the sun till his clothes were dried out.He laid off his coat since the day was so hotAnd chose a bypath through the strawberry plot;He gathered some berries to eat on his wayTill alarmed by the watch-dog’s deep, ominous bay.Then he followed a rabbit as far as he couldUntil it was lost in the depth of a wood,And marked a bee tree so to find it againWhen he and Jim Brady should visit Beech Glen.So tired then he was that he sat down to restAnd he fell sound asleep with his coat and his vestSpread under his head, when the rumble of wheelsOn the road waked him up and he saw Elmer BealsDriving by in the lane and he climbed up besideOn a big load of squashes and had a fine ride,And helped lead the horses to water as soonAs they both reached the town in the late afternoon.And then, oh, alas! The long list Mother wroteOf the things he should get had dropped out of his coat,So he bought some stick candy and cookies—he knewOf the things she would need they must surely be two,And munching them sadly the whole of the wayBack homeward he wondered what Mother would say.I wonder if ever in country or townYou have known such a lad as this Mortimer Brown?

He teetered on all the loose boards in the walkAnd met Jimmy Brady and sat down to talk;He climbed up the trunk of a big tree that standsNot 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 grassAnd sat on the fence to watch Peter Bates passWith a big flock of sheep, and he got himself chasedBy the biggest black ram and he fell in his hasteDown the bank of the brook and he sat there aboutHalf an hour in the sun till his clothes were dried out.He laid off his coat since the day was so hotAnd chose a bypath through the strawberry plot;He gathered some berries to eat on his wayTill alarmed by the watch-dog’s deep, ominous bay.Then he followed a rabbit as far as he couldUntil it was lost in the depth of a wood,And marked a bee tree so to find it againWhen he and Jim Brady should visit Beech Glen.So tired then he was that he sat down to restAnd he fell sound asleep with his coat and his vest

Spread under his head, when the rumble of wheelsOn the road waked him up and he saw Elmer BealsDriving by in the lane and he climbed up besideOn a big load of squashes and had a fine ride,And helped lead the horses to water as soonAs they both reached the town in the late afternoon.And then, oh, alas! The long list Mother wroteOf the things he should get had dropped out of his coat,

So he bought some stick candy and cookies—he knewOf the things she would need they must surely be two,And munching them sadly the whole of the wayBack homeward he wondered what Mother would say.I wonder if ever in country or townYou have known such a lad as this Mortimer Brown?

IKNOW 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 meHis 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 spreadJust 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 woreLast 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 warUnless he wears his uniform with buttons down before.

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 spreadJust 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 woreLast 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 warUnless he wears his uniform with buttons down before.

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 seriousMy Pa, he sits beside of meAn’ ’en he rubs my head, an’ ’enHe says when I get well, why, heWon’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 knewHow 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 comesAn’ says when I get well why sheDon’t care if I have twenty drums,An’ she will buy a sled for me.An’ my big sister’s goin’ t’ buyA really pony ’ist as quickAs ever doctor says ’at IAm well again from bein’ sick.An’ even our old hired manComes 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’ ’enHe had th’ fever an’ ’at’s whyHe’s awful kind to me an’ whenHe sees me, why he starts t’ cry.An’ even teacher comes to seeMe on her way from school, an’ ’enShe says it won’t be hard for meWhen 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’ strongAn’ ’en she stoops an’ kisses me.An’ ’at’s th’ way you really knowHow much they love you, when your head’Ist burnin’ up an’ you can’t goNowheres except to stay in bed.An’ even if you’re awful badAn’ hot with fever, why, you know,It makes you feel ’ist sweet an’ gladBecuz they all ’ist love you so.

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 knewHow 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 comesAn’ says when I get well why sheDon’t care if I have twenty drums,An’ she will buy a sled for me.An’ my big sister’s goin’ t’ buyA really pony ’ist as quickAs ever doctor says ’at IAm well again from bein’ sick.

An’ even our old hired manComes 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’ ’enHe had th’ fever an’ ’at’s whyHe’s awful kind to me an’ whenHe sees me, why he starts t’ cry.

An’ even teacher comes to seeMe on her way from school, an’ ’enShe says it won’t be hard for meWhen 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’ strongAn’ ’en she stoops an’ kisses me.

An’ ’at’s th’ way you really knowHow much they love you, when your head’Ist burnin’ up an’ you can’t goNowheres except to stay in bed.An’ even if you’re awful badAn’ hot with fever, why, you know,It makes you feel ’ist sweet an’ gladBecuz they all ’ist love you so.

SOMEBODY stood up right on top of a chairAn’ 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-peepNow’eres near the pantry; an’ tryin’ to getSome 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 chairBy the lib’ary table w’at stood over thereW’en we wuz a-playin’ now’eres near the inkAn’ 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’ feetAn’ 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!

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 chairBy the lib’ary table w’at stood over thereW’en we wuz a-playin’ now’eres near the inkAn’ 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’ feetAn’ 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 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 runThrough puddles and mud ere the shower was done.They’re some sort of Waders, and all over townThrough 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 tidesWere 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 streamsIn gutters and made the air shrill with their screams,They rolled up their dresses and trousers and dashedThrough 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 againI’ll see so much gladness come down with the rain.They must have rained down, for a minute agoThe 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?

The rain fell in torrents, the gutters’ deep tidesWere 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 streamsIn gutters and made the air shrill with their screams,They rolled up their dresses and trousers and dashedThrough 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 againI’ll see so much gladness come down with the rain.

They must have rained down, for a minute agoThe 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?

THE WADERS

SHE kept him aftur skool when awl the burdsWere singen swetely in the woods an wurdsKood not deskribe his sufferens. the airWas full uv blossums an the urth was fareEcksept to himm. becaws he did not noHis jogafy she wood not let him goAn when he hurd us cloas the dore the teersRolld down his cheeks an he livd menny yeersIn just a singul owr. it was like sumOld torchure ur sum krewel marturdum.How kood he study when he noo that weWere goen gayly homewurd glad an freeWile he was kept a prizzuner becawsHe did not no ware venna zweela was.An when he thot uv how weere ap too goIn swimmen aftur skool his greef an woWas almoast moar than he kood bare an yetShe sturnly kept him thare an wood not letHim leev his seet altho he felt he mustAn so she bowd his spearut in the dust.An aftur wile when its too late to playShe lookt at him in sutch a skornful wayAz tho he was a krimminle an sedHe mite go home. his proud and hotty hedWas bent with greef and he went slowly owtThe skoolroom dore and then lookt awl abowtAz tho releest from prizzen an the brandUv sin on him was moar than he kood stand.An he went sloly homewurd bowd with shaimO liburtey the krimes dun in thi naim.

How kood he study when he noo that weWere goen gayly homewurd glad an freeWile he was kept a prizzuner becawsHe did not no ware venna zweela was.An when he thot uv how weere ap too goIn swimmen aftur skool his greef an woWas almoast moar than he kood bare an yetShe sturnly kept him thare an wood not letHim leev his seet altho he felt he mustAn so she bowd his spearut in the dust.

An aftur wile when its too late to playShe lookt at him in sutch a skornful wayAz tho he was a krimminle an sedHe mite go home. his proud and hotty hedWas bent with greef and he went slowly owtThe skoolroom dore and then lookt awl abowtAz tho releest from prizzen an the brandUv sin on him was moar than he kood stand.An he went sloly homewurd bowd with shaimO liburtey the krimes dun in thi naim.

DEAR Lord, excuse Jim Banks and meFor hitting Aunty Griggs when weThrew snowballs at the cat, becauseWe 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 doNot need more punishment from you!Excuse Jim Banks especially,Because his mother’s dead and heJust heard of you the other dayAnd is too bashful yet to pray!But you would like him if you knewJim Banks as well as we all do.And if you have some clothes to spareRemember him, for he’s quite bare!He says old shoes will help him some,And some worn pants; and he will comeMost any night, but where he staysHe earns his keep by working days!And if there is an angel thereWho might like him and you can spare,Would you mind telling this to himAnd 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 intoThe weather, and his nose gets blue!Dear Lord, please do the very bestYou can for him! I’ve got a vestAnd sweater on the closet shelfThat I am going to give myself!And beg your pardon, Lord, and prayMy soul to keep; and Jimmy mayBe President some day, and thenWe’ll all be proud of him. Amen!

DEAR Lord, excuse Jim Banks and meFor hitting Aunty Griggs when weThrew snowballs at the cat, becauseWe 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 doNot need more punishment from you!

Excuse Jim Banks especially,Because his mother’s dead and heJust heard of you the other dayAnd is too bashful yet to pray!

But you would like him if you knewJim Banks as well as we all do.And if you have some clothes to spareRemember him, for he’s quite bare!

He says old shoes will help him some,And some worn pants; and he will comeMost any night, but where he staysHe earns his keep by working days!

And if there is an angel thereWho might like him and you can spare,Would you mind telling this to himAnd 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 intoThe weather, and his nose gets blue!

Dear Lord, please do the very bestYou can for him! I’ve got a vestAnd sweater on the closet shelfThat I am going to give myself!

And beg your pardon, Lord, and prayMy soul to keep; and Jimmy mayBe President some day, and thenWe’ll all be proud of him. Amen!

A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS

DEAR Lord, be good to Santa Claus,He’s been so good to me;I never told him so becauseHe is so hard to see.He must love little children soTo come through snow and storm;Please care for him when cold winds blowAnd keep him nice and warm.Dear Lord, be good to him and goodTo 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 goThey make us glad;—no wonder weAll learn to love them so.Please have him button up his coatSo it will keep him warm;And wear a scarf about his throatIf it should start to storm.And when the night is dark, please lendHim light if stars are dim,Or maybe sometimes you could sendAn Angel down with him.Please keep his heart so good and kindThat he will always smile;And tell him maybe we will findAnd thank him after while.Please keep him safe from harm and keepQuite near and guard him whenHe’s tired and lays him down to sleep.Dear Lord, please do! Amen.

Dear Lord, be good to him and goodTo 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 goThey make us glad;—no wonder weAll learn to love them so.

Please have him button up his coatSo it will keep him warm;And wear a scarf about his throatIf it should start to storm.And when the night is dark, please lendHim light if stars are dim,Or maybe sometimes you could sendAn Angel down with him.

Please keep his heart so good and kindThat he will always smile;And tell him maybe we will findAnd thank him after while.Please keep him safe from harm and keepQuite near and guard him whenHe’s tired and lays him down to sleep.Dear Lord, please do! Amen.

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 bareUntil 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 loseA 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 seesBut 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 getsA new dog or two every week.And often he crawls up and catches a frogBetween 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 flowersAnd always could tell you their name,And didn’t mind thunder or lightning or showersBecause he said it’s all the sameSo 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 ashamedIn school not to know the big bone in your armOr what the equator was named.But when it came recess we all stood aboutAnd waited until he would come,And he told us things we had never found out—And my! Henry’s proud of his 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 seesBut 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 getsA new dog or two every week.And often he crawls up and catches a frogBetween 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 flowersAnd always could tell you their name,And didn’t mind thunder or lightning or showersBecause he said it’s all the sameSo 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 ashamedIn school not to know the big bone in your armOr what the equator was named.But when it came recess we all stood aboutAnd 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 rare flowers grewOn 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 toldOf 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 sunThe hours were full of joy—there was no care,And webs of gaudy dreams in air were spunOf deeds heroic and of fortunes fair;The jangling schoolhouse bell was all the woeOur spirits knew, and in its tuneless chimeWas all the sorrow of the long ago—Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.Once upon a time the witches rodeIn sinister and ominous paradeUpon their sticks at night, and queer lights glowedWith eery noises by the goblins made;And many things mysterious there wereFor boyish cheeks to pale at through the grimeThat held them brown; and shadows queer would stir—Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.Once upon a time our faith was vastTo compass all the things on sea and landThat boys have trembled o’er for ages past,Nor ever could explain or understand,And in that faith found happiness too deepFor all the gifted tongues of prose or rime,And joys ineffable we could not keep—Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

Once upon a time from sun to sunThe hours were full of joy—there was no care,And webs of gaudy dreams in air were spunOf deeds heroic and of fortunes fair;The jangling schoolhouse bell was all the woeOur spirits knew, and in its tuneless chimeWas all the sorrow of the long ago—Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

Once upon a time the witches rodeIn sinister and ominous paradeUpon their sticks at night, and queer lights glowedWith eery noises by the goblins made;And many things mysterious there wereFor boyish cheeks to pale at through the grimeThat held them brown; and shadows queer would stir—Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

Once upon a time our faith was vastTo compass all the things on sea and landThat boys have trembled o’er for ages past,Nor ever could explain or understand,And in that faith found happiness too deepFor all the gifted tongues of prose or rime,And joys ineffable we could not keep—Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

ONCE UPON A TIME

FIVE minutes chasing butterfliesWay over, off the road;Five minutes watching Willie PriceDo tricks with his pet toad;Five minutes helping Gibbsie getHis 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 timeBecause I walked so slowWhere Johnny Watkins lost a dimeA day or two ago.It’s underneath the leaves somewhere,And Johnny feels so blueThat I just stopped a minute thereBecause he asked me to.And then it rained a little bit,And Dominick McPheeHad his straw hat and had to sitUnder a good thick tree,Or else he’d get it spoiled and getThe top all swelled. You see,A straw hat is not safe to wet—His kind, especially.And after we had saved his hatFrom getting spoiled for him,A big woodpecker came and satUpon a rotten limb;And Johnny said when they’re about,Somebody told the boys,You see a lot of worms come outTo see what makes the noise.So then we boys all stayed aboutA couple minutes more,In hopes to see the worms come outWhich 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 wereNo worms at home that day.So then we hurried up, and ranAs fast as we could run,To get there just as school began.And just when it’s begunI had to run back to the treeTo get my slate and rule;And yet the teacher cannot seeWhy boys are late for school.

I think I lost a little timeBecause I walked so slowWhere Johnny Watkins lost a dimeA day or two ago.It’s underneath the leaves somewhere,And Johnny feels so blueThat I just stopped a minute thereBecause he asked me to.

And then it rained a little bit,And Dominick McPheeHad his straw hat and had to sitUnder a good thick tree,Or else he’d get it spoiled and getThe top all swelled. You see,A straw hat is not safe to wet—His kind, especially.

And after we had saved his hatFrom getting spoiled for him,A big woodpecker came and satUpon a rotten limb;And Johnny said when they’re about,Somebody told the boys,You see a lot of worms come outTo see what makes the noise.

So then we boys all stayed aboutA couple minutes more,In hopes to see the worms come outWhich 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 wereNo worms at home that day.

So then we hurried up, and ranAs fast as we could run,To get there just as school began.And just when it’s begunI had to run back to the treeTo get my slate and rule;And yet the teacher cannot seeWhy boys are late for school.

OUR Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy BlueWhenever 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 mehisLittle Boy Blue!Our Neighbor, he told me that Little Boy BlueOnce 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 meAnd partly for Little Boy Blue.Our Neighbor, he’s not going to have any tree,So he says the best he can doIs try to get something to partly give meAnd partly give Little Boy Blue,Because, if he’s here, it would make him so glad,And he said he knew it was trueThat ever and ever so many folks hadA boy just like Little Boy Blue.Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue,And said he would like to help trimOur tree when it came—he would feel that he knewIt 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!

Our Neighbor, he told me that Little Boy BlueOnce 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 meAnd partly for Little Boy Blue.

Our Neighbor, he’s not going to have any tree,So he says the best he can doIs try to get something to partly give meAnd partly give Little Boy Blue,Because, if he’s here, it would make him so glad,And he said he knew it was trueThat ever and ever so many folks hadA boy just like Little Boy Blue.

Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue,And said he would like to help trimOur tree when it came—he would feel that he knewIt 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!

HE’S ’ist a little orfant boyW’at goes to school with me;An’ ain’t got any parents ’cuzHis 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, soI give him half of mine.An’ once it’s orful stormy w’enIt’s noon an’ he can’t goBack where he works for board an’ clo’esTo get his lunch, an’ soI had some san’wiches an’ things’At he thought was ’ist fine,An’ ’cuz he didn’t have no lunchI give him half of mine.An’ once w’en we went down to fishHe come along with me,An’ w’en we’re there says he ’ist wish’At he could fish. You seeHe’s orful poor an’ brought a poleBut didn’t have a line,An’ w’en I saw how bad he feltI give him half of mine.An’ one time I ’ist told my MaHow he don’t have much fun’Cuz he ain’t got no Ma or PaOr 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 ifI’d give him half of mine.He ain’t my brother, really true,He’s ’ist an orfant, soMy Ma she took him, ’cuz she knewHe 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, soI give him half of mine.

An’ once it’s orful stormy w’enIt’s noon an’ he can’t goBack where he works for board an’ clo’esTo get his lunch, an’ soI had some san’wiches an’ things’At he thought was ’ist fine,An’ ’cuz he didn’t have no lunchI give him half of mine.

An’ once w’en we went down to fishHe come along with me,An’ w’en we’re there says he ’ist wish’At he could fish. You seeHe’s orful poor an’ brought a poleBut didn’t have a line,An’ w’en I saw how bad he feltI give him half of mine.

An’ one time I ’ist told my MaHow he don’t have much fun’Cuz he ain’t got no Ma or PaOr 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 ifI’d give him half of mine.

He ain’t my brother, really true,He’s ’ist an orfant, soMy Ma she took him, ’cuz she knewHe 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, soI give him half of mine.

MY Mamma says ’at once ’ere wasA little girl she knewWho went an’ cried, an’ ’ist because—Because she wanted to;An’ w’ile her face was all askewThe 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 nenI said I’ll never cry again.My Mamma said ’at once she heardA little girl like meTell ’ist one fib, an’ says, my word!Her Mamma looked to seeW’ere was her tongue, an’ goodness me!Her mouth was ’ist all bare,An’ w’ere her tongue ’ud ought to beThere wasn’t any there!An’ w’en she told me ’at, w’y nenI said I’ll never fib again!My Mamma knew a little girl’At used to run awayW’en her dear mother ’d start to curlHer hair; an’ one fine daySome 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 nenI 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, unlessYou want to be the same.’Cause lots of times it happens so,An’ surely if you do,You never, never, never knowWhat’s going to happen you.An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nenI never don’t make fun again.

My Mamma said ’at once she heardA little girl like meTell ’ist one fib, an’ says, my word!Her Mamma looked to seeW’ere was her tongue, an’ goodness me!Her mouth was ’ist all bare,An’ w’ere her tongue ’ud ought to beThere wasn’t any there!An’ w’en she told me ’at, w’y nenI said I’ll never fib again!

My Mamma knew a little girl’At used to run awayW’en her dear mother ’d start to curlHer hair; an’ one fine daySome 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 nenI 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, unlessYou want to be the same.’Cause lots of times it happens so,An’ surely if you do,You never, never, never knowWhat’s going to happen you.An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nenI never don’t make fun again.

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 shearsAnd 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 tailAnd then turned it loose with its discordant wail;He dropped bread and jelly upon a big chairAnd 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 thenWe wish—strange it is—that we had him again.

He singed the cat’s whiskers and cut off its tailAnd then turned it loose with its discordant wail;He dropped bread and jelly upon a big chairAnd 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 thenWe wish—strange it is—that we had him again.

Back to Index Next