.■«• 0' r^^ ..1^J^% '^^^ c^^ ,^.i;:% ^"o. .#^ .• -^^ ^^^ ° ^^^^♦ V \ ■ .^ .: * rO &* aV "^ , /v. 6577 BOYS AND GIRLS O' MINE BOYS AND GIRLS 0' MINE * i' By jfw. FOLEY •*• BISMARCK, N. D. TRIBUNE, PRINTERS AND BINDERS 1907 7S 3?ii o/^ 3^ j LIBRARY of CONtihESSJ Two Copies RMfcived DEC 18 1907 Oopyn«nt Entry Copyrighted 1907 by J. W. Foley To Mr. C. V. Van Anda of the New York Times HOMEFOLKS" EDITION This edition is limited to three hundred copies, of which this copy is numbered. ACKNOWLEDGMENT The verses here collected appeared originally in the New York Times, Saturday Evening Post, Life, The Century and Collier's Weekly. Grateful acknowledgment is, made of the generous permission for their reprinting in this form. CONTENTS PAGE The Toast of Merriment 19 Chums 21 Girl of Mine 24 Dear Little, Queer Little Man 26 An Old Fashioned Girl 28 The Town of Impossibieville 30 A Pearl of Price 33 We Aint A-Scairt o' Pa 35 The Garden of Play 37 The Gingercake Man 39 Make Believe 41 Lonesome 43 Lines to a Baby Girl 46 The Land of Blow Bubbles 48 How Henry Blake Knows 50 -The Playtime of Bachelor Bill 52 The Lost Boy 54 When They Love You So 56 The Evolution of an Adoption 59 Little Mischefuss 61 On a Noiseless Fourth 63 Echo of a Song 65 A Little Love Story 67 Grown Up? 69 Somebody Did 71 Lest I Forget 73 In Vacation Time 76 CONTENTS PAGE So Lonesome Now 78 After the Years 80 The To3^s of Yesteryear 83 Some Girls that Mamma Knew 8Sr What Mother Doesn't Know 87 Conscious Ignorance 90 Gone 92 Song of Summer Days 94 . A Song of Motherhood 96 The Neighbor's Boys 99 Nervoustown 101 A Quiet Afternoon 104 A Modern Miracle 107 Doughnutting Time 109 The Secret 112 The Delusion of Ghosts 115 A Story of Self Sacrifice 117 A Discouraged Kindergartner 120 A Boy's Choice 123 A Boy's Vacation Time 125 The Despairing Muse 128 The Way He Used to Do 131 Billy Peeble's Christmas 133 An Interrupted Preachment 138 Graft and the Woman 140 Vanity 143 The Woes of the Consumer 146 The Real Issue 148 The Test of Fame 150 The Chosen Ones 152 War 154 Aircastletown 156 CONTENTS PAGE A Really Pretty Girl 158 Dreams 160 A Providential Discovery 163 The Death of Poetry 168 The Last Appeal 171 Boys and Girls o' Mine THE TOAST OF MERRIMENT r^ OOD humor! Let's have more of it; ^-^ Let's spice the wine of life with wit The little day we tarry here Let flow the sunshine of good cheer. Find not in sober sense such zest We have no time for quip or jest, Nor o'er our tasks so roundly bent We drink no toast to merriment. Oh, you whose sober self all gowned With gloom, and who so oft has frowned, A smile could scarce find resting place Upon your worn and wrinkled face, Let loose a laugh, to tell the world Your heart's dried substance has not curled Like a wormed nut, to rattle in Your moldy shell of bone and skin. 19 THE TOAST OF MERRIMENT And you, whose soul is so engrossed With duns and dollars, drink the toast And let your honest laughter teach Your stunted sense the sweeter speech Of merriment. From your tired head Remove the gallows-hood of dread Lest you should miss a wage or fee And wear this cap and bells with me. A thousand years your mummied skin Will have no seed of laughter in, And in your sober grave find rest All undisturbed of quip and jest. Then be not sullen, sordid, dull, An ever-walking funeral. But laugh, for you and Laughter when You part may never meet again. CHUMS T T E lives acrost the street from us An' ain't as big as me ; His mother takes in washin' 'cuz They're poor as they can be. But every night he brings his slate An' 'en I do his sums, An' help him get his lessons straight, 'Cuz him an' me is chums. His clo'es ain't quite as good as mine, But I don't care for that ; His mother makes his face 'ist shine, An' I lent him a hat. An' every mornin', 'ist by rule. Wen nine o'clock it comes, He takes my hand an' goes to school, 'Cuz him an' me is chums. 21 CHUMS Nobody better plague him, too, No matter if he's small, 'Cuz I'm his friend, for tried and true, An' 'at's th' reason all Th' boys don't dare to plague him, 'cu I 'ist wait till he comes, An' he walks clost to me, he does, 'Cuz him an' me is chums. He fell an' hurt hi'self one day Th' summer before last. An' 'at's w'at makes him limp 'at way An' don't grow very fast. So w'en I got a piece of pie, Or maybe nuts or plums, I always give him some, 'cuz I Get lots — an' we are chums. An' w'en it's nuttin' time, we go. An' I climb all th' trees, 'Cuz he can't climb — ^he's hurt, you know- But he gets all he sees Come droppin' down, an' my ! he's glad ; An' w'en th' twilight comes He says w'at a fine time he had, 'Cuz him an' me is chums. 22 CHUMS But my! his mother's awful queer; 'Cuz w'en we're home again, She wipes her eye — a great, big tear — An' says : "God bless you, Ben ! Th' Lord will bless you all your days W'en th' great Judgment comes." But I say I don't need no praise, 'Cuz him an' me is chums. 23 GIRL OF MINE f~\ H, her frock is crisp and white ^-"^ And her hair is curled up tight To her roguish little head, just like an aureole of light, Not a heart but she could win With the ribbon at her chin And her cheeks that have such very little merry dimples in. Ah, the laughter in her eyes And the wondsr and surprise As she toddles through the waving grass in search of butterflies, And the flowers nod and sway In their love of her and say By their homage as she passes she's a fairer flower than they. 24 GIRL OF MINE Ah, the sweetness and the grace In her radiant little face As she scampers through the sunlight in her airy, fairy race ; How the roguish laughter trips From the gateway of her lips Like the lilting of the robin through the leafy bough that slips. And the birds in branches high Seem to join her merry cry And to chirp a fearless greeting as she gaily toddles by, And so light her footsteps fall That the clover blossoms call : "See! She stepped on us in passing but we're scarcely bruised at all !" 25 DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN "pv EAR little, queer little man, With his hair all a tumble of curls. With a light in his eyes Like the blue of the skies When the dawn's rosy banner unfurls ! Sweet little, fleet little man, Who fills all the house with his toys. Whose laugh has the truth Of the heart of his youth : A toast to the health of our boys ! Dear little, queer little man. With a big, paper cap on his head. And a sword at his side As he gets up to ride On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red ! Play, little, gay little man ; Fill all of the house with your noise. For, oh, it were ill If your laughter were still ! A toast to the laughter of boys! DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN Dear little, queer little man, With dreams of the future to be. When he shall grow tall And shall care for us all, His mother, his sister and me ! Brave little, grave little man. With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete, But bearing the seed That shall blossom and lead To manhood all gracious and sweet. Dear little, queer little man, Whose heart is so boyish and pure. May the sweetness and truth That are flowers of youth Through all of your being endure ! Play, little, gay little man ; Fill all of the house with your noise, For, oh, what so sweet As the pattering feet And the echoing laughter of boys? Dear little, queer little man. The light of the dawn's rosy beams Be evermore spread On your dear, curly head, And truth to your innocent dreams ! Blest little, best little man, God keep you as pure as the truth That lingers and lies In the light of your eyes : Long life to the heart of your youth ! 27 AN OLD FASHIONED GIRL JUST an old-fashioned girl, of the kind that you knew When your mother sat up to mend stockings for you With a ball of red yarn and a bag full of hose And a goose-eggish thing that slipped down in the toes. Just an old-fashioned girl, of the kind that brings tears To your eyes when you think of the toil of her years, And wonder however she laid every curl On a half-dozen heads — such an old-fashioned girl. Just an old-fashioned girl, of an age ere the flat, Or of winters in this place and summers in that. Of the kind that you knew when you went with bare legs In the days when you ransacked the manger for eggs. Just an old-fashioned girl in a blue gingham gown That is leading your fancy some forty years down On the pathway of years, till the hum and the whirl Of the day you forget with that old-fashioned girl. AN OLD FASHIONED GIRL Just an old-fasliioned girl of that out-of-date day, When you knew all the hymns and she found time to play On the organ in church, and you knelt with her there And repeated — what was it ? — ah, yes ! — 'twas a prayer : Such an old-fashioned thing, as you think of it now With the years writ in wrinkles on temple and brow ; But the years back there gleam with the lustre of pearl — ■ When you walked hand-in-hand with that old-fashioned girl Just an old-fashioned girl of those old-fashioned days. And she knelt in the night with a prayer that she'd raise Up a son to be manly and honest and true. There's a mound where the wild-flowers nodded and grew Ere the World bade you come, and a love that lies there With its heart in the dust, but its essence as rare As the breath of the rose and as pure as the pearl That shall tinge all your dreams of that old-fashioned girl. 29 THE TOWN OF IMPOSSIBLEVILLE T LIVE in the town of Impossibleville — ^^a village ec- centric and nice, Where no matter how hot is the Midsummer day the iceman leaves plenty of ice ; The dairyman never once waters the milk, but leaves yellow cream in his wake ; The baker gives always a full loaf of bread and the butcher serves porterhouse steak; The coal man gives two thousand pounds for a ton, nor weighs up the man with his load, There isn't a lawyer, a judge or a court and the old. Golden Rule is the Code. It lies in the valley 'twixt Honesty Flats and the top of Millenium hill. And is peopled by poets and dreamers and such — is the town of Impossibleville. 30 THE TOWN OF IMPOSSIBLEVILLE 'Tis a wonderful place is Impossibleville, where there's never a scramble for pelf, And the rights of man's neighbor are valued as high as the rights that he claims for himself. No hand-organ man on the street ever grinds out his ancient, soul-harrowing tunes, Nor the man who must board haunted three times a day with small dishes of watery prunes ; There's only one church in Impossibleville and that's about all that it needs, Nor do people lose sight of the kernel of good in the chaff of their musty old creeds. It's just over there where the Golden Rule Heights overlook the green vale of Goodwill And it's peopled with folks it might please you to meet is the town of Impossibleville. The sewing society there never meets unless there is something to sew. Good deeds are the coin of the realm and no man but may settle in Millionaire's Row. The cider's all made from the ripest of fruit and open at bottom or top, The barrel of apples looks equally good for there's only one saleable crop. No matter what happens the cook never quits, nor ever was known one to scold. The weather is perfect the whole livelong year, nor ever too hot or too cold ; It's right over there 'twixt the town of Don't Fret and the top of Millenium Hill And is peopled with poets and dreamers and such— is. the town of Impossibleville. 31 THE TOWN OF IMPOSSIBLEVILLE If you'd reach the cool shades of Impossibleville, you must start on your journey in Youth, Turn aside from the main-traveled road and set foot on the little used pathway of Truth, Pass on past the town of Fair Play and Don't Fret till you climb up the Golden Rule Heights, And then you may look down the vale of Good Cheer and see all of these wonderful sights ; But many have set out with hope and light hearts de- termined to reach this fair spot Who someway have strayed from the little-used path and are lost in the wastes of Dry Rot, But it's right over there 'twixt the town of Fair Play and the top of Millenium Hill, And it's peopled with poets and dreamers and such — is the town of Impossibleville. 32 A PEARL OF PRICE QHE isn't worth a fortune and she hasn't any stocks, Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores and frocks. In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laugh- ing eyes, In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees and butterflies. But when she comes in tired from play and crawls upon my knee She's worth a hundred millions to her mother and to me. 33 A PEARL OF PRICE She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn't seem to care If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair. She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her lips. And when she puts her arms around my neck and goos in glee, She's worth uncounted millions to her mother and to me. And when she's in her crib at night and daintily tucked in The wealth of Croesus couldn't buy the dimple in her chin, And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a- boo. She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken ' goo. And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will agree. She's a fortune, more than money, to her mother and to me. 34 WE AIN'T A-SCAIRT O' PA T T S boys ain't scairt o' Pa so much, He only makes a noise, An' says he never did see such Onmanageable boys. But when Ma looks around I see Just something long an' flat An' always make a point to be Some better after that. Pa promises an' promises, But never does a thing; But what Ma says she does she does, An' when I go to bring Her slipper or her hair brush when She says she'll dust my pants, I think I could be better then If I had one more chance. 35 WE AIN T A-SCAIRT O PA Pa always says nex' time 'at he Will have a word to say, But Ma she is more apt to be A-doin' right away; Pa turns around at us an' glares As fierce as he can look, But when we're out o' sight, upstairs, He goes back to his book. Ma doesn't glare as much as Pa Or make as big a fuss, But what she says is law is law, And when she speaks to us She's lookin' carelessly around F'r somethin' long and flat. And when we notice it, we're bound To be good after that. So we ain't scairt o' Pa at all, Although he thinks we are ; But when we hear Ma come an' call, No difference how far We are away we answer quick, An' tell her where we're at. When she stoops down and starts to pick Up somethin' long an' flat ! 36 o THE GARDEN OF PLAY UT in the Garden of Childhood gay Romp three glad youngsters with merry cries, Startling the birds with their boisterous play, Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. Ever you see them and hear them there, Morning or evening or blossomy noon, And oh, but the Garden of Youth is fair, And oh, but the years of it pass too soon! Over the Garden arch cloudless skies, (Ah, but the skies of all Youth are blue!) Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes Find in each nook something rare and new. Cool is the shade of the coaxing trees. Bidding them hide from the sun at noon, And oh, but what glorious days are these. And oh, but the hours of them pass. too soon! 37 THE GARDEN OF PLAY Rare is the Garden with fragrant flowers, (Ah, but the flowers of Youth are fair!) Garlands they weave of the golden hours, Sweet with the song of the birds in air. Splashed all the earth with a rosy light. Light of the sun at its splendid noon, And oh, but the sunshine of Youth is bright. And oh, but the light of it dies too soon ! Sweet to mine ears from the Garden gay Echo their calls and their merry cries, Startling the birds with their boisterous play; Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. Dips the red sun to its shadowed west. These are the years of mine afternoon, And oh, but the years of my youth were best, And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon! 38 T THE GINGERCAKE MAN HE Gingercake man was a lump of brown dough Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so! To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin, His bones almost popped through the holes in his skin ; They sifted him over with flour and spice, And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice. And took some dried currants, the biggest and best, To make him some buttons for closing his vest. The Gingercake man wabbled this way and that. When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way, For a Gingercake man is not made every day. They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed! And made him some teeth out of caraway seed, And when he was finished they buttered a pan— The biggest they had — for the Gingercake man. 39 THE GINGERCAKE MAN Then into the oven they put him to bake Until he was hard and could stand and not break His legs when he stood ; and they set him to cool Until all the children should come home from school. And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee. When mother invited the children to see, All sifted with sugar and out of the pan. The good-natured face of the Gingercake man. But alas and alas! 'Tis a short life and sweet Is the Gingercake man's — for they ate off his feet, They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest. And picked all the buttons from out of his vest; They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat, And everything edible went just like that. Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan As all that is left of the Gingercake man ! 40 MAKE-BELIEVE T ET'S dream, like the child in its playing; Let's make us a sky and a sea ; Let's change the things 'round us by saying They're things that we wish them to be ; And if there is sadness or sorrow, Let's dream till we charm it away; Let's learn from the children and borrow A saying from Childhood — "Let's Play." Let's play that the world's full of beauty; Let's play there are roses in bloom ; Let's play there is pleasure in duty And light where we thought there v/as gloom Let's play that this heart with its sorrow Is bidden be joyous and glad; Let's play that we'll find on tomorrow The joys that we never have had. 41 MAKE-BELIEVE Let's play that regret with its ruing Is banished forever and aye ; Let's play there's delight but in doing; Let's play there are flowers by the way: However the pathway seem dreary, Wherever the footsteps may lead ; Let's play there's a song for the weary If only the heart will give heed. Let's play we have done with repining; Let's play that our longings are still ; Let's play that the sunlight is shining To gild the green slope of the hill ; Let's play there are birds blithely flinging Their songs of delight to the air ; Let's play that the world's full of singing, Let's play there is love everywhere. 42 LONESOME AY, little boy, be friends with me and I'll be friends S/\Y, little Doy, with you ; And I won't never tell on you, no matter what you do. It's awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but it's hard To have your mother say that you must play in your back yard. There's lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as bright As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light; Perhaps you'd catch it in your cap if I would help you to — ■ Come over and be friends with me and I'll be friends with you. 43 LONESOME I'm all the children we have got — I'm lonesome as can be, I wish you wouldn't be afraid to come and play with me. I don't care if your face ain't clean or if your clothes are torn, I didn't have no clothes at all the time that I was born. We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost you so That you can get some if you come, and when it's time to go We'll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. Don't you see I'm willing to be friends with you if 3'ou'll be friends with me? I've got a lot of wooden toys, as fine as they can be. But I want something that's alive to run around with me, And play wild Indians and bears, and if you'll come and play Perhaps my mamma '11 let me come and play with you some day. We've got some dandy hollow trees, the finest any- wheres. And one of us can hide in them when we are playing bears, And growl just like he's awful cross, and all the time you know It's only make-believe, of course, but then it scares you so. U LONESOME I wish you'd come and play with me. I've got a jump- ing jack I'll give you for your very own to keep when you go back, And you can ride my v'locipede most all the afternoon And blow some bubbles with my pipe and play with my balloon. I've got an awful lot of toys and I will let you play That they are yours as much as mine for all the time you stay, I'm all the boys my folks have got. I'm lonesome as can be, Come on, and I'll be friends v/ith you if you'll be friends with me. 45 LINES TO A BABY GIRL /^H, she has such a way with her! I stay with her And play with her, Her cheeks are round and dimpled and Her eyes are Heaven's blue. My life is spent quite half with her, I laugh with her And chafif with her, Till she looks up with laughing eyes, And all she says is "Goo !" Sometimes I try to walk with her, I talk with her And rock with her ; She knows some way my love for her Is tender and is true. And so I sit and speak with her And seek with her The cheek of her To brush with little kisses and Quite all she says is "Goo!" 46 LINES TO A BABY GIRL She toddles in to share with me My chair with me ; Her air with me Is that of queen imperious, My heart her subject true. Upon the floor she lies with me And tries with me To rise with me When romping time is over, and She looks up and says "Goo !" Oh, she is such a part of me. The heart of me. And art of me Could not express my love for her, So tender and so true ; She is the treasure blessed of me, Heart's guest of me, The best of me, This little baby girl of me Who looks up and says "Goo !" 47 THE LAND OF BLOW-BUBBLES T T IS curls are like rings of red gold on his head, His lips are as red as a cherry, His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red; His eyes full of mischief and merry. His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air, A fig for the whole of his troubles ! For he's my Boy Careless — you've seen him somewhere, And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles ! Now he's riding a stick that is legless and dead. Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles. For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles ! He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath. With a big wooden gun on his shoulder, And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path For never a huntsman was bolder. 48 THE LAND OF BLOW-BUBBLES Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste, He drops on one knee in the stubbles, For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles ! His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots, The sound of it echoes and doubles, For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. Then out from the forest a savage all red With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle, A thrust from the big wooden sword — he is dead With a most melancholy death-rattle. Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse. And back o'er the all-trackless stubbles, For it's many a mile to his cabin, of course, In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles. Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride With the make-believe gun on his shoulder. With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side. And a sigh from the heart that is older ! A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips, A fig for the whole of his troubles. When he's off like the wind on his make-believe trips • In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! 49 HOV/ HENRY BLAKE KNOWS T^ON'T you dast kill a toad, Henry Blake says, for ^^ true As you're born it'll rain right away if you do. For Henry Blake says oncet some boys 'at he knowed Were goin' a-fishin' an' one killed a toad, An' it all clouded up an' it got just as black, An' it thundered an' lightninged before they got back Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why. But he thinks toads has somethin' t' do with the sky. An' Henry Blake showed Us th' place in th' road Where the boys went an kilt him an' that's how he knowed. 50 HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS Henry Blake says if you just split a bean An' put half of it on a wart when it's green, An' throw half of it between midnight an' dawn In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart '11 be gone Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it's true 'Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two That took off a big wart, an' th' half was all black An' Henry Blake says that it never came back. An' Henry's friend showed Him th' cistern he throwed The other half into an' that's how he knowed ! 51 THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL /^UR Uncle Bill's a bachelor, an' it's an awful shame, 'Cuz he knows stories about bears an' knows 'em all by name. An' growls 'ist like a really one an' makes you think a bear Is underneath th' table, but of course it isn't there. An' when he takes you on his knee he talks 'ist like a book An' after w'ile your eyes get big an' you're a-scairt to look Wen he says : "Nen a bear come out an' 'ist went Boo-oo-oo !" Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you. An' 'en he plays wild Indian an' hides himself some- wheres W'ile we look in th' corners an' behind th' parlor chairs, An' peek in th' dark closets an' p'tend we're on a scout Till after w'ile he makes a whoop an' 'en comes rushin' out '1st like he's on th' warpath ; an' us chinnern run up- stairs An' hide in mamma's closet an' he makes us think 'at benrs Are comin' in to get us an' he growls 'ist like he's one, An' my ! we're turble scairt an' yet it's awful lots o' fun. 52 THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL An' 'en he is a pirate an' he makes us chinnern play 'At we are in a shipwreck an' th' crew is cast away Upon a desert island w'ere his treasure chest is hid, An' we are only sailors an' his name is Captain Kidd. An' w'en we hear him comin' he 'ist roars an 'en we run, 'Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an' pokers for a gun. An' after w'ile he kills us all but it don't hurt, an' w'en He sails away in his big ship we come to life again. 'En after w'ile our mother comes an' taps him on th* head. An' says it's time for bears an' scouts an' things to be in bed, An' leads us chinnern all upstairs an' maybe if we keep Right still she'll let th' candle burn until we go to sleep. 'En after w'ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good- night, An' sees how snug an' warm we are an' all tucked in so tight. An' 'en he kisses us good night an' 'en his eyes 'ist blur: I guess we make him sorry 'at he is a bachelor ! 53 THE LOST BOY T ITTLE Boy Careless has strewn his blocks From end to end of the nursery ; He has broken the top of the gaudy box That held sliced animals — My, Ah Me! His wooden soldiers are seamed and scarred From battle with him, and his jumping-jack Is lodged half-way from a blow too hard, Nor all of my coaxing will get him back. Little Boy Careless has split his drum And bent the tube of his screeching fife Till all of his martial airs are dumb, And the doll that squeaked has lost her life From a mallet blow on her waxen head, And none of her sister dolls knows or cares How the sawdust in her is strewn and spread From the bedroom door to the hall downstairs. 54 THE LOST BOY Little Boy Careless has gone away And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me. The toys that were scattered on yesterday Are stored up there in the nursery. The broken drum and the jumping-jack, The waxen doll in her crib alone, Nor Little Boy Careless will e'er come back To scatter the toys by his years outgrown. And ah, but the heart of me aches and cries For the Little Boy Careless to come and play, The light of the dawn in his big, brown eyes, With the toys that are gathered and laid away. The Big Boy Hopeful will come to pine For the world out there and will yearn to go, But the Little Boy Careless was mine, all mine, And that is the reason I loved him so ! 55 WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO /^ NE time I'm awful sick in bed, An' sometimes I'm delirious, 'Cuz I got fever in my head, An' when I'm th' most serious My pa, he sits beside of me An' 'en he rubs my head, an' 'en He says when I get well, why, he Won't ever scold his boy again. An' 'en my ma, she rubs my head '1st burnin' hot, an' 'en her clpn '1st shivers an' she says : "Poor Ned ! His little hands so white an' thin !" An' 'en she says she never knew How precious 'ist a boy could be, An' when I'm well she's goin' t' do '1st what I want her to for me. 56 WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO An' by and by my aunty comes An' says when I get well wny she Don't care if I have twenty drums, An' she will buy a sled for me. An' my big sister's goin' t' buy A really pony 'ist as quick As ever doctor says 'at I Am well again from bein' sick. An' even our old hired man Comes in an' stays a while with me, Whenever doctor says he can, '1st kind an' gentle as can be, 'Cuz once he had a boy, an' 'en He had th' fever an' 'at's why He's awful kind to me an' when He sees me, why he starts t' cry. An' even teacher comes to see Me on her way from school, an' 'en She says it won't be hard for me When I come back to school again. 'Cuz she won't make my lessons long, Or keep me after school ; an' she '1st wants me to get well an' strong An' 'en she stoops an' kisses me. 57 WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO An' 'at's th' way you really know How much they love you, when your head '1st burnin' up an' you can't go Nowheres except to stay in bed. An' even if you're awful bad An' hot with fever, why, you know, It makes you feel 'ist sweet an' glad Becuz they all 'ist love you so 58 THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION T_T E'S 'ist a little orfant boy Wat goes to school with me; An' ain't got any parents 'cuz His folks is dead, you see. An' w'en he sees my toys an' things — My, but his eyes 'ist shine; An' he ain't got no marbles, so I give him half of mine. An' once it 's orful stormy w'en It 's noon an' he can't go Back where he works for board an' clo'es To get his lunch, an' so I had some san'wiches an' things 'At he thought was 'ist fine, An' 'cuz he didn't have no lunch I give him half of mine. 59 THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION An' once w'en we went down to fish He come along with me, An' w'en we're there says he 'ist wish 'At he could fish. You see He's orful poor an' brought a pole But didn't have a line, An' w'en I saw how bad he felt I give him half of mine. An' one time I 'ist told my Ma How he don't have much fun 'Cuz he ain't got no Ma or Pa Or Aunt or any one. An' 'en I told her how I thought 'At it would be 'ist fine 'Cuz he ain't got no mother if I'd give him half of mine. He ain't my brother, really true. He 's 'ist an orfant, so My Ma she took him, 'cuz she knew He had no place to go. I'm awful glad we got him an' My Pa thinks it 'ist fine — He didn't have no mother, so I give him half of mine. 60 LITTLE MISCHEFUSS COMEBODY went and broke my doll, an' let her sawdust out On mamma's floor an' my! there's sawdust scattered all about ! Dess scandalous ! An' bienby my mamma '11 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 jum- pin' jack An' mamma says : "I see 'at Little Mischefuss is back." An' w'en somebody spilled p'eserves right on the pantry shelf She says : "I see 'at Mischefuss has tried to he'p herself!" 61 LITTLE MISCHEFUSS One day somebody tored my dress an' 'en she says : "I see 'At Little Mischefuss is dess as busy as can be !" An' my! I'm awful much surprised an' ast how does she know, But she dess says a little bird flew in an' told her so ! Somebody frowed my blocks out doors an' 'en 'ey dot all wet An' all peeled off tuz why it rained an' mamma says she bet 'At Little Mischefuss is back from Topsyturvytown An' mus' be hidin' in th' house or else somew'eres aroun'. Oncet mamma's goin' 't spank her w'en she catches her, an' so I ast her not to tuz she's dess a little girl, you know, An' don't know any better 'an t' plague an' pester us. Till she dess laughs, tuz why she says I'm Little Mis- chefuss ! ON A NOISELESS FOURTH ^~\ N a noiseless street stood a crackerless lad with a ^"^^ screechless fife and headless drum, Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a blareless band, all still and dumb, Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle corps blew a noteless blare, While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a fireless path through the silent air. The blareless band played a soundless tune and the crackerless lad gave a voiceless shout As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the up- held standard fluttered out. '^Hurrah !" he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth from his lips in a speechless way. "Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless Independence Day !" 63 ON A NOISELESS FOURTH Then far away down the village street a smokeless gun belched a soundless roar, A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played a blareless tune once more; The clickless guns of the village guards with a thud- less sound dropped on the ground. The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voiceless mob ranged all around ; A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps joined a footless screech, The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongueless strains of a wordless speech, Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless lad, in a voiceless way, Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noise- less Independence Day. Oh, the pulseless thrill of the noiseless guns and the footless fifes and the headless drums. The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the soundless pageant noiseless comes Down the village street, and the sightless glow when the hissless rocket's fireless glare With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the measureless breadth of the lightless air ; But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crackers popped and cannons roared. Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look of a lad who is greatly bored; And he cried aloud — 'twas the only sound that was heard, not made in a voiceless way : "Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day!" 64 ECHO OF A SONG IT O my fancy, idly roaming, comes a picture of the gloaming, Comes a fragrance from the blossoms of the lilac and the rose ; With the yellow lamplight streaming I am sitting here and dreaming Of a half-forgotten twilight whence a mellow memory flows; To my listening ears come winging vagrant notes of woman's singing: I've a sense of sweet contentment as the sounds are borne along; 'Tis a mother who is tuning her fond heart to love and crooning To her laddie such a Sleepy little, Creepy little, Song. Ah, how well do I remember when by crackling spark and ember The old-fashioned oaken rocker moved with rhythmic sweep and slow ; 65 ECHO OF A SONG With her feet upon the fender, in a cadence low and tender, Floated forth that slumber anthem of a childhood long ago. There were goblins in the gloaming and the half-closed eyes went roaming Through the twilight for the ghostly shapes of buga- boos along; Now the sandman's slyly creeping and a tired lad half sleeping When she sings to him that Sleepy little, Creepy little, Song. I am sitting here and dreaming with the mellow lamp- light streaming Through the vine-embowered window in a yellow filigree ; On the fragrant air come winging vagrant notes of woman's singing; 'Tis the slumber song of childhood that is murmur- ing to me. And some subtle fancy creeping lulls my senses half to sleeping As the misty shapes of bugaboos go dreamily along, All my sorrows disappearing, as a tired lad I'm hearing Once again my mother's Sleepy little. Creepy little, Song. 66 A LITTLE LOVE STORY SHE understands. I do not need to go And tell her she is all the world to me. I never speak a word to let her know I will be faithful till Eternity. But when, upon the way to school, she sees Me come with two red apples in m.y hands And hears me say: "Please, Sally Jane, take these,' It is no wonder that she understands. Or when she sees me at the old front gate With my new sled right after the first snow, And from her window calls to me to wait Until she asks her Mother can she go, I do not need to tell her why I come In my fur cap with mittens on my hands, For even if my feelings make me dumb She looks at me and then she understands. 67 A LITTLE LOVE STORY Or if she whispers something when in school, As children are quite often apt to do, Forgetting all about the teacher's rule, And teacher says to Sally : "Was that you ?' Why then I see how scared she is and rise Up in my seat and hold up both my hands And take the blame — she looks into my eyes — • I do not need to speak — she understands. Or if she has the measles so I dare Not go up to her house, but I can look In through the window and she sees me there. And if I bring a dandy story book And leave it on the fence post where the nurse Can come and take it in, and if my hands Have written, "Dear, I hope you'll be no worse," I do not need to speak — she understands. I do not need to tell her how I feel — She only has to watch the things I do ; She knows my heart is true to her as steel, And if it rains or if the sky is blue I wait for her to walk to school with me, ' And carry all her schoolbooks in my hands, x\nd I am just as happy as can be, And so is she — because she understands. GROWN UP? T BEEN lookin' f'r some children ^ Thet I used t' know ; Used t' see 'em in th' papers Twenty year ago ; Thought I used t' hear 'em playin' Right around my door; Have y' seen 'em — Riley's children? Don't they play no more? Say, but them was really children; An' I used to read About Annie — Orfant Annie — An' I often seed One of 'em, I thought, a-singin' Right around my door ; But I haven't seen 'em lately — Don't they sing no more? GROWN UP? W'y- I've set an' read about 'em An' it almos' seemed They was yourn or mine, a-mebbe, But I mns' 'a' dreamed. An' I thought I see one standin' With her dress all tore, An' her golden hair all tangled — Don't they play no more? W'y o' course — I wasn't thinkin' — They're all growed up now, It was years ago I knowed 'em, But it seems, somehow. Them 'ud alius be but children ; Might a-knowed afore Thet them children — Riley's children- Won't come back no more ! 70 SOMEBODY DID OOMEBODY stood up right on top of a chair An' reached in the cooky-jar, way, way up there, Wen nobody's lookin' an' Mamma's asleep, An' all of us chinnern wuz playin' bo-peep Now'eres near the pantry; an' tryin to get Some cookies, an' someway the jar got upset. An' my ! it 'ist busted all over the floor. But John, he ain't scairt ; an' he rapped on the door, Wile 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 ! 71 SOMEBODY DID Somebody crawled up in the big leather chair By the lib'ary table w'at stood over there Wen we wuz a-playin' now'eres near the ink An' Mamma was sewin' — an' w'at do you think? Somebody upset it and knocked it, 'st 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, Wile all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, An' 'en he says : "Ma, see w'at Somebody did !" An' all of us chinnern we runned off an' hid, 'Cuz we don't know who done it, but Somebody did ! An' wunst w'en the kitchen wuz all scrubbed so clean, The floor wuz 'ist shiny as ever you seen. An' we wuz all playin' outdoors in the street, Somebody went in with the muddies' feet An' tracked it all over the floor, 'ist a sight ; An' my! when we seen it we 'ist shook with fright, 'Cuz none of us chinnern went near it all day. But John, he ain't scairt ; an' he went right away. Wile 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 ! 72 LEST I FORGET "lirHEN from my earliest abode in boyhood's merry days I strode, Oh, well do I remember how my mother came — I see her now — ■ And, standing in the old front door, repeated to me o'er and o'er : "Oh, William, don't do this and that, and William, wear yonr other hat. Please, William, don't forget my note, and William, wear your overcoat. And William, hurry on your way, or you'll be late to school today." And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to my ear Came floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I forget. 10 73 LEST I FORGET When from my lessons, shirked or done, came home- ward I at waning sun, Oh, well do I remember how my mother came — I see her now — • And greeted me at that front door with admonitions o'er and o'er : "Oh, William, don't do this and that, and wipe your feet upon the mat. And do not slam the door and wake the baby, William, and please take This package down to Howe and Hatch and tell them that it doesn't match, And don't forget to hurry back, because the kitchen fire is slack ;" And far and long as I could hear her admonitions to my ear Came floating on, repeated yet, lest I forget, lest I forget. I'm married now — at man's estate, and yet, quite mourn- ful to relate. My wife it is who, as before, comes with me to the new front door. And standing there, bombards me for a block or two, and o'er and o'er: 74 LEST I FORGET "Oh, William, don't you wet your feet, and William, don't forget the meat, And William, don't forget to mail my letter promptly, and don't fail To pay the ice bill, order wood ; and William, would you be so good As to stop in at Jones' store and get a bit of ribbon for The baby's hair?" — and so 'tis yet — lest I forget — lest I forget! 75 IN VACATION TIME 'X* HERE'S a hole in his hat with the hair sticking through, And a toe that peeps out from a hole in his shoe ; There's a patch in his trousers, a darn in his hose, And a freckle that tilts on the bridge of his nose; But oh, in his heart there's the glimmer and shine Of a sun that I wish could be shining in mine. There's a smudge on his face that is dusty and dark, But a song in his heart like the song of a lark; There's a rent in his coat where the lining shows through, But the whistle he tunes to the wild bird is true ; And, oh, in his heart, with a sparkle like wine. Is a gladness I wish could be sparkling in mine. 76 IN VACATION TIME There's an imp in his hair that may keep it awry, But a twinkle so rare in the blue of his eye ; There's an uneven slant of his trousers, made fast With a nail through their tops, for a button won't last; But deep in his heart lies a spring cool and fine Of good cheer that I wish could be bubbling in mine. There's a tan on his cheeks where the flush of health glows, And the skin has all peeled from the tip of his nose ; His pockets are bulged with tops, marbles, and strings. With jack-knives and other uncountable things; But the brooks and the woods bring a music divine To his ears that I wish they were bringing to mine. 77 so LONESOME NOW. r\ VER t' Henry Murray's, why, ^■^^ They always had lots an' lots o' pie, An' toy automobiles an' v'locipedes An' walkin' toys, like a fellow reads About sometimes, but he seldom sees, An' swings out under th' big oak trees. An' childurn a-playin' on every bough — But my! It is turrible lonesome now. Over t' Henry Murray's, why. His mother an' father 'ist seemed t' try An' see if they couldn't get some new toys For Henry an' all of us other boys 'At played with him ; an' she used t' make Th' dandiest currant an' raisin cake. An' boys 'ist flocked there like flies, somehow- But my ! It is turrible lonesome now. 78 so LONESOME NOW Over t' Henry Murray's, why, His mother 'ud see you goin' by An' ast you why you didn't come an' play With Henry an' all of his toys, some day, An' every Christmas she'd have a tree With presents, th' finest you ever see, An' nobody got forgot, somehow— But my ! It is turrible lonesome now. An' over t' Henry Murray's, why, We boys 'ist look while we're goin' by, An' see all his toys layin' there outside. Once Big Bill Skinner broke down an' cried An' says he don't care— it was 'ist too bad, 'Cause Henry was all of th' boy they had. An' th' swings 'ist hang from th' big oak bough- An' my! It is turrible lonesome now. 79 AFTER THE YEARS "\1 rHEN you went back to the old home place had the mountain become a hill? Had the raging river your boyhood knew shrunk down to a peaceful rill? Were the monster trees in the old front yard but half of their former size? Was something gone — and you don't know what — from the blue of the arching skies? Was the swimming-hole but a muddy pool where once it was crystal clear? Were the apples but half as big and red as they were in that other year? 80 AFTER THE YEARS When you went back to the old home place did the red barn seem so small It didn't look like the one you'd known? Was the mighty waterfall That used to roar in your boyish ears but a little dash of spray That fell so light you could hardly hear a dozen feet away? Were the corn rows only half as long as they were in the long ago, When you measured them with aching arms and the weight of a heavy hoe? When you went back to the old home place had the mill pond dwindled down? Was Main Street only a muddy track in the heart of a sleepy town? And the well that was fathoms, fathoms deep, with its wheel and creaking chain. Did it seem to you like a shrunken thing when you looked at it again? Was something gone of the bygone days, from the sod and the arch of sky That we used to see when we played as boys in the old days — you and I? 11 81 AFTER THE YEARS Nay, Heart, the mountain rises high as it did of yore ; the rill Was a river once and the boys near by see a raging river still. The well is fathoms, fathoms deep and the apples ripe and red ; The sod is cool and green and soft, and the sky up overhead Is blue and clear, and the days are rare and glad as they used to be — But where is the Heart of the olden time — hast thou brought it back with thee? 82 THE TOYS OF YESTERYEAR "pRAY, where are the toys of the Yesteryear: ^ The jnmping-jack with its flaring red, The fuzzy dog and the antlered deer, The drum with its sticks and tuneful head, The Noah's ark with its wooden crew. The building blocks with the letters on ? The child has toys that are bright and new, But where, pray where, have the old friends gone? Somewhere in the attic in corner dark The jumping-jack and the split drum lie. The wooden crew of the Noah's ark And the tin of the battered infantry. There, half by the rubbish and dust concealed, The fuzzy dog and the wooden deer, The building blocks with their colors peeled Half oflf ; and the stringless top is here. THE TOYS OF YESTERYEAR Pray, where are the toys of the Yesteryear, The gaudy dreams with their colors gay, The castled hopes that were passing dear. The joys of our boyhood's merry play? The man has toys that are bright and new, On the wreck of dreams new dreams appear. But where are the hopes of the flaring hue That were our toys of the Yesteryear? Somewhere in the darkness the dead dreams fade, The broken idol and shattered vase, The castled hopes in their ruins laid Come here to a common trysting place. Half hid by the rubbish and dust of days The wrecks of unnumbered dreams are here That made us glad in a hundred ways, And these are the toys of the Yesteryear. 84 SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW ly/r Y Mamma says 'at once 'ere was A little girl she knew Who went an' cried, an' 'ist because — Because she wanted to; An' w'ile her face was all askew The wind changed, so they say, An' Mamma told me 'at it 's true, Her face 'ist staid 'at way! An' w'en she told me 'at, w'y nen I said I'll never cry again. My Mamma said 'at once she heard A little girl like me Tell 'ist one fib, an' says, my word ! Her Mamma looked to see Were was her tongue, an' goodness me ! Her mouth was 'ist all bare, An' w'ere her tongue 'ud ought to be There wasn't any there ! An' w'en she told me 'at, w'y nen I said I'll never fib again ! 85 SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW My Mamma knew a little girl 'At used to run away Wen her dear mother 'd start to curl Her hair; an' one fine day Some gypsies took her off, somehow, An' stole her from her home, An' my ! Her hair is awful now, 'Cause gypsies never, comb ! An' since she told me 'at, w'y nen I never runned away again ! An' never don't make fun, she says. Of folks 'at's blind or lame. Or got red hair or warts, unless You want to be the same. 'Cause lots of times it happens so An' surely if you do. You never, never, never know What's going to happen you. An' since she told me 'at, w'y nen I never don't make fun again. WHAT MOTHER DOESN'T KNOW COMETIMES w'en I got to pile wood in the j^ard, '1st wringin' with sweat 'cuz I'm workin' so hard An' see all the neighbors' boys startin' to fish, I can't hardly work any more, an' I wish 'At I wuz a-goin' an 'en right away I run an' ast Ma if I can't go today, An' she says to me 'en : "Johnny Jones, you can run Off an' fish 'ist as soon as your work is all done. You must work while you work, You must play while you play An' 'en you'ii be happy for many a day" An' mebbe it's so. But my goodness ! to go With the boys 'at's gone fishin' ! — I guess she dunno ! 87 WHAT MOTHER DOESN T KNOW Sometimes w'en I got to hoe garden an' hear The boys playin' ball in the next lot, so near I hear 'em all cheerin' an' see 'em all score, I can't hardly stand it to hoe any more. So 'en I ast Ma if I can't go an' play An' promise to hoe twict as much the next day, But she says to me 'en : "Johnny Jones, you can run Off an' play 'ist as soon as your work is all done. You must work while you work, You must play while you play An' 'en you'll be happy for many -a day" An' mebbe it's so, But, my goodness ! to hoe W'en you hear 'em a-playin' ! I guess she dunno. Sometimes w'en the snow gets all piled up so deep On the walk 'at she tells me to go out 'an sweep It all off, an' Sam Russell comes by with his sled. My broom 'at I'm usin' gets heavy as lead. An' I can't hardly sweep, an' I ast Ma if I Can't go out a-slidin' an' sweep by an' by, But she says to me 'en : "Johnny Jones, you can run Off an' slide 'ist as soon as your work is all done. 88 WHAT MOTHER DOESN T KNOW You must work while you work, You must play while you play An' 'en you'll be happy for many a day" An' mebbe it's so, But to have to sweep snow Wen the boys are a-slidin' ! — I guess she dunno. 12 CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE I'M only 'ist a little girl, An' w'en I want to play An' Mamma says don't go outside Our yard this livelong day, An' w'en some other girls 'ey come An' pester me to go, It may be wrong, but I'm so young. How does she s'pose I know ? An' 'en w'en she goes out sometimes An' says : "Now go to bed At eight o'clock this very night." I 'member what she said. But w'en the mantel clock strikes eight An' I don't want to go,. It may be wrong, but I'm so young, How does she s'pose I know? go CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE An' w'en she says : "Now, don't go near The cookie jar this day," I want some cookies awful much An' try to stay away. But all the time I'm hungry for Some cookies, an' I go — • It may be wrong, but I'm so young, How does she s'pose I know? Fm only ist a little girl Not more 'n six years old, An' my, I always try to do E'zactly as I'm told. But w'en I make 'ist one mistake, My Ma ought not to go An' punish me, 'cause I'm so young. How does she s'pose I know? 91 GONE TT E fell in a puddle and muddied his dress, He struck little Bob with a hammer, I guess; He cut sister's curls with a big pair of shears And left ragged edges down over her ears; He muddied the floor that was just scrubbed so clean, He lighted a match near the canned gasoline, He broke all his soldiers and smashed all his toys, And yet we forgave him, for boys will be boys. He singed the cat's whiskers and cut ofif his tail And then turned it loose with its discordant wail; He dropped bread and jelly upon a big chair And thought of it only when Aunty sat there ; He sheared the pet poodle one midwinter day, His father is frantic, his mother is gray. His Aunt and his Grandma protest at his noise. And then all forgive him, for boys will be boys. 92 GONE He clamors for cookies, for jelly and jam, He shuts ne'er a door, but he gives it a slam, He dabbles in paint, be it red, blue or green ; He loves to play hob with the sewing machine ; And then — well, he's gone into trousers and vests. For years must be passing and time never rests, And some day we look at a picture — and then We wish — strange it is — that we had him again. 93 SONG OF SUMMER DAYS QING 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. 94 SONG OF SUMMER DAYS 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. m A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD OEW, sew, sew! For there's many a rent to mend; There's a stitch to take and a dress to make, For where do her labors end? Sew, sew, sew ! For a rent in a dress she spies. Then it's needle and thread and an aching head And see how the needle flies ! Brush, brush, brush ! For there's many a boy to clean, And start to school with a slate and rule, With a breakfast to get between. Comb, comb, comb ! In the minute she has to spare. For what is so wild — unreconciled As the wastes of a youngster's hair? 96 A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD Sweep, sweep, sweep ! Oh, follow the flashing broom, And witn towel bound her forehead round She goes from room to room. Dust, dust, dust ! As down on her knees she kneels, For there's much to do in the hour or two Of interval 'twixt meals. Bake, bake, bake! For the cookie jar piled high But yesterday in some curious way Is empty again, O my ! Stir, stir, stir, in the froth of yellow and white, For well she knows how the story goes Of a small boy's appetite. Scrub, scrub, scrub ! For the floor that was spick and span, Alas, alack ! has a muddy track Where some thoughtless youngster ran. Splash, splash, splash! For the dishes of thrice a day Are piled up high to wash and dry And put on the shelves away. 13 97 A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD Patch, patch, patch ! And oh for a pantaloon That would not tear or rip or wear In the course of an afternoon ! Patch, patch, patch ! And see how the needle flies, For a mother knows how the fabric goes Where the seat of trouble lies. Toil, toil, toil ! For when do her labors end, With a dress to make and a cake to bake And dresses and hose to mend? Stew, stew, stew ! Fret and worry and fuss, And who of us knows of the frets and woes In the days when she mothered us? 98 THE NEIGHBOR'S BOYS C OMEBODY shot our cat's eye out, *^An' stole our gate an' just about Scared Aunt Sophia Jane to death So's she could hardly get her breath By puttin' on some sheets, all white, 'At just gave her a turble fright, An' who on earth do you suppose Put on them big, white ghostes' clothes An' made that turble screechy noise?— The neighbor's boys! An' every night it's dark, you know, Somebody plays some tick-tack-toe On folkeses' windows what's a-scared, An' just as if they never cared If they get caught or not, an' when You're gone to bed they come again Until you're just so nervous you Don't hardly know just what to do; And who makes such a scary noise? The neighbor's boys. 99 THE NEIGHBOR S BOYS An' 'en somebody tears your clothes An' skins your face an' hurts your nose Until it bleeds, an' then your Ma Says 'at she never, never saw Such heathen youngsters, an' they come An' break your sled an' pound your drum Until it busts, an' wont go 'way. It ain't no matter what you say, An' they're the ones 'at break your toys- The neighbor's boys. An' my, it's funny, 'cause, you know, You ain't the only ones 'at's so. 'Cause all the next door neighbors say It seems e'zactly the same way, An' when their boys gets hurted so's It gives 'em turble bloody nose. An' some one shoots their cat's eye out, An' plays tick-tack, they know about Who does it an' who makes the noise — The neighbor's boys ! 100 NERVOUSTOWN /^H, there's never a noise in Nervoustown ; ^^^ Not the cry of a youngster ; and up or down There's never a cheer or a whistle shrill ; Just silence, like that of the grave, so still ; The horses trot with a muffled tread, But the place seems lonesome and drear and dead, For a cloth-bound head and a nervous frown Are all you may see in Nervoustown. Sh-h ! you must walk with noiseless tread For there's many a hot and aching head ; The doors are closed and the blinds are down, For it must be dark in Nervoustown. And you mustn't whistle or shout or cheer Or slam the doors! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Lest a cloth-bound head and a terrible frown Poke out at you from Nervoustown. 101 NERVOUSTOWN Oh, there's never a person there but goes On the ver}' tip of his tippy-toes ; Nor ever a lad has heard at all Of follow-my-leader or rude baseball ; It's much as your life is worth to yell, The flowers can't grow for the camphor-smell ; While a big policeman, up and down, Cries "Sh-h !" through the streets of Nervoustown. And a little boy, who didn't know. Once years and years and years ago. Gave three loud, lusty cheers one day For something or other, I can't say, And they snipped his head ofif— Oh ! Oh! Oh! With big, red, rusty shears, you know. And cloth-bound heads bobbed up and down, With gladness all through Nervoustown. 102 NERVOUSTOWN But, oh, it's gloomy in Nervoustown, With the doors tight shut and the blinds all down, Where the frightened lad his whole life goes. On the very tips of his tippy-toes, Where the hens don't cluck and the birds don't sing. And even the church bells dare not ring Lest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frown Poke out at them from Nervoustown., 103 A QUIET AFTERNOON l\/r Y Mamma, she did go to call about an hour ago, An' said if I ain't bad at all an' staid at home with Flo, Which is the maid that cooks for us, she'd bring me something good. But if Fm one bit misschefuss she didn't think she would. An' my! Fm still, 'ist like a mouse. I never went out- doors., But 'ist sat down, inside the house, an' took her bureau drawers An' emptied 'em 'ist .one by one, an' w'en they're emp- tied 'en I 'ist looked through what's there for fun an' put 'em back again ! 104 A QUIET AFTERNOON An' 'en I found the nicest ink, an' one of 'em was red, An' one was black an' 'en I think I spilt some on the bed, But my ! I wiped it up 'ist so, an' sopped it with a quilt So clean you wouldn't hardly know it's ever once been spilt. Well, 'en I looked up on the shelf an' found her scissors there An' got 'em down all by myself an' cut off all my hair, 'Tuz I don't think it's nice for girls like me 'at's almost through First reader to wear such a curls like Mamma makes me do. 'En Flo gave me some bread and jam, 'tuz I 'ist cried and cried '1st tuz I'm hungry now, I am, an' 'en I went inside. An' maybe I did let it lay around the room some- where, 'Tus Flo came in to watch me play and squushed it on a chair. 14 105 A QUIET AFTERNOON An' after while I wish my Ma would 'ist come back, she would, Tuz my, I'm gettin' drefful tired of simply bein' good. My eyes, 'ey're 'ist so full of sand an' heavy, 'ist like lead, Oh-ho! I dess it's Sleepyland! I dess I'll go to bed! 106 A MODERN MIRACLE (~\ NCE w'en I'ln sick th' doctor come ^■^^ An' 'en I put my tongue 'way out, An' he says, "H-m-m ! Nurse, get me some Warm water, please." An' in about A minute, w'}^ she did an' 'en He put a glass thing into it An' 'en he wiped it off again An' put it in my mouth a bit. 'En after w'ile he took it out An' held it up w'ere he could see. An' 'en he says, "H-m-m ! '1st about Too high a half of a degree." An' 'en Ma asked him if I'm bad An' he says "Nope !" 'ist gruff an' cross 'An says "W'y you can't kill a lad. An' if you do it ain't much loss !" 107 A MODERN MIRACLE An' 'en she's mad an' he 'ist bust Out laughin' an' he says, "Don't fret He's goin' t' be all right, I trust. W'y he ain't even half dead yet." An' 'en he felt my pulse, 'at way, An' patted me up on my head An' says ''There ain't no school today, 'Cuz one of th' trustees is dead !" An' my, I'm awful sorry w'en He told me that. An' 'en he said "He'll be all right by noon." An' 'en He went away. An' Ma says "Ned, How do you feel?" An' 'en, you know, Since Doctor told me that, somehow, I'm awful sick a while ago. But, my ! I'm almost well right now ! 108 DOUGHNUTTING TIME Wl unst w'en our girl wtiz makin' pies an' dough- nuts — '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 '11 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 Mc- Bride, The widow's only orfunt son 'at's waitin' there outside. An' Henry, he took one 'ist for himself an' Nellie Flynn, 'At's waitin' at the kitchen door an' dassent to come in Becuz her mother told her not, an' Johnn}^ he took two, 'Cuz Amy Brennan likes 'em hot, 'ist like we chinnern do. 109 DOUGHNUTTING TIME 'En Henry happened 'ist to think he didn't get a one For little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater's son, Who never gets 'em home becuz he says he ain't quite sure But thinks perhaps the reason wuz his folkeses are too poor. An' 'en I give my own away to little Willie Beggs 'At fell way down his stairs one day an' give him crooked legs, 'Cuz Willie always seems to know w'en our girl's goin' to bake, He wouldn't ast for none — oh, no ! But, my ! he's fond of cake. So I went back an' 'en I got another one for me Right out the kettle, smokin' hot an' brown as it could be, An' John, he got one, too, becuz he give his own to Clare, An' w'en our girl, she looked, there wuz 'ist two small doughnuts there ! 110 DOUGHNUTTING TIME M}' ! 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! Ill THE SECRET q^HERE'S a little word called "Sweetheart"; it's as old as heaven's blue ; »Tis the sweetest word e'er spoken and its joy is ever new ; It was Love's first murmured message, spoken in the ears of Love, When the Earth took shape from nothing and the blue sky arched above; It has come through Time unmeasured ; it has lived unnumbered years ; It was born of smiles and laughter and has dried Grief's countless tears ; It's the magic soul of Music and the living fire of Art, And I've chosen it to give thee — just that little word — "Sweetheart." 112 THE SECRET Ah, the aching hearts and heavy it has bidden hear and smile ; It has bidden Youth be merry and has cheered the Afterwhile Of the years to peace and gladness and the dreary days and long Are forgotten in the glory of its whispered evensong. It has made the heart go leaping of the schoolboy at his play ; It has filled with gladder dreaming all the sunshine of his day; It has bridged world-sundered chasms and has played the noblest part In the life and strife of being — just that little word — "Sweetheart." It has cheered the eve of battles ; it has fired the Heart of Dawn ; It has braved the mouth of cannon and has borne war's banners on ; It has lured the soldier Deathward, where the scarp was red and steep; It has trembled like a blessing on tTie ashen lips of Sleep; It has hushed the cry of children; it has fired the souls of men, Beaten back on shores of Failure to be bold and strong again ; In the hermit's cloistered silence or in Traffic's busy mart. It is of all, in all, through all — just that little word. "Sweetheart." 15 113 THE SECRET And forever and forever through the endlessness of Time, It shall hallow song and story and shall be the soul of rhyme ; It shall be a part of Being, much as heartbeat, much as breath, It shall be the joy of living and the overthrow of Death ; So I bid thee kneel and listen till I whisper thee the key, Till I tell thee why is Labor, Life, Love, Death, and Mystery; Hut or palace, serf or master, clod or genius, toil or art, It is of all, in all, through all — just that little word "Sweetheart." 114 THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS OOMETIMES when I got to do errands at night *^ An' th' moon is all dark an' th' aint any light, An' th' wind, when it blows, makes a shivery sound, An' everything seems awful still all around ; Sometimes when a hoot-owl goes "Woo-oo-oo-oo !" My legs feel so funny; I'm all goose-flesh, too. An' maybe I'm startled when I hear it call, But I ain't a bit scairt ; I'm thes' nervous, that's all. Oncet me an' Joe Simpson wuz walkin' one night A' past th' old graveyard, an' saw somethin' white 'Et looked like a ghost, standin' right in th' road, An' my, Joe wuz scairt ! 'Cuz he said 'et he knowed It wuz surely a ghost; an' I wisseled, becuz When you wissel you scare 'em ; an' all that it wuz Wuz a great, big, white cow ; an' it thes' walked away, An' I wuzn't no more scairt 'n if it wuz day ! 115 THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS 'Cuz I don't b'lieve in ghosts, an' I'd thes' as lieve go A' past any graveyard an' walk awful slow, An' wissel, an' sit on th' top of th' fence, 'Cuz th' aint any ghosts if you got any sense. An' when we saw that big white thing by th' road 'Et Joe wuz so scairt of, I wuzn't. I knowed All th' time it's no ghost. I wuz nervous becuz I knowed what it wuzn't, but not what it wuz ! 116 A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE T) OP took me to the circus 'cause it disappoints me so To have to stay at home, although he doesn't care to go; He's seen it all so many times, the wagons and the tents ; The cages of wild animals and herds of elephants ; This morning he went down with me to watch the big parade. He was so dreadful busy that he oughtn't to have staid, He said he'd seen it all before and all the reason he Went down and watched it coming was because it's new to me. Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he says : 'T guess You want a glass of lemonade, of course," and I says : '"Yes." And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank his he Told me he drank it only just to keep me company; And then he says, "The sideshow is, I s'pose, the same old sell. But everybody's goin' in, so we might just as well," He said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he Went in and saw it was because it was all new to me. 117 A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE Well, by and by we both came out and went in the big tent, And saw the lions and tigers and the bigges' elephant With chains on his front corner and an awful funny nose That looks around for peanuts that the crowd of people throws ; And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its nose around Until it found most every one that he threw on the ground ; He said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he Stayed there and threw 'em was because it was all new to me. Well, then the band began to play the liveliestest tune, And Pop, he says he guessed the show would open pretty soon ; So we went in the other tent, and Pop, he says to me : "I guess we'll get some reserved seats so you will sure- ly see." And then some lovely ladies came and stood there on the ground. And jumped up on the horses while the horses ran around ; Pop said he'd seen it all before, and all the reason he Looked at the ladies was because it was all new to me. 118 A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE Well, finally it's over, but a man come out to say That they're going to have a concert, and Pop said we'd better stay; He said they're always just the same and always such a sell, But lots of folks was staying and he guessed we might as well. Then by and by we're home again, and Mamma wants to know What kind of circus was it, and Pop said, "The same old show," And said he'd seen it all before and all the reason he Had stayed and seen it all was 'cause it's all so new to me. 119 A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER ' T S mornin' mamma told me 'At I mus' be awful dood, 'Tuz I'm startin' on my schooldays An' I promised her I would. But I'm awful much 'scouraged 'Tuz I tried so hard to det All the lessons teacher gave me, But I tant read yet ! My ! it's awful long till dinner, An' I couldn't hardly wait Wen I dot done wif my letters An' I wrote 'em on my slate. An' I'm 'shamed to tell my mamma 'At I dess sne'll have to let Me go back again tomorrow, 'Tuz I tant read yet. 120 A DISCOURAGED KINDKRGARTNER She'll be awful disappointed, 'Tuz I've been there half a day, An' she'll think I didn't study Or it wouldn't be that way. But I don't s'pose I tan help it, An' it does no dood to fret, 'Tuz I've been to school all mornin' An' I tant read yet. I dess our teacher's stupid, 'Tuz she didn't seem to care Wen I went right up an' told her Were she's sittin' in her chair, 'At I'm awful much 'iscouraged An' my mamma she would fret 'Tuz I've been to school all mornin' An' I tant read yet. An' 'en she started laugum', '1st as true as I'm alive, An' ast how old I am, an' 'en I told her half past five. An' 'en she tame an' tissed me, 'Tuz my eyes are dettin' wet. An' told me not to worry 'Tuz I tant read yet. 16 121 A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER I dess if she had Mother Goose She'd be 'isturbed herself, If she 'ud go an' det it Down f'm off th' lib'ry shelf, An' 'en vv'en it is open, I dess she's apt to fret If she's been to school all mornin' An' she tant read yet ! 122 A BOY'S CHOICE. T 'D ruther take a w'ippin' an' a scoldin' any day, 'Cuz a w'ippin' makes you tingle, but you go right out an' play, An' after w'ile you're over it an' 'en at dinner, w'y. Your mother's awful sorry an' she brings a piece of pie An' says she hates to do it, 'cuz it hurts her 'ist as bad As it does anybody w'en she w'ips her little lad. An' 'en at night she kisses you an' puts you into bed An' tucks the covers in an' says you're Mamma's Tur- ly-head. An' my! she's 'ist so lovely! An' she sits beside of you '1st 'cuz she feels so sorry over w'at she had to do. An' 'en she leaves the candle burn an* says for you to call If you want anything from her, an' you ain't scairt at all! 123 A BOY S CHOICE But w'en you get a scoldin' she don't never bring you pie, Becuz you'll surely break her heart ; an' 'en she starts to cry; An' my! you feel so sorry, an' you wisht she wouldn't, 'cuz It shows you how you've grieved her an' how turble bad you wuz. An' all day long she never smiles ; an' w'en .you go to bed She never leaves the candle burn or calls you Turly- head. An' sometimes you see big, w'ite things a-lookin' at your bed, 'At makes you scairt an' pull the covers up above your head, An' 'en you s'pose how would you feel if Mamma wuz to die, An' biumby you feel so bad 'at you 'ist start to cry. So w'en she looks at you so hurt an' talks to you 'at way — ■ I'd ruther take a w'ippin' 'an a scoldin' any day! 124 A BOY'S VACATION TIME. T T AIL, that long awaited day -^ -*• When, the school books laid away, All the thoughts of merry youngsters turn from pages back to play ! Done with lesson and with rule, Done with teacher and with school. Stray the vagrant hearts of childhood to the tempting wood and pool ! Who will tell in rune and rhyme Of the glory and the grime In the dusty lanes and byways of a boy's vacation time? Hark, the whistle and the cry That is piping shrill and high From the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riotously bvf 125 A BOY S VACATION TIME Say, did sun e'er brightly shine As when, with his rod and line Tramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water clear and fine ! Sweet the murmur of the trees. And what glory now he sees In the chatter of the wild birds and the buzz of bum- ble-bees ! Hear the green woods cry and call. Through the Summer to the Fall, "We are waiting, waiting, waiting, with a welcome for you all !" Hear the lads take up the cry, With an echo, shrill and high : "We are coming, coming, coming, for vacation time is nigh !" How the skies are blue and fair. How the clover scents the air With a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare! How the blossoms bud and blow. And the great waves flood and flow In the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and fro ! 126 A BOY S VACATION TIME Ah, my heart goes back and sighs When the piping calls and cries From the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of triumph rise ! And I would that rune and rhyme Might be splendid and sublime In my heart to tell the story of a boy's vacation time ! 127 THE DESPAIRING MUSE. COMEBODY has stolen the old garden gate, *^ The millwheel has gone to decay, The old oaken bucket is missing of late. It must have been taken away. The little red school house is wrecked and torn down Neglected its sad ruins lie, The moths have quite eaten up grandmother's gown, The old swimming hole has gone dry. Somebody has taken the old trundle bed, And broken the old cookie jar. The old milking stool in its wreckage is spread Out there where the chopping blocks are; The old lilac bushes that grew in the yard Are pulled up and missing somehow ; Ah me, but the prospect is bitter and hard. For what shall we write about now? 128 THE DESPAIRING MUSE The old rustic bridge is a wreck by the brook, They've paid off the mortgage, I see. Whose trials and tears have filled many a book. And cut down the old apple tree ; The old dry goods box at the grocery store Is split into kindlings at last, The day of the Neighborhood Poet is o'er, His verses are things of the past. The old log and dead that was there by the creek Has fallen down into the stream, No more may we sit there and patiently seek To weave the old days in a dream ; The old attic bedroom's a thing of the past. The old iron pump is no more. And here by the kitchen we stand quite aghast : They've pulled up the old cellar door ! 17 129 THE DESPAIRING MUSE The old cottage organ is hopelessly lost, The rain barrel's gone to decay, The old stepping stones we so frequently crossed Somebody has taken away. They've rebuilt the house, so old-fashioned and queer, And butchered the old brindle cow ; Ah, Muse, let us go ! We are not welcome here ! But what shall we write about now? 130 THE WAY HE USED TO DO C OMETIMES when I come in at night And take my shoes off at the stair, I hear my pop turn on the light And holler: "William, are you there?" And then he says : "You go to bed — I knew that stealthy step was you." And I asked how and then he said : " 'Cause that's the way I used to do." Sometimes when I come home at six O'clock and hurry up my chores. And get a big armful of sticks Of wood and bring it all indoors, My pop he comes and feels my head And says: "You've been in swimmin' — you When I asked how he knew he said : " 'Cause that's the way I used to do." 131 THE WAY HE USED TO DO Sometimes before a circus comes, When I'm as willing as can be To do my chores, and all my chums They all take turns at helping me, My pop, he pats 'em on the head And says: "You like a circus, too?" When I asked how he knew, he said: "'Cause that's the way I used to do." And lots of times when he gets mad Enough to whip me and declares He never saw another lad Like I am — well, at last he spares Me from a whipping and he lays His rawhide down : "I can't whip you For that, although I should," he says, " 'Cause that's the way I used to do." 132 BILLY PEEBLE'S CHRISTMAS "D ILLY PEEBLE, he ain't got no parunts — never had -*^ none, 'cause When he's borned he was an orfimt ; an' he said 'at Santa Claus Never didn't leave him nothin', 'cause he was a county charge. An' the overseer told him that his fambly was too large To remember orfunt children ; so I ast Ma couldn't we Have Bill Peeble up to our house, so's to see our Christmas tree. An' she ast me if he's dirty ; an' I said I guessed he was, But I didn't think it makes no difference with Santa Claus. 133 BILLY PEEBLE S CHRISTMAS My his clo'es was awful ragged ! Ma, she put him in a tub An' she poured it full of water, an' she gave him such a scrub 'At he 'ist set there an' shivered; an' he told me after- wurds '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 al- most 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 gunnysacks an' 'en she laid 'Em right down at the fireplace, 'ist 'cause she is afraid Santa Claus '11 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 after- wurds He was scairt he'd wake right up an' be at Overseer Bird's. 134 BILLY PEEBLE S CHRISTMAS Well, 'en she hung our stockin's up an' after w'ile she said : "Now, you an' Billy Feeble 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 Feeble, he Could hardly go to sleep at all — 'ist tossed an' tossed. You see We had such w'ite sheets on the bed an' he said after- wurds They never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird's. So we 'ist laid an' talked an' talked. An' Billy ast me who Was Santa Claus. An' I said I don't know if it's all true, But people say he's some old man who 'ist loves little boys , An' keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an' heaps of toys W'ich he brings down in a big sleigh, with reindeers for his steeds, An' comes right down the chimbly flue an' leaves 'ist what you needs. My ! he's excited w'en I told him that ! An' afterwurds He said they never had no toys at Overseer Bird's. 135 BILLY PEEBLE S CHRISTMAS I'm fallin' pretty near asleep w'en Billy Feeble said; "Sh-sh! What's that noise?" An' w'en he spoke I set right up in bed Till sure enough I heard it in the parlor down below, An Billy Feeble, 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 Feeble, go right back to bed !" My goodness, we was awful scairt ! An' both of us was pale, An' Billy Feeble said up stairs: "My! Ain't he 'ist a whale !" We didn't hardly dare to talk and got back into bed An' Billy pulled the counterpane clear up above his head, An' in the mornin' w'en we looked down on the gunny 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 I 136 BILLY FEEBLE S CHRISTMAS 'Ell, after w'ile it's dinner time an' Billy Feeble set Right next to Pa, an' my ! how he 'ist et an' et an' et ! Till he 'ist puffed an' had to leave his second piece of pie Because he couldn't eat no more. An' after dinner, w'y, Ma dressed him up in his new clo'es, an' Billy Feeble said He's sorry he's an' orfunt, an' Ma patted Billy's head, W'ich made him cry a little bit, an' he said afterwurds Nobody ever pats his head at Overseer Bird's. An' all day long Fa looked at Ma an' Ma she looked at him, Because Fa 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 Feeble makes my mother like him so. She says 'at Santa brought him as a present, 'ist instead Of little Jim 'at died oncet. So she 'ist put him to bed On Christmas night an' tucked nim in an' told me after- wurds 'At he ain't never goin' back to Overseer Bird's. 137 AN INTERRUPTED PREACHMENT T AM very tired of Money — in the abstract sense, of course, Though, my feelings notwithstanding, I appreciate its force ; But the thought comes to me sometimes that I'd hke to end my ills In some place there were no dollars, duns, debts, checks, drafts, notes or bills; I've supreme contempt for riches — all I want is what I need. For a half way decent living, but this madness gone to seed That would garner fruit of millions other men may have — not I^ Just excuse me for a minute — there's a dollar going by. 138 AN INTERRUPTED PREACHMENT I've no hungering for millions, for I know that wealth has wings, Though I'm frank to say that money will buy lots of pretty things ; But this never-ending struggle just to get a dollar more To a man of my convictions is an everlasting bore; And the current weekly wonder as to what will be my ,share In the scramble after dollars almost drives me to de- spair. For a lodge in some vast wilderness, quite moneyless, I sigh- Just excuse me for a minute — there's a dollar going by. I'm aware it's inconsistent to go out and bring it in, But somebody else would get it, so it hardly seems a sin; And the fact is that I need it, as a concrete essence which Will enable me to dine with all the splendor of the rich ; But the abstract dollar fills me with no feeling but dis- gust, And I only go and chase it because Wisdom says I must ; I would preach a little longer, but, alas, the pitcher's dry And I think I hear the jingle of a dollar going by. 139 GRAFT AND THE WOMAN IT ERE I sit in anger turning pages over ! I am burn- ing with my rage and stirred with yearning to go out and battle graft, For from what I have been reading all the country lies a-bleeding and the cause of right is needing Men to meet the arts of Craft; And my wife in peace is leaning back and idly magizin- ing, and with accents full of meaning I address her, for I vow Some new tale of graft she's reading; but she says: "I guess that's beading over plain lace edge is leading in the fashion books just now." 140 GRAFT AND THE WOMAN Then I read a little longer and the tale of graft grows stronger. Ah, my Country how they wrong her with their dark and sinful deeds ! And I seek to interest her in my Country's needs and vest her with this knowledge and arrest her rapt attention as she reads. And I say : "This revelation of the sapping of the Na- tion is creating a sensation — have you read the tale, my dear?" But she answers : "Madame Bounce is of opinion and announces that the olden style of flounces will come in again next year." Then again I turn to musing : Is my country really los- ing ground? Are sinful men abusing what our fathers cherished so? Is the sun of honor setting when our statesmen are forgetting all the oaths they swore and letting graft stalk idly to and fro? And again to her I'm speaking : "Here's a revelation reeking with dishonor — ah, the sneaking thieves, their crimes should cost them deitr!" But she says : "The Modern Hatter says that bonnets will be flatter and the firm of Click & Clatter have some Paris fashions here." 141 GRAFT AND THE V/OMAN "Madame," said I, "just a minute! Here's a tale with sorrow in it— sorrow for the shame and sin it so distressingly relates ; Will you listen while I read it? Will you give me ear? Indeed, it is enough to make hearts bleed, it is all full of names and dates." Then I read it with dramatic voice that swells from roof to attic, with an ardor democratic, and my heart was in my words ; And she murmured as I ended that the milliners intend- ed to use bows of ribbon blended with the plumage of rare birds ! 142 VANITY A T five a maiden's wants are few "^^~^ A set of blocks, a doll or two ; A little place inside to play If it should come a rainy day; A pair of shoes, a pinafore; I really think of nothing more. Nor wants she overmuch at ten ; A birthday party now and then, A bit of ribbon for her hair, A little better dress to wear. Perhaps a pony cart to drive — A bit more than she did at five. A modest increase at fifteen; A party dress, in red or green, A room alone that she may fix With bric-a-brac and candlesticks, A parasol, a fan — and, oh ! I quite forgot to add — a beau. 143 At twenty she is quite above All childish wants — she asks but love, And dreams of Princes, tall and fair, Who come a-wooing and who dare All dangers; and she keeps apart For him the castle of her heart. At twenty-five her fancy goes To bonnets, frills, and furbelows, A country place, a house in town, A better rig than Mrs. Brown Or Black or Jones, and just a wee Small figure in Society. At thirty — well, a little tea For the distinguished Mrs. B., Who writes — a Prince to entertain, A long-haired Lion to make vain With silly tricks, a horse show box And just a little plunge in stocks. At thirty-five and forty — well There isn't much that's new to tell; A little bigger country place, A real good lotion for the face, And some reduction made in those One can afiford to say she knows. 144 VANITY At fifty — does her fancy end? She wants — ah, yes, she wants a friend To prove her years were not in vain ; She wants those dreams of youth again. When Princes-errant, tall and fair. Lived, loved, and came a-wooing there. At seventy she wants to know Why Vanity and hollow show Tempt Wisdom from its lofty seat. She wants but ease for gouty feet. And peace to wonder what must be The last leaf's musings on the tree. 19 145 THE WOES OF THE CONSUMER T 'M only a consumer and it really doesn't matter How they crowd me in the street cars till I couldn't well be flatter; I'm only a consumer and the strikers may go striking For it's mine to end my living if it isn't to my liking. I am only a consumer and I have no special mission Except to pay the damages. Mine is a queer position, The Fates unite to squeeze me till I couldn't well be flatter But I'm only a consumer, so it really doesn't matter. The baker tilts the price of bread upon the vaguest rumor Of damage to the wheat crop, but Em only a consumer So it really doesn't matter, for there's no law that com- pels me To pay the added charges on the loaf of bread he sells me. The ice man leaves a smaller piece when days are growing hotter But I'm only a consumer and I do not need iced water, My business is to draw the checks and keep in a good humor And it really doesn't matter, for I'm only a consumer ! 146 THE WOES OF THE CONSUMER The milkman waters milk for me; there's garlic in my butter But I'm only a consumer, so it does no good to mutter. I know that coal is going up and beef is getting higher But I'm only a consumer and I have no need of fire. And beefsteak is a luxury that wealth alone is needing, I'm only a consumer and I have no need of feeding. My business is to pay the bills and keep in a good humor For I have no other mission, since I'm only a consumer. The grocer sells me addled eggs ; the tailor sells me shoddy But I'm only a consumer and I am not anybody. The cobbler pegs me paper soles; the dairyman short weights me, I'm only a consumer and most everybody hates me. There's turnip in my pumpkin pie and ashes in my pepper, The world's my lazaretto and I'm nothing but a leper, So lay me in my lonely grave and tread the turf down flatter, I'm only a consumer and it really doesn't matter. 147 THE REAL ISSUE 'T^ HERE are two issues, after all, Above the ones that speech may call Or wisdom utter; Two issues that with me and you Are most important — and the two Are bread and butter. Let patriotic banners wave, Let economic speakers rave; 'Tis not potential That Art proclaim or Music sing, The Loaf is, after all, the thing That's most essential. 148 THE REAL ISSUE Truth seeks some broader meeting place For breed or clan or tribe or race, For saint and sinner ; But after all the noise and fuss The issue paramount with us Is — What for dinner? New theories we may evolve, Old governments we may dissolve, New flags float o'er us, And Truth may search and Wisdom think, Still these two planks of meat and drink Are yet before us. So let contention hotly wage And let the wars of logic rage In discourse fretted ; When all the clamor is complete The issue still is what to eat — And how to get it ! 149 •THE TEST OF FAME T DO not yearn for splendid fame — A little share will do for me, And in the busy mundane game Of life, I'd simply like to see The time, when, seeing me in print, Folks would look at my name again. And, glancing up from it, just hint Of me : "Oh, yes, I knew him when — " It really isn't much to ask, And yet it is a splendid test Of those, more fortunate, who bask In smiles Fate gives those she loves best. If when my name, perchance, was read. Some good soul would arise and then Not speak some fulsome praise — instead Just say : "Oh, yes, I knew him when — " 150 THE TEST OF FAME I really wouldn't care, you know, Just when I had been known before, Or whether I'd been shoveling snow Or peddling ice or keeping store. Just so, whene'er my name was heard Through some creation of my pen, Some listening person might be stirred To say: "Oh, yes, I knew him when — ' So all I ask of fickle fame Is this, I think, quite modest boon. I do not ask a brilliant flame. That lights the world, but dies so soon; I only ask that some fine day Those sweetest words of tongue or pen Old friends of mine be moved to say Of me: "Oh, yes, I knew him when—" 151 THE CHOSEN ONES 'T^HAT fellowship of genius, unconstrained Of place or riches; nor its precincts gained Of loud alarum; for a brazen gate Thick-metaled, bids the wanderer await Until the sacred password is approved By Him who loveth art for art beloved. Nor ever ringeth false upon His ear That magic word that bids the gate swing clear, The moated ditches close, the drawbridge fall, The sentinels move harmless on the wall, The feast be spread, the laureled wreath be wove, For him who bears the signet-ring of Love. 152 THE CHOSEN ONES Not any soul discordant at the feast, Not any greatest one or any least, But all of common stature, having sipped The cup whose golden sides have dripped and dripped With the rare wine of Song, whose vineyards lie Where the clear blue of the Parnassian sky Dips down to earth to lift the souls of men That fell from Heaven back to Heaven again. And in that din and clamor I await The message that He sends who guards the gate. To bid me come within or bid me lay My dreams aside and .diligently stray By field and stream and under the blue sky. Seeking the truth afar with eager eye. Through many a sleepless night and weary day To serve with patience, suffer, learn, and pray, Until I gain the Secret, and the gate Shall be flung wide and those great souls await To welcome me, who, like me, unafraid. Untiring, patient, at the altar laid Their offerings once and once and once again, And once a hundred times, and more; till then They learned that patience was the word that bade The gate swing wide and waiting souls be glad! 20 153 WAR T T NANGERED columns hurled upon a foe; ^ Blood guiltless souls made gory at a word; Cheeks drenched with tears and widowed women's woe In the long wail of cloistered sorrow heard. Man at a cry be made furious and grim With scent of blood and smoke of bursting shell ; Dead faces on a field upturned to Him, And spirits flown — to Heaven or to Hell? Smoke, like the fumes from Hell's own caldron curled; Men schooled to murder at a bugle's blare ; Emblems of empire from a staff unfurled. Blades drawn from scabbards, bidden slay nor spare. Man and his brother, Man, the tie forgot. Each with his eye light with the lust of Cain; Blood, as the breech of belching cannon, hot Leaping to splash the battled hill or plain. 154 Night ! And long trenches with the dead thick laid. Sleep ! And wan beacons flaring in the sky. Rest ! Claims a truce the blood-incrusted blade. Dreams ! Of the dead and those so soon to die. Hark ! 'Tis the bugle ! And, with bloody hands, Sleep greets the dawn and Murder comes from bed ! Lives are the ancient sacrifice of Lands. Vainglory heaps her altar fires with dead. 155 AIRCASTLETOWN A TRUCE to thy struggling, poor mortal who strives ; A rest to thy efforts poor, hungering soul ; Come, Need, cast away all thy harrowing gyves, And, Sorrow, I'll take thee where dreams are made whole. Here in the dim twilight we'll sit by and dream; Our fancies stray far as the light thistledown, For, red as the sunrise, the golden rays gleam Over there on the hilltops, near Aircastletown. Ah, light as the leaf on the wandering breeze We'll float in our dreams from these sorrows away; Where fruit of fulfillment is ripe on the trees And sunlight of hope never dims night or day. So here at the twilight we'll float with the tide Of ungoverned fancy, nor borrow a frown From the face of tomorrow, but carelessly glide Down the stream of our dreamings to Aircastletown. 156 AIRCASTLETOWN My cottage a palace, my palace a King's, All peopled with dreams by some magic come true; My wicket a drawbridge that never once swings At the summons of Care — and, ah, best of all. You ! A fig for the cares that beset me the day, The smile of fulfillment swift conquers my frown, For the sails of my dreams to the winds dip away And I'm ofif for a journey to Aircastletown. What seek ye? Some treasure by Caprice denied? What would ye? Some toy Fate might find thee with ease? What ask ye? Some fair wind and flood of the tide To bring home thy argosy, far on the seas ? Then truce to thy dreamings — come journey with me, On wings fine and airy as light thistledown. And here at the twilight come sit, dream, and see Thy longings come true there in Aircastletown. 157 A REALLY PRETTY GIRL T HAVE traveled alien countries (through the medium of books) I have seen (in photogravures) Italy's sunburnished skies ; I've had (stereoptic) visions of cliff-bounded mountain brooks, And the camera has brought me where Killarney's splendor lies. In the biograph exhibits I have trodden courts of kings, To the ends of earth (in lectures) I have let my senses whirl, And it all one sage conclusion to my comprehension brings : There is nothing half as splendid as a really pretty girl. 158 A REALLY PRETTY GIRL I have seen (in scenic albums) all the gardens of the East, I have been (in dreams fantastic) where the tropic breezes blow, I have watched (in moving pictures) where Niagara like yeast Frothed above its splendid chasm and upon the rocks below. By the banks of the Euphrates (done on canvas) I have strolled, In the valley of Yosemite seen scenic glories whirl In kaleidoscopic splendor, but when all the tale is told, There is nothing half as splendid as a really pretty girl. When Nature did the firmament and splashed the som- bre skies With the splendor of the dawning; when she set the moon and stars As the jewels in the crown of Night and with her gor- geous dyes Made glorious the garden where the nodding flowers are. She had in mind a vision far beyond the dreams of kings, A tingling inspiration that set every sense a-whirl So after she had practiced on these quite imperfect things She set to work and fashioned us a really pretty girl. 159 DREAMS T F the iceman should come to me some day, While weighing out a piece at my back door, And, dropping it upon the porch, would say: "It was so cold last year and year before, The crop is long and we have cut the price" — If he should just say that and lay the ice On my back steps and then drive on — but hush ! Such dreams as this are only silly gush. Or if the butcher, wrapping up my steak, Should say : "You know, the corn crop was so vast, And feed so cheap, we're able now to make A slight reduction in the price at last" — I say, if he should tell me that and take Two cents a pound from last week's price of steak, I wonder if the shock — but pshaw ! why spare The time to build such castles in the air? 160 • DREAMS Or if the baker, doling out my bread, Should put a penny back into my hand, And say : "The world will be more cheaply fed, Since there is a large wheat crop in the land" — I say, if he should voluntarily Return a single penny unto me, I wonder if I'd be — ^but, Heart, be still ; There is no possibility he will ! Or if my tailor, deftly sizing me For a new suit, should say: "You know that sheep Are multiplying fast and wool will be In cloth upon the market very cheap" — I say, if he should just say that and take Five dollars from the price — well, then, I'd wake Right up and rub my sleepy eyes and laugh. To think of tailors giving me such chaff. 161 DREAMS I know that these are merely dreams — that ice And meat and bread are going up — that crop Or weather will do naught but raise the price : There is no likelihood of any drop ; But my employer tells me he will give Me higher wage — it costs so much to live — So now I do not need to skimp and scratcli- My pipe is out ! Has any one a match .•' 162 A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY V^yHEN the Circle's fair was ended we had forty dol- lars net, An' the members of the Circle had been duly called an' met To agree on how to spend it for the glory of the cause, All' agreeable to custom an' the Circle's rules an' laws. Sister Sarah Newton Tarbox thought it orto go to pay On the minister's back salary, an' Sarah had her say Until Sister Marthy Colby p'inted out it wouldn't do Under subdivision sixty-six of chapter twenty-two. Sister Sarah, squelched, set silent, an' she wouldn't say a word, Save thet now an' then, sarcastic, to the Circle she re- ferred To the heathen, fat an' lazy, in a far-off furrin' clime. An' the preacher outen flour more'n half the mortal tim?. 163 A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY Sister Prudence Wilson Connors humbly ventured to suggest Thet the minister was needin' of a Sunday coat an' vest, An' we argyed it, prayerful, till the whole plan was knocked out By a leetle p'int of order raised by Sister Susan Stout. Sister Prudence set there thoughtful through the foller- in' debate, With her Christian sperrit ruffled, an' allowed she orto state Fer the clearin' of her conscience thet she would n't oncet demur If we threw it in the river, it was all the same to her. Sister Amy Ellen Droppers thought the money sh'u'd be lent To some needy soul an' honest at a moderate per cent., But the by-laws of the Circle, so said Sister Sophy Squeer, On the plan of lendin' money wa'n't exactly plain an' clear. 164 A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY Sister Amy Ellen hinted she had nothin' more t' say On the plan thet she suggested ef the law stood in the way, But she said it was a pity the committee on expense Had n't framed the Circle's by-laws in accord with common sense. Sister Evalina Spriggins said she thought it plain to see What a Furrin' Mission Circle's bounden duty orto be, An' she couldn't see how preachers of the Sperrit was to roam With the Furrin Mission Circles spendin' money here at home. At which Sister Phoebe Lucy Brown arose, an', summat het. Said she guessed she knew her duty, an' she didn't choose to set An' hear a sister hintin' in a most onchristian way Thet the Furrin Mission Circle was a-goin' fur astrav ! 165 A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY An' then Sister Spriggins told her thet she had n't meant no slur On the Fiirrin Mission Circle an', leastwise of all, at her. Said she knew thet Sister Phoebe knew her business, it was true, An' she 'd heerd she knew most everybody else's busi* ness, too. Then good Sister Patience Hitchcock said the Circle better burn Every cent of it than quarrel, an' she motioned to ad- journ At which Sister Ellen Jackson riz up slowly on her feet An' declared there was an error in the Circle's balance- sheet. 'Stid o' havin' forty dollars over all the fair's expense She had found we had a deficit of sixty-seven cents. She had got her figgers crosswise when she added up her sheets An' had put expended items in the columns o' receipts ! 166 A PROVIDENTIAL DISCOVERY So with harmony prevaiHn' Sister Spriggins led in prayer, An' Sister Phoebe Lncy Brown observed to Sister Blair Thet we 're all poor, mortal creeters, who don't seem to understand How the good Lord holds us, helpless, in the holler of his hand ! 167 THE DEATH OE POETRY (There is no demand for poetry, according to one of the greatest of international publishers. — Daily Paper.) T AY her and her muted lyre Here together on this pyre. And the laurels she has won, Lay them, lay them, one by one As a pillow for her head. Who lies here, forlorn and dead. None to mourn her, none to praise. Homer loved her in his days ; Sappho struck the lyre of her, Petrarch was her worshipper. Virgil, Dante — all are mute. Hers a split and silenced lute. 168 THE DEATH OF POETRY Burns her erring child and poor, Byron wooed her and did Moore From her happiest moods beguile Sweetness in a worded smile. And where subtle Shelley slept She paused once an hour — and wept. Regal, beautiful, she stood In her glorious goddesshood, Bade Shakespeare, her child to be By her own divinity Half-godlike, and where she trod Hallowed man and worshipped God. By vagrant stream and eerie wood She wandered with the merry Hood. Piped her pastoral lays oft were With Goldsmith as interpreter, And Whitman knew her dreamy days. And went with her up mountain ways. 22 169 THE DEATH OF POETRY When gloomy Poe her favor sued, She listened and she understood. Holmes claimed her joyous presence oft, And Bryant knew her in her soft And gracious whiles, and Whittier In green fields would walk with her. A minister to grief, she moved By many wooed, yet few she loved, And those she best beloved, she lent Her grandeur of the firmament. Of seas and skies and subtle arts, Of love and grief and human hearts. Here upon the funeral pyre Lay her and her muted lyre. Know ye, mourners at her bier, 'Tis a goddess that lies here. And above ye all as far As the weeping angels are. 170 THE LAST APPEAL T^ OR her sake I will woo thee, Oh, Fortune, and sue thee For peace ; I will bow thee my arrogant pride. For her sake I will bend thee My head, and will lend the My struggles again what thy caprice betide. Think not that I fear thee ! Myself, I would jeer thee And bid thee defiance to do what it please Thee to do; but to render To her what the tender Heart's love of me bids, I will crook thee my knees. I come not to woo thee For fame, or to sue thee. But only as pleader for her when I see Her so crushed in her spirit; Ah, jade — thou must hear it, The prayer that goes from me to heaven — and thee. 171 THE LAST APPEAL Think not I am pleading For self; were I bleeding And battered thy minions should still taste my sword ; But, ah ! 'Tis not human To withhold from woman The little she craves, when by woman adored. Not wealth beyond measure, Not gold of thy treasure, But, ah! just enough of thy goodness to lay Before her, and reaping My joy in her weeping Of pride in my conquest, find comfort today. So for her sake I woo thee, Again I will sue thee, For her sake I come and I fawn like a cur Begging food; but remember My last ashing ember Shall hate thee — but still I will woo thee — for her! 172 IHI St A S4^ "oV 'h'9 » »°-^<*.. V >- '^^..^^ /Ji^\ v/ /^v^^- ^- -^ v*^^ .5^^^. ^^^^ A^"-. > A *°-n*i. V •^^<^ '.' .^^^^^. o ^ % ^ 6^"-. 0' •I*"' '^^ v^ HECKMAN BINDERY INC. |§ # DEC 88 N. MANCHESTER INDIANA 46962