Chapter I: Part 1

THE VERSES OF
JAMES W. FOLEY

BOYS AND GIRLS

THE VERSES OF
JAMES W. FOLEY

NEW YORK
E·P·DUTTON & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1905, 1907, 1909, 1910, 1911
BY JAMES W. FOLEY

COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS
NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A·

TO MY WIFE

CONTENTS

PAGE

AWAY 3

THE RECIPROCITY OF SMILES 5

A DOMESTIC RIPPLE 7

THE ADAMS’S BOYS 9

BILLY PEEBLE’S CHRISTMAS 11

THE WAY HE USED TO DO 16

A BOY’S VACATION TIME 18

A BOY’S CHOICE 20

A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER 22

THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS 24

A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE 25

THE LOST CHILD 28

DOUGHNUTTING TIME 30

A MODERN MIRACLE 32

NERVOUSTOWN 34

SONG OF SUMMER DAYS 36

WHAT MOTHER DOESN’T KNOW 37

SO LONESOME NOW 39

A LITTLE LOVE STORY 41

ON A NOISELESS FOURTH 43

CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE 45

THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL 47

HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS 49

THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES 50

THE GINGERCAKE MAN 52

LONESOME 54

THE GARDEN OF PLAY 57

WE AIN’T SCARED OF PA 59

A PEARL OF PRICE 61

DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN 63

GIRL OF MINE 65

CHUMS 67

THE LOST BOY 69

LINES TO A BABY GIRL 71

LITTLE MISCHEFUSS 73

THE TRAVELS OF MORTIMER BROWN 75

ADVENTURERS THREE 77

WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO 79

SOMEBODY DID 81

THE WADERS 83

THE PRISONED PUPIL 85

A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS 87

A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS PRAYER 89

HENRY BLAKE’S CHUM 91

ONCE UPON A TIME 93

THE WAY TO SCHOOL 95

A PRESENT FOR LITTLE BOY BLUE 97

THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION 99

SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW 101

GONE 103

THE NEIGHBOR’S BOYS 104

A QUIET AFTERNOON 106

THE OWNERLESS TOYS 108

THE STRANGER 110

IN VACATION TIME 112

BEREAVED 114

TWO LITTLE MAIDS 117

A NEW CHRISTMAS CAROL 118

THE RECONCILIATION OF PA 120

A WORLD WITHOUT CARE 122

RIGHT AFTER SCHOOL 124

A PLEA FOR OLD FRIENDS 127

THE BOYVILLE CADETS 129

A LITTLE BOY I KNOW 132

ASLEEP AT THE CIRCUS 135

THE BARRIERS 137

THE PLAINT OF THE NEW DOLL 139

A CHILD’S ALMANAC 141

THE LOSER 143

BACK TO SCHOOL 146

DISENCHANTMENTS 148

A RAINY NIGHT 150

KITCHEN MIRACLES 152

JIM BRADY’S BIG BROTHER 154

THE SCAPEGOAT 156

A TRAGEDY OF CENTER FIELD 158

IN SWIMMING 161

AN UNUSUAL CHUM 163

AND JUST THEN 164

AFTERWARDS 167

CIRCUS DAY 168

THE TOUR OF A SMILE 170

WHEN GRANDPA PLAYS 172

THE PARTED WAYS 175

A MESSAGE HOME 177

LULLABY 180

DISGUISING TOIL 182

LITTLE GIRL WITH THE CURLS 185

MY WONDERFUL DAD 187

REMEMBRANCES, BILL 190

THE BEREAVEMENT 192

IN CHILDHOOD TIME 194

DON’T 196

EXTINGUISHED 198

THE UNCHEERED HERO 199

OLD HALLOWE’EN FRIENDS 201

A REFUGE IN DISTRESS 203

THE LOST HEART 205

VERSES OF A LITTLE CHILD 208

GOLDEN DAYS IN SLOWVILLE 210

THE HEART OF A CHILD 213

THE STRENUOUS LIFE 214

A SONG OF MOTHERHOOD 216

YOUTH 218

AFTER THE YEARS 220

A VERSE TO MEMORY 222

LEST I FORGET 224

ECHO OF A SONG 226

LOVERS’ LANE 228

DADDY KNOWS 230

TO CHILDREN AT THE HEARTH 232

A TOAST TO THE SMALL BOY 234

AN ADVENTUROUS DAY 236

POEM OF THE FORAGERS 238

ILLUSTRATIONS

BY REGINALD BIRCH

Song of Summer Days _Frontispiece_

The Adams’s Boys _facing page_ 10

Billy Peeble’s Christmas 14

A Modern Miracle 32

A Little Love Story 42

The Gingercake Man 52

The Waders 84

A Prayer for Jimmy Banks 88

Once Upon A Time 94

The Neighbor’s Boys 104

Asleep at the Circus 136

In Swimming 162

The Parted Ways 176

Lullaby 180

Verses of a Little Child 208

Lover’s Lane 228

BOYS AND GIRLS

AWAY

“I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said,
As he clattered him down the stair,
And found him a hat for his curly head
And called to a dog somewhere.
Then off like a flash down the shady lane
With a whistle and cry and song;
And back to us ever it came again:
“I won’t be gone very long.”

“I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said,
As we saw him among the trees,
His eyes all bright and his cheeks all red,
A friend of the birds and bees;
Then through the hedges and out of the gate,
For naught in the world goes wrong
With a boy of six or seven or eight--
“I won’t be gone very long.”

“I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said,
“I’m just going out to play.”
And the curly dog barked and the two of them sped
Over the clover away.
He waved us a kiss with a little brown hand
And cries rose from here and there,
For oh, but a boy does understand
A dog and the open air!

“I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said,
“Don’t wait any supper--you see,
I’ll just have a bowl of milk and bread
And my dog he will eat with me.”
Then he swung his hat on its tangled string
Till the curly dog wagged his tail
And romped and played like a boy in spring
And barked him a comrade’s hail.

“I won’t be long,” the Little Boy said--
Oh, Mother of him, don’t cry!
The leaves come green again, yellow and red,
And the years and the years go by.
But sometime he’ll come, as we’ve seen him do,
With the bark of a dog and a song,
For it must be true--oh, it must be true
That he’ll not be gone very long!

THE RECIPROCITY OF SMILES

Sometimes I wonder why they smile so pleasantly at me,
And pat my head when they pass by as friendly as can be;
Sometimes I wonder why they stop to tell me How-d’-do,
And ask me then how old I am and where I’m going to;
And ask me can I spare a curl and say they used to know
A little girl that looked like me, oh, years and years ago;
And I told Mamma how they smiled and asked her why they do,
So she said if you smile at folks they always smile at you.

I never knew I smiled at them when they were going by,
I guess it smiled all by itself and that’s the reason why;
I just look up from playing if it’s any one I know
And they most always smile at me and maybe say Hello;
And I can smile at any one, no matter who or where,
Because I’m just a little girl with lots of them to spare;
And Mamma said we ought to smile at folks, and if you do
Most always they feel better and they smile right back at you.

And when so many smile at me and ask me for a curl
It makes me think most everybody likes a little girl;
And once when I was playing and a man was going by
He smiled at me and then he rubbed some dust out of his eye,
Because it made it water so, and said he used to know
A little girl up in his yard who used to smile just so;
And then I asked why don’t she now and then he said “You see--”
And then he rubbed his eye again and only smiled at me.

A DOMESTIC RIPPLE

Some days my Pa is thist so cross
’At Ma, she snaps him off an’ said:
“I guess your father must ’a’ got
Up on th’ wrong side of th’ bed.”
An’ ’en Pa says he’d like to eat
Thist bread, he would, in peace once more;
An’ Ma, she bu’sts out cryin’ nen
An’ Pa goes out an’ slams th’ door--
An’ ’en I git a spankin’!

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

An’ ’en, ’em days, th’ littlest things
I do ’ll almost drive her wild,
An’ she says “Goodness sakes alive!
Was ever such another child?”
An’ she says: “Do run out an’ play!”
An’ thist when I git started, nen
She hollers right at me this way:
“Willyum! You march right in again!”
An’ ’en I git a spankin’!

An’ Pa, he don’t come home to lunch
’Cuz Ma, she says he’s too ashamed
To face her after such a scene
An’ says she surely can’t be blamed
For Pa’s mean, ugly, hateful ways,
An’ Ma ain’t got no heart to eat,
Nen, thist ’cuz I want honey on
My bread, er jam, er sumpin sweet--
Why nen I git a spankin’!

An’ ’en, along ’bout supper time
Pa sneaks in thist th’ easiest
You ever see; an’ nen he looks
For Ma; an’ she’s th’ freeziest
’At ever was. An’ Pa, he’s got
Some candy an’ he says he’s ’shamed,
An’ fin’ly Ma says mebbe she
Was also partly to be blamed,
An’ ’en ’at ends my spankin’!

THE ADAMS’S BOYS

The Adams’s children, they just romp and play
And fall out of trees in the carelessest way,
And might break their legs from the way that they fall,
But they get up laughing and not hurt at all,
’Cause boys’ bones are soft, so their grandfather said;
And John Quincy Adams, he stands on his head
And drinks from a dipper, and all over town
The boys will tell you how he drinks upside down.

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

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

The Adams’s children, they go out to play
And sometimes their mother don’t see them all day,
But she never frets, ’cause the world is too small,
So she said, for three boys to get lost in it all.
And sometimes she listens outdoors and she hears
The laughing and barking way over to Geer’s,
Which is most half a mile, and she smiles, because then
She knows they’ll be home when they’re hungry again.

The Adams’s children, they get on as though
They were three great chums and not brothers, you know;
And folks like to hear them, when they’re going past,
With the big one ahead and the little one last.
They’ve always got playmates of their very own,
And don’t have to do chores or to study alone,
And everything seems to be three times the fun
For the Adams’s children as though there’s just one!

BILLY PEEBLE’S CHRISTMAS

Billy Peeble, he ain’t got no parents--never had none, ’cause
When he’s borned he was an orfunt; an’ he said ’at Santa Claus
Never didn’t leave him nothin’, ’cause he was a county charge,
An’ the overseer told him that his fambly was too large
To remember orfunt children; so I ast Ma couldn’t we
Have Bill Peeble up to our house, so’s to see our Christmas tree.
An’ she ast me if he’s dirty; an’ I said I guessed he was,
But I didn’t think it makes no difference with Santa Claus.

My his clo’es was awful ragged! Ma, she put him in a tub
An’ she poured it full of water, an’ she gave him such a scrub
’At he ’ist set there an’ shivered; an’ he told me afterwurds
’At he never washed all over out to Overseer Bird’s!
’En she burned his ragged trousies an’ she gave him some of mine;
My! she rubbed him an’ she scrubbed him till she almost made him shine,
Nen he ’ist looked all around him like he’s scairt for quite a w’ile,
An’ even w’en Ma’d pat his head he wouldn’t hardly smile.

’En after w’ile Ma took some flour-sacks an’ ’en she laid
’Em right down at the fireplace, ’ist ’cause she is afraid
Santa Claus ’ll soil the carpet when he comes down there, you know;
An’ Billy Peeble watched her, an’ his eyes stuck out--’ist so!
’En Ma said ’at in the mornin’ if we’d look down on the sacks
’At they’d be ’ist full of soot where Santa Claus had made his tracks;
Billy Peeble stood there, lookin’! An’ he told me afterwurds
He was scairt he’d wake right up an’ be at Overseer Bird’s.

Well, ’en she hung our stockin’s up an’ after w’ile she said:
“Now, you an’ Billy Peeble better go right off to bed,
An’ if you hear a noise tonight, don’t you boys make a sound,
’Cause Santa Claus don’t never come with little boys around!”
So me an’ Billy went to bed, an’ Billy Peeble, he
Could hardly go to sleep at all--’ist tossed an’ tossed. You see
We had such w’ite sheets on the bed an’ he said afterwurds
They never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird’s.

So we ’ist laid an’ talked an’ talked. An’ Billy ast me who
Was Santa Claus. An’ I said I don’t know if it’s all true,
But people say he’s some old man who ’ist loves little boys
An’ keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an’ heaps of toys
W’ich he brings down in a big sleigh, with reindeers for his steeds,
An’ comes right down the chimbly flue an’ leaves ’ist what you needs.
My! he’s excited w’en I told him that! An’ afterwurds
He said they never had no toys at Overseer Bird’s.

I’m fallin’ pretty near asleep w’en Billy Peeble said:
“Sh-sh! What’s that noise?” An’ w’en he spoke I set right up in bed
Till sure enough I heard it in the parlor down below,
An’ Billy Peeble, he set up an’ ’en he said: “Le’s go!”
So we got up an’ sneaked down stairs, an’ both of us could see
’At it was surely Santa Claus, ’ist like Ma said he’d be;
But he must heard us comin’ down, because he stopped an’ said:
“You, Henry Blake an’ William Peeble, go right back to bed!”

My goodness, we was awful scairt! An’ both of us was pale,
An’ Billy Peeble said up stairs: “My! Ain’t he ’ist a whale!”
We didn’t hardly dare to talk and got back into bed
An’ Billy pulled the counterpane clear up above his head,
An’ in the mornin’ w’en we looked down on the flour-sacks,
W’y sure enough we saw the soot where he had made his tracks,
An’ Billy got a suit of clothes, a drum, an’ sled an’ books,
Till he ’ist never said a word, but my! how glad he looks!

’En after w’ile it’s dinner time an’ Billy Peeble set
Right next to Pa, an’ my! how he ’ist et an’ et an’ et!
Till he ’ist puffed an’ had to leave his second piece of pie

Because he couldn’t eat no more. An’ after dinner, w’y,
Ma dressed him up in his new clo’es, an Billy Peeble said
He’s sorry he’s an orfunt, an’ Ma patted Billy’s head,
W’ich made him cry a little bit, an’ he said afterwurds
Nobody ever pats his head at Overseer Bird’s.

An’ all day long Pa looked at Ma an’ Ma she looked at him,
Because, Pa said ’at Billy looked a little bit like Jim
’At was my baby brother, but he died oncet, years ago,
An’ ’at’s w’y Billy Peeble makes my mother like him so.
She says ’at Santa brought him as a present, ’ist instead
Of little Jim ’at died oncet. So she ’ist put him to bed
On Christmas night an’ tucked him in an’ told me afterwurds
’At he ain’t never goin’ back to Overseer Bird’s.

THE WAY HE USED TO DO

Sometimes when I come in at night
And take my shoes off at the stair,
I hear my Pop turn on the light
And holler: “William, are you there?”
And then he says: “You go to bed--
I knew that stealthy step was you.”
And I asked how and then he said:
“’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

Sometimes when I come home at six
O’clock and hurry up my chores,
And get a big armful of sticks
Of wood and bring it all indoors,
My Pop he comes and feels my head
And says: “You’ve been in swimmin’--you!”
When I asked how he knew, he said:
“’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

Sometimes before a circus comes,
When I’m as willing as can be
To do my chores, and all my chums
They all take turns at helping me,
My Pop, he pats ’em on the head
And says: “You like a circus, too?”
When I asked how he knew, he said:
“’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”
And lots of times when he gets mad
Enough to whip me and declares
He never saw another lad
Like I am--well, at last he spares
Me from a whipping and he lays
His rawhide down: “I can’t whip you
For that, although I should,” he says,
“’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

A BOY’S VACATION TIME

Hail, that long-awaited day
When, the school books laid away,
All the thoughts of merry youngsters turn from pages back to play!
Done with lesson and with rule,
Done with teacher and with school,
Stray the vagrant hearts of childhood to the tempting wood and pool!

Who will tell in rune and rhyme
Of the glory and the grime
In the dusty lanes and byways of a boy’s vacation time?
Hark, the whistle and the cry
That is piping shrill and high
From the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riotously by!

Say, did sun e’er brightly shine
As when, with his rod and line
Tramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water clear and fine?
Sweet the murmur of the trees,
And what glory now he sees
In the chatter of the wild birds and the buzz of bumble-bees!

Hear the green woods cry and call,
Through the Summer to the Fall,
“We are waiting, waiting, waiting, with a welcome for you all!”
Hear the lads take up the cry,
With an echo, shrill and high:
“We are coming, coming, coming, for vacation time is nigh!”

How the skies are blue and fair,
How the clover scents the air
With a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare!
How the blossoms bud and blow,
And the great waves flood and flow
In the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and fro!

Ah, my heart goes back and sighs
When the piping calls and cries
From the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of triumph rise!
And I would that rune and rhyme
Might be splendid and sublime
In my heart to tell the story of a boy’s vacation time!

A BOY’S CHOICE

I’d ruther take a w’ippin’ ’an a scoldin’ any day,
’Cuz a w’ippin’ makes you tingle, but you go right out an’ play,
An’ after w’ile you’re over it an’ ’en at dinner, w’y,
Your mother’s awful sorry an’ she brings a piece of pie
An’ says she hates to do it, ’cuz it hurts her ’ist as bad
As it does anybody w’en she w’ips her little lad.

An’ ’en at night she kisses you an’ puts you into bed
An’ tucks the covers in an’ says you’re Mamma’s Turly-head,
An’ my! she’s ’ist so lovely! An’ she sits beside of you
’Ist ’cuz she feels so sorry over w’at she had to do.
An’ ’en she leaves the candle burn an’ says for you to call
If you want anything from her, an’ you ain’t scairt at all!

But w’en you get a scoldin’ she don’t never bring you pie,
Becuz you’ll surely break her heart; an’ ’en she starts to cry;
An’ my! you feel so sorry, an’ you wisht she wouldn’t, ’cuz
It shows you how you’ve grieved her an’ how turble bad you wuz.
An’ all day long she never smiles; an’ w’en you go to bed
She never leaves the candle burn or calls you Turly-head.

An’ sometimes you see big, w’ite things a-lookin’ at your bed,
’At makes you scairt an’ pull the covers up above your head,
An’ ’en you s’pose how would you feel if Mamma wuz to die,
An’ biumby you feel so bad ’at you ’ist start to cry.
So w’en she looks at you so hurt an’ talks to you ’at way--
I’d ruther take a w’ippin’ ’an a scoldin’ any day!

A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER

’Is mornin’ mamma told me
’At I mus’ be awful dood,
’Tuz I’m startin’ on my schooldays
An’ I promised her I would.
But I’m awful much ’iscouraged
’Tuz I tried so hard to det
All the lessons teacher gave me,
But I tant read yet!

My! it’s awful long till dinner,
An’ I couldn’t hardly wait
Wen I dot done wif my letters
An’ I wrote ’em on my slate,
An’ I’m ’shamed to tell my mamma
’At I dess she’ll have to let
Me go back again tomorrow,
’Tuz I tant read yet.

She’ll be awful disappointed,
’Tuz I’ve been there half a day,
An’ she’ll think I didn’t study
Or it wouldn’t be that way.
But I don’t s’pose I tan help it,
An’ it does no dood to fret,
’Tuz I’ve been to school all mornin’
An’ I tant read yet.

I dess our teacher’s stupid,
’Tuz she didn’t seem to care
W’en I went right up an’ told her
Were she’s sittin’ in her chair,
’At I’m awful much ’iscouraged
An’ my Mamma she would fret
’Tuz I’ve been to school all mornin’
An’ I tant read yet.

An’ ’en she started laughin’,
It’s as true as I’m alive,
An’ ast how old I am, an’ ’en
I told her half past five,
An’ ’en she tame an’ tissed me,
’Tuz my eyes are dettin’ wet,
An’ told me not to worry
’Tuz I tant read yet.

I dess if she had Mother Goose
She’d be ’isturbed herself,
If she ’ud go an’ det it
Down f’m off th’ lib’ry shelf,
An’ ’en w’en it is open,
I dess she’s apt to fret
If she’s been to school all mornin’
An’ she tant read yet!

THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS

Sometimes when I got to do errands at night
An’ th’ moon is all dark an’ th’ ain’t any light,
An’ th’ wind, when it blows, makes a shivery sound,
An’ everything seems awful still all around;
Sometimes when a hoot-owl goes “Woo-oo-oo-oo!”
My legs feel so funny; I’m all goose-flesh, too.
An’ maybe I’m startled when I hear it call,
But I ain’t a bit scairt; I’m thes’ nervous, that’s all.

Oncet me an’ Joe Simpson wuz walkin’ one night
A’ past th’ old graveyard, an’ saw somethin’ white
’Et looked like a ghost, standin’ right in th’ road,
An’ my, Joe wuz scairt! ’Cuz he said ’et he knowed
It wuz surely a ghost; an’ I wisseled, becuz
When you wissel you scare ’em; an’ all that it wuz
Wuz a great, big, white cow; an’ it thes’ walked away,
An’ I wuzn’t no more scairt ’n if it wuz day!

’Cuz I don’t b’lieve in ghosts, an’ I’d thes’ as lieve go
A’ past any graveyard an’ walk awful slow,
An’ wissel, an’ sit on th’ top of th’ fence,
’Cuz th’ ain’t any ghosts if you got any sense.
An’ when we saw that big white thing by th’ road
’Et Joe wuz so scairt of, I wuzn’t. I knowed
All th’ time it’s no ghost. I wuz nervous becuz
I knowed what it wuzn’t, but not what it wuz!

A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE

Pop took me to the circus ’cause it disappoints me so
To have to stay at home, although he doesn’t care to go;
He’s seen it all so many times, the wagons and the tents;
The cages of wild animals and herds of elephants;
This morning he went down with me to watch the big parade,
He was so dreadful busy that he oughtn’t to have stayed,
He said he’d seen it all before and all the reason he
Went down and watched it coming was because it’s new to me.

Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he says: “I guess
You want a glass of lemonade, of course,” and I says: “Yes.”
And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank his he
Told me he drank it only just to keep me company;
And then he says, “The sideshow is, I s’pose, the same old sell,
But everybody’s goin’ in, so we might just as well.”
He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he
Went in and saw it was because it was all new to me.

Well, by and by we both came out and went in the big tent,
And saw the lions and tigers and the bigges’ elephant
With chains on his front corner and an awful funny nose
That looks around for peanuts that the crowd of people throws;
And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its nose around
Until it found most every one that he threw on the ground;
He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he
Stayed there and threw ’em was because it was all new to me.

Well, then the band began to play the liveliestest tune,
And Pop, he says he guessed the show would open pretty soon;
So we went in the other tent, and Pop, he says to me:
“I guess we’ll get some reserved seats so you will surely see.”
And then some lovely ladies came and stood there on the ground,
And jumped up on the horses while the horses ran around;
Pop said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he
Looked at the ladies was because it was all new to me.

Well, finally it’s over, but a man came out to say
That they’re going to have a concert, and Pop said we’d better stay;
He said they’re always just the same and always such a sell,
But lots of folks was staying and he guessed we might as well.
Then by and by we’re home again, and Mamma wants to know
What kind of circus was it, and Pop said, “The same old show,”
And said he’d seen it all before and all the reason he
Had stayed and seen it all was ’cause it’s all so new to me.

THE LOST CHILD

I ’member when they cut my curls not very long ago,
Because they looked just like a girl’s, and I’m a boy, you know;
I used to wear ’em awful long, and once my Pa, he said,
It’s time I had my curls cut off and wore short hair instead;
Because I’m big enough for that; and then they took the shears
And snipped my curls off one by one right close up to my ears,
But every time a curl came off, my Mother, she just hid
Her face a little bit and cried. I wonder why she did!

And after while she picked one up and held it in her hand
With something shining in her eyes I didn’t understand;
She petted it as if it was a little boy or girl,
And acted fond of it when it was nothing but a curl.
And after while they’re all cut off and down there on the floor,
And I looked much more like a boy than I had been before,
But there was something in her eyes she tried and tried and tried
To brush away, but still it came. I wonder why she cried.

And after while I’m all trimmed off, and then my Pa, he said,
I’m not a baby any more, but I’m a boy instead,
And he is awful proud of me, and then my Ma, she smiled
And said we found a boy that day and lost a little child;
So I said I would hunt for him and bring him back but then
She said she was afraid that he would not come back again;
And picked the curls I had all up from off the floor and hid
Them in her bureau drawer and cried. I wonder why she did.

DOUGHNUTTING TIME

Wunst w’en our girl wuz makin’ pies an’ doughnuts--’ist a lot--
We stood around with great, big eyes, ’cuz we boys like ’em hot;
An’ w’en she dropped ’em in the lard they sizzled ’ist like fun.
An’ w’en she takes ’em out it’s hard to keep from takin’ one.

An’ ’en she says: “You boys’ll get all spattered up with grease,
An’ biumby she says she’ll let us have ’ist one apiece;
So I took one for me an’ one for little James McBride,
The widow’s only orfunt son ’at’s waitin’ there outside.

An’ Henry, he took one ’ist for himself an’ Nellie Flynn,
’At’s waitin’ at the kitchen door an’ dassent to come in
Becuz her mother told her not, an’ Johnny, he took two,
’Cuz Amy Brennan likes ’em hot, ’ist like we chinnern do.

’En Henry happened ’ist to think he didn’t get a one
For little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater’s son,
Who never gets ’em home becuz he says he ain’t quite sure
But thinks perhaps the reason wuz his folkses are too poor.

An’ ’en I give my own away to little Willie Beggs
’At fell way down his stairs one day an’ give him crooked legs,
’Cuz Willie always seems to know w’en our girl’s goin’ to bake,
He wouldn’t ast for none-oh, no! But, my! he’s fond of cake.

So I went back an’ ’en I got another one for me
Right out the kettle, smokin’ hot an’ brown as it could be,
An’ John, he got one, too, becuz he give his own to Clare,
An’ w’en our girl, she looked, there wuz ’ist two small doughnuts there!

My! She wuz angry w’en she looked an’ saw ’ist them two there,
An’ says she knew ’at she had cooked a crock full an’ to spare,
She says it’s awful ’scouragin’ to bake an’ fret an’ fuss,
An’ w’en she thinks she’s got ’em in the crock they’re all in us!

A MODERN MIRACLE

Once w’en I’m sick th’ doctor come
An’ ’en I put my tongue ’way out,
An’ he says, “H-m-m! Nurse, get me some
Warm water, please.” An’ in about
A minute, w’y, she did an’ ’en
He put a glass thing into it
An’ ’en he wiped it off again
An’ put it in my mouth a bit.

’En after w’ile he took it out
An’ held it up w’ere he could see,
An’ ’en he says, “H-m-m! ’Ist about
Too high a half of a degree.”
An’ ’en Ma asked him if I’m bad
An’ he says “Nope!” ’ist gruff an’ cross
’An says “W’y you can’t kill a lad,
An’ if you do it ain’t much loss!”

An’ ’en she’s mad an’ he ’ist bust
Out laughin’ an’ he says, “Don’t fret,
He’s goin’ t’ be all right, I trust.
W’y he ain’t even half dead yet.”
An’ ’en he felt my pulse, ’at way,
An’ patted me upon my head
An’ says “There ain’t no school today,
’Cuz one of th’ trustees is dead!”

An’ my, I’m awful sorry w’en
He told me that. An’ ’en he said
“He’ll be all right by noon.” An’ ’en
He went away. An’ Ma says “Ned,
How do you feel?” An’ ’en, you know,
Since Doctor told me that, somehow,
I’m awful sick a while ago,
But, my! I’m almost well right now!

NERVOUSTOWN

Oh, there’s never a noise in Nervoustown;
Not the cry of a youngster; and up or down
There’s never a cheer or a whistle shrill;
Just silence, like that of the grave, so still;
The horses trot with a muffled tread,
But the place seems lonesome and drear and dead,
For a cloth-bound head and a nervous frown
Are all you may see in Nervoustown.

Sh-h! you must walk with noiseless tread
For there’s many a hot and aching head;
The doors are closed and the blinds are down,
For it must be dark in Nervoustown.
And you mustn’t whistle or shout or cheer
Or slam the doors! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
Lest a cloth-bound head and a terrible frown
Poke out at you from Nervoustown.

Oh, there’s never a person there but goes
On the very tip of his tippy-toes;
Nor ever a lad has heard at all
Of follow-my-leader or rude baseball;
It’s much as your life is worth to yell,
The flowers can’t grow for the camphor-smell;
While a big policeman, up and down,
Cries “Sh-h!” through the streets of Nervoustown.

And a little boy, who didn’t know,
Once years and years and years ago,
Gave three loud, lusty cheers one day
For something or other, I can’t say,
And they snipped his head off--Oh! Oh! Oh!
With big, red, rusty shears, you know,
And cloth-bound heads bobbed up and down
With gladness all through Nervoustown.

But, oh, it’s gloomy in Nervoustown,
With the doors tight shut and the blinds all down,
Where the frightened lad his whole life goes
On the very tips of his tippy-toes,
Where the hens don’t cluck and the birds don’t sing,
And even the church bells dare not ring
Lest a cloth-bound head with a terrible frown
Poke out at them from Nervoustown.

SONG OF SUMMER DAYS

Sing a song of hollow logs,
Chirp of cricket, croak of frogs,
Cry of wild bird, hum of bees,
Dancing leaves and whisp’ring trees;
Legs all bare and dusty toes,
Ruddy cheeks and freckled nose,
Splash of brook and swish of line,
Where the song that’s half so fine?

Sing a song of summer days,
Leafy nooks and shady ways,
Nodding roses, apples red,
Clover like a carpet spread;
Sing a song of running brooks,
Cans of bait and fishing hooks,
Dewy hollows, yellow moons,
Birds a-pipe with merry tunes.

Sing a song of skies of blue,
Eden’s garden made anew,
Scarlet hedges, leafy lanes,
Vine-embowered sills and panes;
Stretch of meadows, splashed with dew,
Silver clouds with sunlight through,
Cry of loon and pipe of wren,
Sing and call it home again.

WHAT MOTHER DOESN’T KNOW

Sometimes w’en I got to pile wood in the
yard,
’Ist wringin’ with sweat ’cuz I’m workin’ so
hard,
An’ see all the neighbors’ boys startin’ to fish,
I can’t hardly work any more, an’ I wish
’At I wuz a-goin’ an’ ’en right away
I run an’ ast Ma if I can’t go today,
An’ she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off an’ fish ’ist as soon as your work is all done.

You must work while you work,
You must play while you play
An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.”
An’ mebbe it’s so,
But my goodness! to go
With the boys ’at’s gone fishin’!--I guess she dunno!

Sometimes w’en I got to hoe garden an’ hear
The boys playin’ ball in the next lot, so near
I hear ’em all cheerin’ an’ see ’em all score,
I can’t hardly stand it to hoe any more.
So ’en I ast Ma if I can’t go an’ play
An’ promise to hoe twict as much the next day,
But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off an’ play ’ist as soon as your work is all done.

You must work while you work,
You must play while you play
An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.”
An’ mebbe it’s so,
But, my goodness! to hoe
W’en you hear ’em a-playin’!--I guess she dunno.

Sometimes w’en the snow gets all piled up so deep
On the walk ’at she tells me to go out an’ sweep
It all off, an’ Sam Russell comes by with his sled,
My broom ’at I’m usin’ gets heavy as lead.
An’ I can’t hardly sweep, an’ I ast Ma if I
Can’t go out a-slidin’ an’ sweep by an’ by,
But she says to me ’en: “Johnny Jones, you can run
Off and slide ’ist as soon as your work is all done.

You must work while you work,
You must play while you play
An’ ’en you’ll be happy for many a day.”
An’ mebbe it’s so,
But to have to sweep snow
W’en the boys are a-slidin’!--I guess she dunno.

SO LONESOME NOW

Over t’ Henry Murray’s, why,
They always had lots an’ lots o’ pie,
An’ toy automobiles an’ v’locipedes
An’ walkin’ toys, like a fellow reads
About sometimes, but he seldom sees,
An’ swings out under th’ big oak trees,
An’ childurn a-playin’ on every bough--
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.

Over t’ Henry Murray’s, why,
His mother an’ father ’ist seemed t’ try
An’ see if they couldn’t get some new toys
For Henry an’ all of us other boys
’At played with him; an’ she used t’ make
Th’ dandiest currant an’ raisin cake,
An’ boys ’ist flocked there like flies, somehow--
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.

Over’t Henry Murray’s, why,
His mother ’ud see you goin’ by
An’ ast you why you didn’t come an’ play
With Henry an’ all of his toys, some day.
An’ every Christmas she’d have a tree
With presents, th’ finest you ever see,
An’ nobody got forgot, somehow--
But my! It is turrible lonesome now.

An’ over t’ Henry Murray’s, why,
We boys ’ist look while we’re goin’ by,
An’ see all his toys layin’ there outside.
Once Big Bill Skinner broke down an’ cried
An’ says he don’t care--it was ’ist too bad,
’Cause Henry was all of th’ boy they had.
An’ th’ swings ’ist hang from th’ big oak bough bough--
An’ my! It is turrible lonesome now.

A LITTLE LOVE STORY

She understands. I do not need to go
And tell her she is all the world to me.
I never speak a word to let her know
I will be faithful till Eternity,
But when, upon the way to school, she sees
Me come with two red apples in my hands
And hears me say: “Please, Sally Jane, take these,”
It is no wonder that she understands.

Or when she sees me at the old front gate
With my new sled right after the first snow,
And from her window calls to me to wait
Until she asks her Mother can she go,
I do not need to tell her why I come
In my fur cap with mittens on my hands,
For even if my feelings make me dumb
She looks at me and then she understands.

Or if she whispers something when in school,
As children are quite often apt to do,
Forgetting all about the teacher’s rule,
And teacher says to Sally: “Was that you?”
Why then I see how scared she is and rise
Up in my seat and hold up both my hands
And take the blame--she looks into my eyes eyes--
I do not need to speak--she understands.

Or if she has the measles so I dare
Not go up to her house, but I can look
In through the window and she sees me there,
And if I bring a dandy story book
And leave it on the fence post where the nurse
Can come and take it in, and if my hands
Have written, “Dear, I hope you’ll be no worse,”
I do not need to speak--she understands.

I do not need to tell her how I feel--
She only has to watch the things I do;
She knows my heart is true to her as steel,
And if it rains or if the sky is blue
I wait for her to walk to school with me,
And carry all her school-books in my hands,
And I am just as happy as can be,
And so is she--because she understands.

ON A NOISELESS FOURTH

On a noiseless street stood a crackerless lad with a screechless fife and
a headless drum,
Venting his glee in a voiceless shout, as a blareless band, all still and
dumb,
Came down the length of the avenue, and a bugle corps blew a noteless blare,
While a screechless rocket with noiseless hiss cut a fireless path through
the silent air.
The blareless band played a soundless tune and the crackerless lad gave a
voiceless shout
As the rippling folds of the unfurled flag from the upheld standard fluttered
out.
“Hurrah!” he cried with a voiceless cry, put forth from his lips in a
speechless way.
“Hurrah for the guns of Lexington and the noiseless Independence Day!”

Then far away down the village street a smokeless gun belched a soundless
roar,
A popless cracker fizzless died, and the band played a blareless tune once
more;
The clickless guns of the village guards with a thudless sound dropped on
the ground.
The marshal left his neighless horse, and the voiceless mob ranged
all around;
A fizzless pinwheel silent whirred, and the drum corps joined in a tootless
screech,
The lips of the village speaker moved in the tongueless strains of
a wordless speech.
Then a graceless benediction fell, and the crackerless lad, in a voiceless
way,
Gave a soundless shout for Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day.

Oh, the pulseless thrill of the noiseless guns and the tootless fifes and
the headless drums,
The heartless joy of the crackerless lad, as the soundless pageant noiseless
comes
Down the village street, and the sightless glow of the hissless rocket’s
fireless glare
With noiseless swish from the silent earth through the measureless breadth
of the lightless air!
But a fingerless youth of the olden time, when crackers popped and cannons
roared,
Looked on the scene with much disgust and the look of a lad who is greatly
bored;
And he cried aloud--’twas the only sound that was heard, not made in a
voiceless way:
“Dog-gone the guns at Bunker Hill and the noiseless Independence Day!”

CONSCIOUS IGNORANCE

I’m only ’ist a little girl,
An’ w’en I want to play
An’ Mamma says don’t go outside
Our yard this livelong day,
An’ w’en some other girls ’ey come
An’ pester me to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?

An’ ’en w’en she goes out sometimes
An’ says: “Now go to bed
At eight o’clock this very night,”
I ’member what she said.
But w’en the mantel clock strikes eight
An’ I don’t want to go,
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?

An’ w’en she says: “Now, don’t go near
The cookie jar this day,”
I want some cookies awful much
An’ try to stay away.
But all the time I’m hungry for
Some cookies, an’ I go--
It may be wrong, but I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?

I’m only ’ist a little girl
Not more ’n six years old,
An’ my, I always try to do
E’zactly as I’m told.
But w’en I make ’ist one mistake,
My Ma ought not to go
An’ punish me, ’cause I’m so young,
How does she s’pose I know?

THE PLAYTIME OF BACHELOR BILL

Our Uncle Bill’s a bachelur, an’ it’s an awful shame,
’Cuz he knows stories about bears an’ knows ’em all by name.
An’ growls ’ist like a really one an’ makes you think a bear
Is underneath th’ table, but of course it isn’t there.
An’ when he takes you on his knee he talks ’ist like a book
An’ after w’ile your eyes get big an’ you’re a-scairt to look
W’en he says: “Nen a bear come out an’ ’ist went Boo-oo-oo!”
Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you.

An’ ’en he plays wild Indian an’ hides himself somewheres
W’ile we look in th’ corners an’ behind th’ parlor chairs,
An’ peek in th’ dark closets an’ p’tend we’re on a scout
Till after w’ile he makes a whoop an’ ’en comes rushin’ out
’Ist like he’s on th’ warpath; an’ us chinnern run upstairs
An’ hide in Mamma’s closet an’ he makes us think ’at bears
Are comin’ in to get us an’ he growls ’ist like he’s one,
An’ my! we’re turble scairt an’ yet it’s awful lots o’ fun.

An’ ’en he is a pirate an’ he makes us chinnern play
At we are in a shipwreck an’ th’ crew is cast away
Upon a desert island w’ere his treasure chest is hid,
An’ we are only sailors an’ his name is Captain Kidd.
An’ w’en we hear him comin’ he ’ist roars an’ ’en we run,
’Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an’ pokers for a gun,
An’ after w’ile he kills us all but it don’t hurt, an’ w’en
He sails away in his big ship we come to life again.

’En after w’ile our Mother comes an’ taps him on th’ head,
An’ says it’s time for bears an’ scouts an’ things to be in bed,
An’ leads us chinnern all upstairs an’ maybe if we keep
Right still she’ll let th’ candle burn until we go to sleep.
’En after w’ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good-night,
An’ see how snug an’ warm we are an’ all tucked in so tight,
An’ ’en he kisses us good-night an’ ’en his eyes ’ist blur:
I guess we make him sorry ’at he is a bachelur!

HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS

Don’t you dast kill a toad, Henry Blake says, for true
As your’re born it’ll rain right away if you do.
For Henry Blake says oncet some boys ’at he knowed
Were goin’ a-fishin’ an’ one killed a toad,
An’ it all clouded up an’ it got just as black,
An’ it thundered an’ lightninged before they got back
Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why,
But he thinks toads has somethin’ t’ do with the sky.
An’ Henry Blake showed
Us th’ place in th’ road
Where the boys went an’ kilt him an’ that’s how he knowed.

Henry Blake says if you just split a bean
An’ put half of it on a wart when it’s green,
An’ throw half of it between midnight an’ dawn
In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart’ll be gone
Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it’s true
’Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two
That took off a big wart, an’ th’ half was all black
An’ Henry Blake says that it never came back.
An’ Henry’s friend showed
Him th’ cistern he throwed
The other half into an’ that’s how he knowed!

THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES

His curls are like rings of red gold on his head,
His lips are as red as a cherry,
His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red,
His eyes full of mischief and merry.
His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air,
A fig for the whole of his troubles!
For he’s my Boy Careless--you’ve seen him somewhere,
And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles!

Now he’s riding a stick that is legless and dead,
Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles,
For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head
In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!
He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath,
With a big wooden gun on his shoulder,
And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path
For never a huntsman was bolder.

Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste,
He drops on one knee in the stubbles,
For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased
To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles!
His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots,
The sound of it echoes and doubles,
For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes
In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.

Then out from the forest a savage all red
With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle,
A thrust from the big wooden sword--he is dead
With a most melancholy death-rattle.
Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse,
And back o’er the all-trackless stubbles,
For it’s many a mile to his cabin, of course,
In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.

Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride
With the make-believe gun on his shoulder,
With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side,
And a sigh from the heart that is older!
A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips,
A fig for the whole of his troubles,
When he’s off like the wind on his make-believe trips
In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!

THE GINGERCAKE MAN

The Gingercake man was a lump of brown dough
Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so!
To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin,
His bones almost popped through the holes in his skin;
They sifted him over with flour and spice,
And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice,
And took some dried currants, the biggest and best,
To make him some buttons for closing his vest.

The Gingercake man wabbled this way and that,
When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat
That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way,
For a Gingercake man is not made every day.
They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed!
And made him some teeth out of caraway seed,
And when he was finished they buttered a pan--
The biggest they had--for the Gingercake man.

Then into the oven they put him to bake
Until he was hard and could stand and not break
His legs when he stood; and they set him to cool
Until all the children should come home from school.
And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee,
When mother invited the children to see,

All sifted with sugar and out of the pan,
The good-natured face of the Gingercake man.

But alas and alas! ’Tis a short life and sweet
Is the Gingercake man’s--for they ate off his feet,
They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest,
And picked all the buttons from out of his vest;
They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat,
And everything edible went just like that,
Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan
As all that is left of the Gingercake man!

LONESOME

Say, little boy, be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you;
And I won’t never tell on you, no matter what you do.
It’s awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but it’s hard
To have your mother say that you must play in your back yard.
There’s lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as bright
As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light;
Perhaps you’d catch it in your cap if I would help you to--
Come over and be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you.

I’m all the children we have got--I’m lonesome as can be,
I wish you wouldn’t be afraid to come and play with me.
I don’t care if your face ain’t clean or if your clothes are torn,
I didn’t have no clothes at all the time that I was born.
We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost you so
That you can get some if you come, and when it’s time to go
We’ll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. Don’t you see
I’m willing to be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me?

I’ve got a lot of wooden toys, as fine as they can be,
But I want something that’s alive to run around with me,
And play wild Indians and bears, and if you’ll come and play
Perhaps my Mamma ’ll let me come and play with you some day.
We’ve got some dandy hollow trees, the finest anywheres,
And one of us can hide in them when we are playing bears,
And growl just like he’s awful cross, and all the time you know
It’s only make-believe, of course, but then it scares you so.