Chapter II: Part 2

I wish you’d come and play with me. I’ve got a jumping-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 with you if you’ll be friends with me.

THE GARDEN OF PLAY

Out 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!

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!

WE AIN’T SCARED O’ PA

Us boys ain’t scared 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 somethin’ 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.

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 an’ 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!

A PEARL OF PRICE

She 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, laughing 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.

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.

DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN

Dear 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,
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!

GIRL OF MINE

Oh, 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 wonder 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.

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!”

CHUMS

He 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,
W’en nine o’clock it comes,
He takes my hand an’ goes to school,
’Cuz him an’ me is 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, ’cuz
I ’ist wait till he comes,
An’ he walks close 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 get 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.

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.

THE LOST BOY

Little 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 its 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.

Little Boy Careless has gone away
And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me,
The toys that were scattered here 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!

LINES TO A BABY GIRL

Oh, 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 chaff with her,
Till she looks up with laughing eyes,
And all she says is “Goo!”

Sometimes I try to walk with her,
I talk with 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!”

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!”

LITTLE MISCHEFUSS

Somebody 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’ bien by my Mamma’ll come an’ say:
“I see ’at Little Mischefuss has been around today!”

An’ sometimes w’en th’ sugar bowl’s lef’ open, she says ’en:
“I dess ’at Little Mischefuss has been around again!”
An’ my! I’m awful much surprised! an’ ast how does she know,
But she dess says a little bird flew in an’ told her so!

One time somebody went, she did, and broke my jumpin’-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!”

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 Mischefuss!

THE TRAVELS OF MORTIMER BROWN

This is the story of Mortimer Brown
Who went for his mother some errands in town,
Who was told he must come back as quick as he could
And as earnestly promised his mother he would.
He went down the front steps full three at a time
And swung on the gate, for the swinging was prime.

He teetered on all the loose boards in the walk
And met Jimmy Brady and sat down to talk;
He climbed up the trunk of a big tree that stands
Not so far from his home, and he swung with both hands.
He passed the cow pasture and stopped for a stroll,
Climbed the fence and turned twice on the very top pole.

Then he turned a few handsprings all through the long grass
And sat on the fence to watch Peter Bates pass
With a big flock of sheep, and he got himself chased
By the biggest black ram and he fell in his haste
Down the bank of the brook and he sat there about
Half an hour in the sun till his clothes were dried out.
He laid off his coat since the day was so hot
And chose a bypath through the strawberry plot;
He gathered some berries to eat on his way
Till alarmed by the watch-dog’s deep, ominous bay.
Then he followed a rabbit as far as he could
Until it was lost in the depth of a wood,
And marked a bee tree so to find it again
When he and Jim Brady should visit Beech Glen.
So tired then he was that he sat down to rest
And he fell sound asleep with his coat and his vest

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

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

ADVENTURERS THREE

I know a little sailor who has never been to sea,
But walks the deck of our back porch as bold as he can be.
He never shows a sign of fear when in the stoutest gale,
Nor ever lost a ship, although he never reefed a sail.
I’ve heard him send his crew aloft when fearful tempests blew,
But though I’ve searched the rigging oft, I never saw the crew.
I’m sure he is a sailor, for his mother showed to me
His clothes, such as the sailors wear when they go forth to sea.

I know a little hunter who has never fired a gun,
But roams about our orchard with a painted wooden one;
A hunter of such prowess that he hasn’t left a bear,
A tiger or an animal of that description there.
I know he used to see them, for I’ve seen him creep and crawl,
And finally destroy one that I never saw at all.
I’m sure he was a hunter, for I saw his buckskins spread
Just as a plainsman leaves them--on the foot-board of his bed.

I know a little soldier who has never been to war,
But wears a splendid uniform, all buttoned down before.
I’ve seen him drill in our back yard a dozen times a day,
I’ve seen him march and counter in a military way.
I’ve heard him shout commands with all a captain’s dignity,
But though I’ve searched the lawn, I never saw his company.
I’m sure he was a soldier, for I saw the clothes he wore
Last night beside his bed, when he had finished with the war.

Sometimes he gets a wetting when the seas are very high,
And has to have his sailor clothes hung on the line to dry,
So he becomes a soldier and upon a march he goes,
And what he is this moment quite depends upon his clothes.
He never shoots a lion when he wears a sailor suit,
Or walks the deck in buckskins, which he only wears to shoot,
And never thinks of drilling or of marching off to war
Unless he wears his uniform with buttons down before.

WHEN THEY LOVE YOU SO

One time I’m awful sick in bed,
An’ sometimes I’m delirious,
’Cuz I got fever in my head,
An’ when I’m th’ most 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
’Ist burnin’ hot, an’ ’en her chin
’Ist shivers an’ she says: “Poor Ned!
His little hands so white an’ thin!”
An’ ’en she says she never knew
How precious ’ist a boy could be,
An’ when I’m well she’s goin’ t’ do
’Ist what I want her to for me.

An’ by and by my Aunty comes
An’ says when I get well why 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,
’Ist 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
’Ist wants me to get well an’ strong
An’ ’en she stoops an’ kisses me.

An’ ’at’s th’ way you really know
How much they love you, when your head
’Ist 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.

SOMEBODY DID

Somebody stood up right on top of a chair
An’ reached in the cooky-jar, way, way up there,
W’en nobody’s lookin’ an’ Mamma’s asleep,
An’ all of us chinnern wuz playin’ Bo-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,
W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!”

An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
’Cuz we don’t know who done it--but Somebody did!

Somebody crawled up in the big leather chair
By the lib’ary table w’at stood over there
W’en 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, ’ist Chug!
Right off’n the table an’ down on the rug,
An’ my! it ’ist busted an’ runned everyw’eres.
But John, he ain’t scairt; an’ he runned right upstairs,
W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!”

An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
’Cuz we don’t know who done it--but Somebody did!

An’ wunst w’en the kitchen wuz all scrubbed so clean,
The floor wuz ’ist shiny as ever you seen,
An’ we wuz all playin’ outdoors in the street,
Somebody went in with the muddies’ 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,
W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!”

An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
’Cuz we don’t know who done it--but Somebody did!

THE WADERS

The queerest things rained down all over our street,
With long legs, like spiders, and muddy brown feet;
They must have rained down, for I saw them all run
Through puddles and mud ere the shower was done.
They’re some sort of Waders, and all over town
Through pools and deep gutters they splash up and down,
Bareheaded, barelegged, barefooted and wet,
The Waders of Frogpond--I hear them splash yet.

The rain fell in torrents, the gutters’ deep tides
Were black, and the rain barrels ran o’er their sides,
The frothy white waters whirled from the eavespout,
But with the first lull all the Waders came out.
They danced in the frogponds, they sounded the streams
In gutters and made the air shrill with their screams,
They rolled up their dresses and trousers and dashed
Through mud, froth and water, and waded and splashed.

And forth with the Waders came all kinds of dogs,
Came sailors with bark boats, came navies of frogs.
Came big rubber boots on such tiny brown legs,
Came floating armadas of cans and half-kegs;
Came long poles for sounding, came all sorts of crafts,
Unseaworthy boxes made over to rafts,
I wonder if ever in my life again
I’ll see so much gladness come down with the rain.

They must have rained down, for a minute ago
The frogpond was dry and deserted, you know;
There wasn’t a Wader, a dog or a craft,
A pair of gum boots, a bark boat or a raft;
The eave’s but done dripping, scarce dry is the spout,
When lo, all the navy of Waders is out!
The pond’s full of ships as the old Spanish Main.
Who’d think so much fun could come down with the rain?

THEN THE PRISONED PUPIL

She kept him aftur skool when awl the burds
Were singen swetely in the woods an wurds
Kood not deskribe his sufferens. the air
Was full uv blossums an the urth was fare
Ecksept to himm. becaws he did not no
His jogafy she wood not let him go
An when he hurd us cloas the dore the teers
Rolld down his cheeks an he livd menny yeers
In just a singul owr. it was like sum
Old torchure ur sum krewel marturdum.

How kood he study when he noo that we
Were goen gayly homewurd glad an free
Wile he was kept a prizzuner becaws
He did not no ware venna zweela was.
An when he thot uv how weere ap too go
In swimmen aftur skool his greef an wo
Was almoast moar than he kood bare an yet
She sturnly kept him thare an wood not let
Him leev his seet altho he felt he must
An so she bowd his spearut in the dust.

An aftur wile when its too late to play
She lookt at him in sutch a skornful way
Az tho he was a krimminle an sed
He mite go home. his proud and hotty hed
Was bent with greef and he went slowly owt
The skoolroom dore and then lookt awl abowt
Az tho releest from prizzen an the brand
Uv sin on him was moar than he kood stand.
An he went sloly homewurd bowd with shaim
O liburtey the krimes dun in thi naim.

A PRAYER FOR JIMMY BANKS

Dear Lord, excuse Jim Banks and me
For hitting Aunty Griggs when we
Threw snowballs at the cat, because
We did not know where Aunty was!

Jim Banks and me are sorry, Lord,
For, drawing Teacher on the board,
And after what we got, we do
Not need more punishment from you!

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

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

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

And if there is an angel there
Who might like him and you can spare,
Would you mind telling this to him
And see what he can do for Jim?

And Jimmy’s hat is straw and old,
You know the weather’s pretty cold,
And Jimmy’s ears stick out into
The weather, and his nose gets blue!

Dear Lord, please do the very best
You can for him! I’ve got a vest
And sweater on the closet shelf
That I am going to give myself!

And beg your pardon, Lord, and pray
My soul to keep; and Jimmy may
Be President some day, and then
We’ll all be proud of him. Amen!

A CHILD’S CHRISTMAS PRAYER

Dear Lord, be good to Santa Claus,
He’s been so good to me;
I never told him so because
He is so hard to see.
He must love little children so
To come through snow and storm;
Please care for him when cold winds blow
And keep him nice and warm.

Dear Lord, be good to him and good
To Mary Christmas, too.
I’d like to tell them, if I could,
The things I’m telling you.
They’ve both been very good to me,
And everywhere they go
They make us glad;--no wonder we
All learn to love them so.

Please have him button up his coat
So it will keep him warm;
And wear a scarf about his throat
If it should start to storm.
And when the night is dark, please lend
Him light if stars are dim,
Or maybe sometimes you could send
An Angel down with him.

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

HENRY BLAKE’S CHUM

Henry Blake’s chum he had awful red hair,
And most of his clothes were too small;
And often and often he wore his feet bare
Until it was late in the fall.
But he would just whistle as though he had shoes,
Was never discouraged or glum;
And most any boy would be sorry to lose
A fellow like Henry Blake’s chum.

Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about trees,
And woodticks and crickets and birds,
And all of the things that a boy really sees
But can’t always tell them in words;
And he knew where fish were the most apt to bite,
And when the first blackberries come,
And how to catch birds in a trap when they light--
No wonder he’s good for a chum.

Henry Blake’s chum, he had rabbits for pets,
And crows that he taught how to speak,
And dogs that will haul you, and he often gets
A new dog or two every week.
And often he crawls up and catches a frog
Between his first finger and thumb,
Where it may be sitting alone on a log;
And my! Henry’s proud of his chum!

Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about flowers
And always could tell you their name,
And didn’t mind thunder or lightning or showers
Because he said it’s all the same
So long as you’re barefoot and haven’t much clothes.
And he knew how partridges drum,
And whistled just like a Bob White’s whistle goes--
No wonder he’s somebody’s chum.

Henry Blake’s chum, he came up from the farm,
And my! he was awful ashamed
In school not to know the big bone in your arm
Or what the equator was named.
But when it came recess we all stood about
And waited until he would come,
And he told us things we had never found out--
And my! Henry’s proud of his chum!

ONCE UPON A TIME

Once upon a time rare flowers grew
On every shrub and bush we used to see;
The skies above our heads were always blue,
The woods held secrets deep for you and me;
The hillsides had their caves where tales were told
Of swart-cheeked pirates from a far-off clime,
When cutlases were fierce and rovers bold--
Don’t you remember?--Once upon a time.

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

Once upon a time the witches rode
In sinister and ominous parade
Upon their sticks at night, and queer lights glowed
With eery noises by the goblins made;
And many things mysterious there were
For boyish cheeks to pale at through the grime
That held them brown; and shadows queer would stir--
Don’t you remember?--Once upon a time.

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

THE WAY TO SCHOOL

Five minutes chasing butterflies
Way over, off the road;
Five minutes watching Willie Price
Do tricks with his pet toad;
Five minutes helping Gibbsie get
His pig back in the pen--
I wonder if it’s school-time yet?
I guess I’m late again.

I think I lost a little time
Because I walked so slow
Where Johnny Watkins lost a dime
A day or two ago.
It’s underneath the leaves somewhere,
And Johnny feels so blue
That I just stopped a minute there
Because he asked me to.

And then it rained a little bit,
And Dominick McPhee
Had his straw hat and had to sit
Under a good thick tree,
Or else he’d get it spoiled and get
The top all swelled. You see,
A straw hat is not safe to wet--
His kind, especially.

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

So then we boys all stayed about
A couple minutes more,
In hopes to see the worms come out
Which he was rapping for;
But after he went b-r-r-r! and b-r-r-r!
A while, he flew away,
And Johnny said he guessed there were
No worms at home that day.

So then we hurried up, and ran
As fast as we could run,
To get there just as school began.
And just when it’s begun
I had to run back to the tree
To get my slate and rule;
And yet the teacher cannot see
Why boys are late for school.

A PRESENT FOR LITTLE BOY BLUE

Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue
Whenever he goes by our yard;
And he says, “Good-morning” or “How-do-you-do?”
But sometimes he winks awful hard.
I guess he don’t know what my name really is,
Or else he forgot, if he knew;
And my! You would think I am really part his--
He calls me _his_ Little Boy Blue!

Our Neighbor, he told me that Little Boy Blue
Once stood all his toys in a row,
And said, “Now, don’t go till I come back for you”--
But that was a long time ago.
And one time, at Christmas, when I had a tree,
He brought me a sled, all brand-new,
And smiled when he said it was partly for me
And partly for Little Boy Blue.

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

Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue,
And said he would like to help trim
Our tree when it came--he would feel that he knew
It was partly for me and for him.
He said he would fix it with lights and wax flowers,
With popcorn and berries--you see,
He’d like to come over and help to trim ours--
He’s not going to have any tree!

THE EVOLUTION OF AN ADOPTION

He’s ’ist a little orfant boy
W’at 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.

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.

SOME GIRLS THAT MAMMA KNEW

My 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
W’ere 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!

My Mamma knew a little girl
’At used to run away
W’en 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.

GONE

He fell in a puddle and muddied his dress,
He struck little Bob with a hammer, I guess;
He cut sister’s curls with a big pair of 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 off its 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.

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.

THE NEIGHBOR’S BOYS

Somebody 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;
An’ who makes such a scary noise?
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!

A QUIET AFTERNOON

My Mamma, she did go to call about an hour ago,
An’ said if I ain’t bad at all an’ stayed at home with Flo,
Which is the maid that cooks for us, she’d bring me something good,
But if I’m one bit misschefuss she didn’t think she would.

An’ my! I’m still, ’ist like a mouse. I never went outdoors,
But ’ist sat down, inside the house, an’ took her bureau drawers
An’ emptied ’em ’ist one by one, an’ w’en they’re emptied ’en
I ’ist looked through what’s there for fun an’ put ’em back again!

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
’Ist tuz I’m hungry now, I am, an’ ’en I went inside,
An’ maybe I did let it lay around the room somewhere,
’Tuz Flo came in to watch me play and squoshed it on a chair.

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-oh! I dess it’s Sleepyland! I dess I’ll go to bed!

THE OWNERLESS TOYS

Our Uncle Bill’s attic is half full of toys,
With some that are almost brand-new;
He’s got things up there for most all kinds of boys
From ten years old clear down to two.
And one day he gave me some books from up there
Like boys had a long time ago;
And I asked if the boy they belong to would care,
But he just sort of smiled and said no.

Sometimes we would go in his attic to play
And find such a lot of fine things,
A whole lot of picture books all piled away
And tops that were wound up with strings.
And Uncle Bill told us to use what was there
Just as if it was ours, and we’d go,
But we’d ask if the boy they belong to would care,
And he just sort of smiled and said no.

And my! There were sleds with their runners all rust,
And five or six good pairs of skates,
Some old-fashioned toys that were covered with dust,
And fishlines and schoolbooks and slates,
Which Uncle Bill told us we fellows might share,
But always put back when we go;
And we thought that the boy they belong to might care,
But he just sort of smiled and said no.

And the boy they belong to, I guess, was away.
At least, we all thought he must be;
For all through the house they could hear us at play,
But he never came up there to see.
And we would pile everything back up with care
And ask Uncle Bill when we’d go
If the boy they belong to would know we’d been there,
But he just sort of smiled and said no.

Our Uncle Bill’s attic is half full of toys,
Some old ones and some almost new;
He’s got things up there for most all kinds of boys
From ten years old clear down to two.
And often when we boys go up there to play
We ask Uncle Bill when we go
If the boy they belong to will be back that day,
And he smiles sort of sad and says no.

THE STRANGER

Serious-minded little maid,
Wondering and half afraid,
Half inclined to speak with me,
Half disposed to let me be;
Hesitating yet, and shy,
Half a twinkle in your eye,
Half in doubt and half in fear,
Staying neither far nor near.

How I wonder what you see
With those eyes that question me;
What the instinct bids you know
If I may be friend or foe;
Fawnlike, full of grace and sweet,
Ready with fast-flying feet
In the orchard’s deepest shade
To find cover, little maid.

Grave and curious little lass,
Like a wild bird in the grass,
Still intently watching me,
With your wings half spread, to see
If my smile bodes good or ill,
Willing to make friends and still
Undecided if to stay
Here and near or fly away.

Serious-minded little maid,
When, with smiles and unafraid,
O’er the lawn you come to me,
Stranger to you though I be,
When your curious eyes have tried
Soul with mine and, satisfied,
Looked still into mine and smiled,
Blessed am I, little child.

Blessed am I to be just
Worthy of your childish trust,
More than conqueror of kings
When the wild bird of your wings
Bids you fly not forth but see
Something tender, kind, in me;
Oh, the gladness you have laid
At my heart’s gate, little maid!

IN VACATION TIME

There’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.

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 cheek 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.

BEREAVED

Guess he must be awful old; we had him years and years,
And he’s so old the ends were worn all off of both his ears.
He couldn’t hardly eat, because his teeth were all worn out,
And all his legs got stiff, so he could hardly drag about.
One day he lay down by the house, right near the cellar door,
And gasped and gasped for breath, until he couldn’t any more;
So I went out and patted him, and when he heard me call
He looked at me and wagged his tail, which died the last of all.

My! he was black and curly once, when he was new and young,
And he would open up his mouth at us and curl his tongue,
Just like he laughed, and play with us; and he would go into
The creek, and bring our hats to us, or anything we threw.
In winter we would hitch him up, and he would haul our sled,
And walk or trot or run with it, or anything we said;
So when he wagged his tail at me I laid him right beside
The cellar door, and then I went behind the barn and cried.

He was a friend of all the boys, and when they came to play
He’d wag his tail and bark and look at them the smartest way;
And he’d pretend to bite at them and nip their pants, but he
Would never bite, ’cause he was just as kind as he could be.
And Henry Watson looked at him beside the cellar door,
And said, “He’ll never haul us boys on our sled any more.”
He turned his ears back straight and nice; he liked him awful well;
Because he had tears in his eyes, and then a big one fell.

So after while we got a spade, and Billy Gibson came,
And Tommy Dean and Eddie Brink, and they all felt the same.
We dug some turf up in the yard, right underneath a tree,
And laid him in and left him there, all covered carefully;
It was an awful solemn day for all of us, for though
He’d got worn out and couldn’t eat, we boys all liked him so;
And Eddie Brink, he didn’t think the Lord would really care
If we boys sang a hymn for him and said a little prayer.

My! it was awful sad that day! And Tommy said he thought
We wouldn’t play that afternoon, because he’d rather not.
And Mamma made some nice ice-cream, which cheered us up, but when
We wanted her to eat she said she couldn’t eat just then.
And Amy Robbins heard of it, and brought some leaves and flowers
To scatter over him, because he was a friend of ours;
And I told her I patted him, and when he heard me call
He looked at me and wagged his tail, which died the last of all.

TWO LITTLE MAIDS

Little Miss Nothing-to-do
Is fretful and cross and so blue,
And the light in her eyes
Is all dim when she cries
And her friends, they are few, Oh, so few!
Her dolls, they are nothing but sawdust and clothes,
Whenever she wants to go skating it snows,
And everything’s criss-cross, the world is askew!
I wouldn’t be Little Miss Nothing-to-do
Now, true,
I wouldn’t be Little Miss Nothing-to-do
Would you?

Little Miss Busy-all-day
Is cheerful and happy and gay
And she isn’t a shirk
For she smiles at her work
And she romps when it comes time for play.
Her dolls, they are princesses, blue-eyed and fair,
She makes them a throne from a rickety chair,
And everything happens the jolliest way,
I’d rather be Little Miss Busy-all-day,
Hurray,
I’d rather be Little Miss Busy-all-day,
I say.

A NEW CHRISTMAS CAROL

Come, children, I’ll tell you a wonderful tale,
I learned it one night in a dream;
The snow lay all white and the full moon shone pale,
The housetops about were agleam;
I’d fallen asleep in my big easy chair,
I heard a gruff voice in my ear,
I knew that Saint Nicholas surely was there
And listened to see what I’d hear.

“Come, follow with me,” were the first words he said,
“I’m off for my Palace of Snow;
I’ve emptied my pack of each doll, toy and sled,
It’s time for old Santa to go.
But, Oh, I’ve a treat waiting for me tonight,
I’ve planned it for years in my mind;
Come, follow with me, while the moon is still bright”--
I rose and we sped like the wind.

We flew like a flash to the Palace of Snow,
By hilltop and valley and plain,
Nor ever I will be permitted, I know,
To make such a journey again;
And there in the warmest and cosiest nook
He bade me sit down while he dressed
In robes of rich scarlet and said to me: “Look!
Here come the Child Hosts of the Blest.”

A flash of his eye and my wonderment grew,
A word and a wave of his rod,
Forth came Orphan Annie and Little Boy Blue,
And Wynken and Blynken and Nod.
With Alice from Wonderland, blue-eyed and fair,
Tom Tucker--Jack Horner with him,
And Oh, at the last, can you guess who was there?--
Poor Topsy and Dear Tiny Tim!