The Project Gutenberg eBook ofRiley Child-RhymesThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world 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 atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Riley Child-RhymesAuthor: James Whitcomb RileyRelease date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9777]Most recently updated: January 2, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Etext produced by Maria Cecilia Lim and PG Distributed ProofreadersHTML file produced by David Widger*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY CHILD-RHYMES ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world 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 atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Riley Child-RhymesAuthor: James Whitcomb RileyRelease date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9777]Most recently updated: January 2, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Etext produced by Maria Cecilia Lim and PG Distributed ProofreadersHTML file produced by David Widger
Title: Riley Child-Rhymes
Author: James Whitcomb Riley
Author: James Whitcomb Riley
Release date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9777]Most recently updated: January 2, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Etext produced by Maria Cecilia Lim and PG Distributed ProofreadersHTML file produced by David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILEY CHILD-RHYMES ***
He owns the bird-songs of the hills—The laughter of the April rills;And his are all the diamonds setIn Morning's dewy coronet,—And his the Dusk's first minted starsThat twinkle through the pasture-barsAnd litter all the skies at nightWith glittering scraps of silver light;—The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim,In beaten gold, belongs to him.
[Note from the transcriber: The Table of Contents below was taken fromthe book and is an ALPHABETICAL LIST of the poems.]AT AUNTY'S HOUSEBEAR STORY, THEBOY LIVES ON OUR FARM, THEBOYS' CANDIDATE, THEBUMBLEBEE, THECIRCUS-DAY PARADE, THECURLY LOCKSDAYS GONE BY, THEDOWN AROUND THE RIVERENVOYFUNNY LITTLE FELLOW, THEGRANDFATHER SQUEERSHAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE, THEHOME-MADE FAIRY-TALE, AIMPETUOUS RESOLVE, ANJOLLY MILLER, THELIFE-LESSON, ALITTLE COAT, THELITTLE ORPHANT ANNIELUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG, THENAUGHTY CLAUDENINE LITTLE GOBLINS, THEOLD AUNT MARY'SOLD HAY-MOW, THEOLD TRAMP, THEON THE SUNNY SIDEOUR HIRED GIRLPET COON, THEPIXY PEOPLE, THERAGGEDY MAN, THERIDER OF THE KNEE, THERUNAWAY BOY, THESOUTH WIND AND THE SUN, THESQUIRTGUN UNCLE MAKED ME, THESUDDEN SHOWER, ATIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGSWAITIN' FER THE CAT TO DIEWHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZWINTER FANCIES
LINKED CONTENTS
RILEY CHILD-RHYMES
LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE
THE RAGGEDY MAN
CURLY LOCKS
THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW
THE HAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE
THE RIDER OF THE KNEE
DOWN AROUND THE RIVER
AT AUNTY'S HOUSE
THE DAYS GONE BY
THE BUMBLEBEE
THE BOY LIVES ON OUR FARM
THE SQUIRTGUN UNCLE MAKED ME
THE OLD TRAMP
OLD AUNT MARY'S
WINTER FANCIES
THE RUNAWAY BOY
THE LITTLE COAT
AN IMPETUOUS RESOLVE
WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ
THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS
TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS
THE CIRCUS-DAY PARADE
THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG
WAITIN' FER THE CAT TO DIE
NAUGHTY CLAUDE
THE SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN
THE JOLLY MILLER
OUR HIRED GIRL
THE BOYS' CANDIDATE
THE PET COON
THE OLD HAY-MOW
ON THE SUNNY SIDE
A SUDDEN SHOWER
GRANDFATHER SQUEERS
THE PIXY PEOPLE
A LIFE-LESSON
A HOME-MADE FAIRY-TALE
THE BEAR STORY
ENVOY
[Unavailable image: They was two great big black things a-standin' by her side]Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;An' all us other childern, when the supper things is done,We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest funA-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits youEf youDon'tWatchOut!Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,—So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout:—An' the Gobble-uns'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut![Unavailable image: An' when they turn't the kivvers down]An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin;An' onc't, when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!An' the Gobble-uns'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut!An' little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue,An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goeswoo-oo!An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,—You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear,An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,Er the Gobble-uns'll git youEf youDon'tWatchOut![Unavailable image: Little Orphant Annie—Tailpiece]
[Unavailable image: The Raggedy Man—Title]O The Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa;An' he's the goodest man ever you saw!He comes to our house every day,An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay;An' he opens the shed—an' we all ist laughWhen he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf;An' nen—ef our hired girl says he can—He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann.—Aint he a' awful good Raggedy Man?Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!W'y, The Raggedy Man—he's ist so goodHe splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood;An' nen he spades in our garden, too,An' does most things 'atboyscan't do!—He clumbed clean up in our big treeAn' shooked a' apple down fer me—An' nother'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann—An' nother'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man.—Aint he a' awful kind Raggedy Man?Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man![Unavailable image: He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got]An' The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymesAn' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes:Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves,An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers therselves!An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot,He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got,'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' canTurn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann!Aint he a funny old Raggedy Man?Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!The Raggedy Man—one time when heWuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me,Says "Whenyou'rebig like your Pa is,Air you go' to keep a fine store like his—An' be a rich merchunt—an' wear fine clothes?—Er whatairyou go' to be, goodness knows!"An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann,An' I says "'M go' to be a Raggedy Man!—I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!"Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!
[Unavailable image: Curly Locks—Title]Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,—But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?The throb of my heart is in every line,And the pulse of a passion as airy and gladIn its musical beat as the little Prince had![Unavailable image: Sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam]Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine!—O I'll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mineTill the pink of the nail of each finger shall beAs a little pet blush in full blossom for me.But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,And thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream,—The red of my veins, and the white of my love,And the gold of my joy for the braiding thereof.And feast upon strawberries, sugar and creamFrom a service of silver, with jewels agleam,—At thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise,And twinkle my soul in the night of thine eyes!Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine.—But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.
[Unavailable image: The Funny Little Fellow—Title]'Twas a Funny Little FellowOf the very purest type,For he had a heart as mellowAs an apple over-ripe;And the brightest little twinkleWhen a funny thing occurred,And the lightest little tinkleOf a laugh you ever heard!His smile was like the glitterOf the sun in tropic lands,And his talk a sweeter twitterThan the swallow understands;Hear him sing—and tell a story—Snap a joke—ignite a pun,—'Twas a capture—rapture—glory,And explosion—all in one!Though he hadn't any money—That condiment which tendsTo make a fellow "honey"For the palate of his friends;—Sweet simples he compounded—Sovereign antidotes for sinOr taint,—a faith unboundedThat his friends were genuine.He wasn't honored, may be—For his songs of praise were slim,—Yet I never knew a babyThat wouldn't crow for him;I never knew a motherBut urged a kindly claimUpon him as a brother,At the mention of his name.[Unavailable image: Never knew a baby that wouldn't crow for him]The sick have ceased their sighingAnd have even found the graceOf a smile when they were dyingAs they looked upon his face;And I've seen his eyes of laughterMelt in tears that only ranAs though, swift dancing after,Came the Funny Little Man.He laughed away the sorrow,And he laughed away the gloomWe are all so prone to borrowFrom the darkness of the tomb;And he laughed across the oceanOf a happy life, and passed,With a laugh of glad emotion,Into Paradise at last.And I think the Angels knew him,And had gathered to awaitHis coming, and run to himThrough the widely-opened Gate—With their faces gleaming sunnyFor his laughter-loving sake,And thinking, "What a funnyLittle Angel he will make!"
[Unavailable image: The Happy Little Cripple—Title]I'm thist a little cripple boy, an' never goin' to growAn' get a great big man at all!—'cause Aunty told me so.When I was thist a baby onc't, I falled out of the bedAn' got "The Curv'ture of the Spine"—'at's what the Doctor said.I never had no Mother nen—fer my Pa runned awayAn' dassn't come back here no more—'cause he was drunk one dayAn' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine!An' nen my Ma she died—an' I got "Curv'ture of the Spine!"[Unavailable image: An' I peck on the winder]I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!—Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!—An' I weigh thirty yet!I'm awful little fer my size—I'm purt' nigh littler 'nanSome babies is!—an' neighbers all calls me "The Little Man!"An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: "I 'spect, first thing you know,You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!"An' nen I laughed—till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'—Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got "Curv'ture of the Spine."I set—while Aunty's washin'—on my little long-leg stool,An' watch the little boys an' girls a-skippin' by to school;An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say:"Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all today?"An', nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks through,An' they all says: "Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' you!"An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine—They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got "Curv'ture of the Spine!"At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire,An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it higher,An' fetched the wood all in fer night, an' locked the kitchen door,An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the floor—She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea,An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg fer me;An' sometimes—when I cough so hard—her elderberry wineDon't go so bad fer little boys with "Curv'ture of the Spine!"[Unavailable image: An' cooks a' egg fer me]But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see,I'm 'most afeard she'll be took down—an' 'at's what bothers me!—'Cause ef my good old Aunty ever would git sick an' die,I don't know what she'd do in heaven—tillIcome, by an' by:—Fer she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know,An' no one there like me, to nuss an' worry over so!—'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' fine,They's nary angel 'bout the place with "Curv'ture of the Spine!"[Unavailable image: The Happy Little Cripple—Tailpiece]
Knightly Rider of the KneeOf Proud-prancing Unclery!Gaily mount, and wave the signOf that mastery of thine.Pat thy steed and turn him free,Knightly Rider of the Knee!Sit thy charger as a throne—Lash him with thy laugh alone:Sting him only with the spurOf such wit as may occur,Knightly Rider of the Knee,In thy shriek of ecstasy.Would, as now, we might endure,Twain as one—thou miniatureRuler, at the rein of me—Knightly Rider of the Knee![Unavailable image: The Rider of the Knee]
[Unavailable image: Down Around the River—Title]Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river!Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann— but lawzy! I fergive her!Drives me off the place, an' says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin',Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin'!Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice;Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is,—Specalatin', more'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me,An' guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me!Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river!Clean out o' sight o' home, an' skulkin' under kivverOf the sycamores, jack-oaks, an' swamp-ash an' ellum—Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em!—Tired, you know, butlovin'it, an' smilin' jes' to think 'atAnysweetertiredness you'd fairly want todrinkit!Tired o' fishin'—tired o' fun—line out slack an' slacker—All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker!Hungry, buta-hidin'it, er jes' a-not a-keerin':—Kingfisher gittin' up an' skootin' out o' hearin';Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is,Wadin' up an' down the aidge like they'd rolled their britches!Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin'Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen!Worter, shade an' all so mixed, don't know which you'd orterSay; th'worterin the shadder—shadderin theworter!Somebody hollerin'—'way around the bend inUpper Fork—where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin'Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin'With that pesky nose o' his! Then a sniff o' bacon,Corn-bred an' 'dock-greens—an' little Dave a-shinnin''Crost the rocks an' mussel-shells, a-limpin' an' a-grinnin',With yer dinner fer ye, an' a blessin' from the giver,Noon-time an' June-time down around the river![Unavailable image: Noon-time and June-time down around the river][Unavailable image: Down Around The River—Tailpiece]
[Unavailable image: At Aunty's House—Title]One time, when we'z at Aunty's house—'Way in the country!—whereThey's ist but woods—an' pigs, an' cows—An' all's out-doors an' air!—An' orchurd-swing; an' churry-trees—An'churriesin 'em!—Yes, an' these—Here red-head birds steals all they please,An' tetch 'em ef you dare!—W'y, wunst, one time, when we wuz there,We et out on the porch![Unavailable image: We et out on the porch]Wite where the cellar-door wuz shutThe table wuz; an' ILet Aunty set by me an' cutMy vittuls up—an' pie.'Tuz awful funny!—I could seeThe red-heads in the churry-tree;An' bee-hives, where you got to beSo keerful, goin' by;—An' "Comp'ny" there an' all!—an' we—We et out on the porch!An' I ist etp'survesan' things'At Ma don't 'low me to—An'chickun-gizzurds—(don't likewingsLikeParuntsdoes! doyou?)An' all the time, the wind blowed there,An' I could feel it in my hair,An' ist smell cloverever'where!—An' a' old red-head flewPurt' nigh wite over my high-chair,When we et on the porch!
[Unavailable image: The Days Gone By—Title]O the days gone by! O the days gone by!The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye;The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quailAs he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale;When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky,And my happy heart brimmed over, in the days gone by.[Unavailable image: In the orchard]In the days gone by, when my naked feet were trippedBy the honeysuckle tangles where the water-lilies dipped,And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink,Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink,And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's wayward cryAnd the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by.O the days gone by! O the days gone by!The music of the laughing lip, the lustre of the eye;The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring—The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,—When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,In the golden olden glory of the days gone by.
You better not fool with a Bumblebee!—Ef you don't think they can sting—you'll see!They're lazy to look at, an' kindo' goBuzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow,An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out,Danglin' their legs as they drone aboutThe hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out agin!Wunst I watched one climb clean 'wayIn a jim'son-blossom, I did, one day,—An' I ist grabbed it—an' nen let go—An' "Ooh-ooh! Honey! I told ye so!"Says The Raggedy Man; an' he ist runAn' pullt out the stinger, an' don't laugh none,An' says: "Theyhasben folks, I guess,'At thought I wuz predjudust, more er less,—Yit I still muntain 'at a BumblebeeWears out his welcome too quick fer me!"[Unavailable image: The Bumblebee]
[Unavailable image: The Boy Lives on Our Farm—Title]The boy lives on our Farm, he's notAfeard o' horses none!An' he can make 'em lope, er trot,Er rack, er pace, er run.Sometimes he drives two horses, whenHe comes to town an' bringsA wagon-full o' 'taters nen,An' roastin'-ears an' things.Two horses is "a team," he says,An' when you drive er hitch,The right-un's a "near-horse," I guessEr "off"—I don't know which—The Boy lives on our Farm, he toldMe, too, 'at he can see,By lookin' at their teeth, how oldA horse is, to a T!I'd be the gladdest boy aliveEf I knowed much as that,An' could stand up like him an' drive,An' ist push back my hat,Like he comes skallyhootin' throughOur alley, with one armA-wavin' Fare-ye-well! to you—The Boy lives on our Farm![Unavailable image: Stand up like him an' drive]
[Unavailable image: The Squirtgun Uncle Maked Me—Title]Uncle Sidney, when he wuz here,Maked me a squirtgun out o' someElder-bushes 'at growed out nearWhere wuz the brickyard—'way out clearTo where the toll-gate come!So when we walked back home again,He maked it, out in our woodhouse whereWuz the old workbench, an' the old jack-plane,An' the old 'pokeshave, an' the tools all lay'n'Ist like he wants 'em there.He sawed it first with the old hand-saw;An' nen he peeled off the bark, an' gotSome glass an' scraped it; an' told 'bout Pa,Whenhewuz a boy an' fooled his Ma,An' the whippin' 'at he caught.Nen Uncle Sidney, he took an' filedA' old arn ramrod; an' one o' the endsHe screwed fast into the vise; an' smiled,Thinkin', he said, o' when he wuz a child,'Fore him an' Pa wuz mens.He punched out the peth, an' nen he putA plug in the end with a hole notched through;Nen took the old drawey-knife an' cutAn' maked a handle 'at shoved clean shutBut ist where yer hand held to.An' he wropt th'uther end with some string an' whitePiece o' the sleeve of a' old tored shirt;An' nen he showed me to hold it tight,An' suck in the water an' work it rightAn' it 'ud ist squirt an' squirt![Unavailable image: The Squirtgun—Tailpiece][Unavailable image: An' nen he peeled off the bark]
[Unavailable image: The Old Tramp.]A Old Tramp slep' in our stable wunst,An' The Raggedy Man he caughtAn' roust him up, an' chased him offClean out through our back lot!An' th' Old Tramp hollered back an' said,—"You're apurtyman!—Youair!—With a pair o' eyes like two fried eggs,An' a nose like a Bartlutt pear!"
Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,In those old days of the lost sunshineOf youth—when the Saturday's chores were through,And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen, too,And we went visiting, "me and you,"Out to Old Aunt Mary's?It all comes back so clear to-day!Though I am as bald as you are gray—Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane,We patter along in the dust again,As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,Out to Old Aunt Mary's!We cross the pasture, and through the woodWhere the old gray snag of the poplar stood,Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry,And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing" skyAnd lolled and circled, as we went byOut to Old Aunt Mary's.And then in the dust of the road again;And the teams we met, and the countrymen;And the long highway, with sunshine spreadAs thick as butter on country bread,Our cares behind, and our hearts aheadOut to Old Aunt Mary's.[Unavailable image: We patter along in the dust again]Why, I see her now in the open door,Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'erThe clapboard roof!—And her face—ah, me!Wasn't it good for a boy to see—And wasn't it good for a boy to beOut to Old Aunt Mary's?And O my brother, so far away,This is to tell you she waits to-dayTo welcome us:—Aunt Mary fellAsleep this morning, whispering, "TellThe boys to come!" And all is wellOut to Old Aunt Mary's.[Unavailable image: Old Aunt Mary's—Tailpiece]
[Unavailable image: Winter Fancies—Title]IWinter withoutAnd warmth within;The winds may shoutAnd the storm begin;The snows may packAt the window pane,And the skies grow black,And the sun remainHidden awayThe livelong day—But here—in here is the warmth of May![Unavailable image: Winter without and warmth within]IISwoop your spitefullestUp the flue,Wild Winds—do!What in the world do I care for you?O delightfullestWeather of all,Howl and squall,And shake the trees till the last leaves fall!IIIThe joy one feels,In an easy chair,Cocking his heelsIn the dancing airThat wreathes the rim of a roaring stoveWhose heat loves better than hearts can love,Will not permitThe coldest dayTo drive awayThe fire in his blood, and the bliss of it!IVThen blow, Winds, blow!And rave and shriek,And snarl and snowTill your breath grows weak—While here in my roomI'm as snugly shutAs a glad little wormIn the heart of a nut![Unavailable image: Here in my room I'm as snugly shut]
Wunst I sassed my Pa, an' heWon't stand that, an' punished me,—Nen when he was gone that day,I slipped out an' runned away.I tooked all my copper-cents,An' clumbed over our back fenceIn the jimpson-weeds 'at growedEver'where all down the road.Nen I got out there, an' nenI runned some—an' runned againWhen I met a man 'at ledA big cow 'at shooked her head.I went down a long, long laneWhere was little pigs a-play'n';An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!"An' jumped up, an' skeered me too.Nen I scampered past, an' theyWas somebody hollered "Hey!"An' I ist looked ever'where,An' they was nobody there.IWantto, but I'm 'fraid to tryTo go back.... An' by-an'-bySomepin' hurts my throat inside—An' I want my Ma—an' cried.Nen a grea'-big girl come throughWhere's a gate, an' telled me whoAm I? an' ef I tell whereMy home's at she'll show me there.But I couldn't ist but tellWhat's myname; an' she says well,An' she tooked me up an' saysSheknow where I live, she guess.[Unavailable image: An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!"]Nen she telled me hug wite closeRound her neck!—an' off she goesSkippin' up the street! An' nenPurty soon I'm home again.An' my Ma, when she kissed me,Kissed thebig girltoo, an'sheKissed me—ef I p'omiseshoreI won't run away no more![Unavailable image: Hug wite close round her neck]
Here's his ragged "roundabout";Turn the pockets inside out:See; his pen-knife, lost to use,Rusted shut with apple-juice;Here, with marbles, top and string,Is his deadly "devil-sling,"With its rubber, limp at lastAs the sparrows of the past!Beeswax—buckles—leather straps—Bullets, and a box of caps,—Not a thing of all, I guess,But betrays some waywardness—E'en these tickets, blue and red,For the Bible-verses said—Such as this his mem'ry kept—"Jesus wept."[Unavailable image: The Little Coat]Here's a fishing hook-and-line,Tangled up with wire and twine,And dead angle-worms, and someSlugs of lead and chewing-gum,Blent with scents that can but comeFrom the oil of rhodium.Here—a soiled, yet dainty note,That some little sweetheart wrote,Dotting,—"Vine grows round the stump,"And—"My sweetest sugar lump!"Wrapped in this—a padlock keyWhere he's filed a touch-hole—see!And some powder in a quillCorked up with a liver pill;And a spongy little chunkOf "punk."Here's the little coat—but O!Where is he we've censured so!Don't you hear us calling, dear?Back! come back, and never fear.—You may wander where you will,Over orchard, field and hill;You may kill the birds, or doAnything that pleases you!Ah, this empty coat of his!Every tatter worth a kiss;Every stain as pure insteadAs the white stars overhead:And the pockets—homes were theyOf the little hands that playNow no more—but, absent, thusBeckon us.[Unavailable image: The Little Coat—Tailpiece]
[Unavailable image: An Impetuous Resolve—Title]When little Dickie Swope's a man,He's go' to be a Sailor;An' little Hamey Tincher, he'sA-go' to be a Tailor:Bud Mitchell, he's a-go' to beA stylish Carriage-Maker;An' whenIgrow a grea'-big man,I'm go' to be a Baker!An' Dick'll buy his sailor-suitO' Hame; and Hame'll take itAn' buy as fine a double-riggAs ever Bud can make it:An' nen all three'll drive roun' fer meAn' we'll drive off togevver,A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the roadFerever an' ferever![Unavailable image: I'm go' to be a baker][Unavailable image: A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road]
[Unavailable image: Who Santy-Claus Wuz—Title]Jes' a little bit o' feller—I remember still—Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will.Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!—New Year's ain't a smell!Easter-Sunday—Circus-day—jes' all dead in the shell!Lawzy, though! at night, you know, to set around an' hearThe old folks work the story off about the sledge an' deer,An' "Santy" skootin' round the roof, all wrapt in fur an' fuzz—Long aforeI knowed who"Santy-Claus" wuz!Ust to wait, an' set up late, a week er two ahead;Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed;Kittle stewin' on the fire, an' Mother settin' hereDarnin' socks, an' rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer;Pap gap', an' wonder where it wuz the money went,An' quar'l with his frosted heels, an' spill his liniment;An' me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir an' buzz,Long aforeI knowed who"Santy-Claus" wuz!Size the fire-place up an' figger how "Ole Santy" couldManage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would;Wisht 'at I could hide an' see him—wunderd what he'd sayEf he ketched a feller layin' fer him thataway!But Ibeton him, an'likedhim, same as ef he hadTurned to pat me on the back an' say, "Look here, my lad,Here's my pack,—jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!"Long aforeI knowed who"Santy-Claus" wuz![Unavailable image: An' quar'l with his frosted heels]Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it 'peared to be—Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough fer me!—Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wildOver hangin' up my stockin's, like the little childClimbin' in my lap to-night, an' beggin' me to tell'Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so wellI'm half sorry fer this little-girl-sweetheart of his—Long aforeShe knows who"Santy-Claus" is![Unavailable image: Who Santy-Claus Wuz—Tailpiece]