The Book of Joyous Children

A CHRISTMAS MEMORY This trick seemed so neat and so safe a conceit,— Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy!— They played it three times—though the third they were beat; Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy! For the teacher, she righted her desk—raised the lid And folded and packed away each little kid— Closed the incident so—yes, and locked it, she did— Hik-tee-dik! Billy and Buddy! A CHRISTMAS MEMORY Pa he bringed me here to stay 'Til my Ma she's well.—An' nen He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day, An' come take me back again Wher' my Ma's at! Won't I be Tickled when he comes fer me! My Ma an' my A'nty they 'Uz each-uvver's sisters. Pa— A'nty telled me, th' other day,— He comed here an' married Ma.... A'nty said nen, "Go run play, I must work now!" ... An' I saw, When she turn' her face away, She 'uz cryin'.—An' nen I 'Tend-like I "run play"—an' cry. This-here house o' A'nty's wher' They 'uz borned—my Ma an' her!— An' her Ma 'uz my Ma's Ma, An' her Pa 'uz my Ma's Pa— "He's go' hitch up, Chris'mus-day, an' come take me back again." Ain't that funny?—An' they're dead: An' this-here's "th' ole Homestead."— An' my A'nty said, an' cried, It's mine, too, ef my Ma died— Don't know what she mean—'cause my Ma she's nuvver go' to die! When Pa bringed me here 't 'uz night— 'Way dark night! An' A'nty spread Me a piece—an' light the light An' say I must go to bed.— I cry not to—-but Pa said, "Be good boy now, like you telled Mommy 'at you're go' to be!" An', when he 'uz kissin' me My good night, his cheeks' all wet An' taste salty.—An' he held Wite close to me an' rocked some An' langhed-like—'til A'nty come Git me while he's rockin' yet. A'nty he'p me, 'til I be Purt'-nigh strip-pud—nen hug me In bofe arms an' lif' me 'way Up in her high bed—an' pray Wiv me,—'bout my Ma—an' Pa— An' ole Santy Claus—an' Sleigh— An' Reindeers an' little Drum— Yes, an' Picture-books, "Tom Thumb," An' "Three Bears," an' ole "Fee-Faw"— [97] Yes, an' "Tweedle-Dee" an' "Dum," An' "White Knight" an' "Squidjicum," An' most things you ever saw!— An' when A'nty kissed me, she 'Uz all cryin' over me! Don't want Santy Claus—ner things Any kind he ever brings!— Don't want A'nty!—Don't want Pa!— I ist only want my Ma! "OLD BOB WHITE" Old Bob White's a funny bird!— Funniest you ever heard!— Hear him whistle,—"Old—Bob— White !" You can hear him, clean from where He's 'way 'crosst the wheat-field there, Whistlin' like he didn't care— "Old-Bob- White !" "When we drove to harmony" OLD BOB WHITE Whistles alluz ist the same— So's we won't fergit his name!— Hear him say it?—"Old—Bob— White !" There! he's whizzed off down the lane— Gone back where his folks is stayin'— Hear him?—There he goes again,— "Old—Bob— White !" When boys ever tries to git Clos't to him—how quick he'll quit Whistlin' his "Old-Bob— White !" " Whoo-rhoo-rhoo! " he's up an' flew, Ist a-purt'-nigh skeerin' you Into fits!—'At's what he'll do.— "Old-Bob— White !" Wunst our Hired Man an' me, When we drove to Harmony, Saw one, whistlin' "Old—Bob— White !" An' we drove wite clos't , an' I Saw him an' he didn't fly,— Birds likes horses, an' that's why. "Old—Bob— White !" One time, Uncle Sidney says, Wunst he rob' a Bob White's nes' Of the eggs of "Old Bob White"; [102] Nen he hatched 'em wiv a hen An' her little chicks, an' nen They ist all flewed off again! "Old—Bob— White !" A SESSION WITH UNCLE SIDNEY [1869] I ONE OF HIS ANIMAL STORIES Now, Tudens, you sit on this knee—and 'scuse It having no side-saddle on;—and, Jeems, You sit on this —and don't you wobble so And chug my old shins with your coppertoes;— And, all the rest of you, range round someway,— Ride on the rockers and hang to the arms Of our old-time splint-bottom carryall!— Do anything but squabble for a place, Or push or shove or scrouge, or breathe out loud , Or chew wet, or knead taffy in my beard!— Do any thing almost—act any way,— Only keep still , so I can hear myself Trying to tell you "just one story more!" One winter afternoon my father, with A whistle to our dog, a shout to us— His two boys—six and eight years old we were,— Started off to the woods, a half a mile From home, where he was chopping wood. We raced, [104] We slipped and slid; reaching, at last, the north Side of Tharp's corn-field.—There we struck what seemed To be a coon-track—so we all agreed: And father, who was not a hunter, to Our glad surprise, proposed we follow it. The snow was quite five inches deep; and we, Keen on the trail, were soon far in the woods. Our old dog, "Ring," ran nosing the fresh track With whimpering delight, far on ahead. After following the trail more than a mile To northward, through the thickest winter woods We boys had ever seen,—all suddenly He seemed to strike another trail; and then Our joyful attention was drawn to Old "Ring"—leaping to this side, then to that, Of a big, hollow, old oak-tree, which had Been blown down by a storm some years before. There—all at once—out leapt a lean old fox From the black hollow of a big bent limb,— Hey! how he scudded!—but with our old "Ring" Sharp after him—and father after "Ring"— We after father, near as we could hold! And father noticed that the fox kept just About four feet ahead of "Ring"—just that — No farther, and no nearer! Then he said:— "There are young foxes in that tree back there, "A big, hollow, old oak-tree, which had been blown down by a storm." And the mother-fox is drawing 'Ring' and us Away from their nest there!" "Oh, le' 's go back!— Do le' 's go back!" we little vandals cried,— "Le' 's go back, quick, and find the little things— Please , father!—Yes, and take 'em home for pets— 'Cause 'Ring' he'll kill the old fox anyway!" So father turned at last, and back we went, And father chopped a hole in the old tree About ten feet below the limb from which The old fox ran, and—Bless their little lives!— There, in the hollow of the old tree-trunk— There, on a bed of warm dry leaves and moss— There, snug as any bug in any rug— We found—one—two—three—four, and, yes-sir, five Wee, weenty-teenty baby-foxes, with Their eyes just barely opened— Cute ?—my-oh!— The cutest—the most cunning little things Two boys ever saw, in all their lives! "Raw weather for the little fellows now !" Said father, as though talking to himself,— "Raw weather, and no home now !"—And off came His warm old "waumus"; and in that he wrapped The helpless little animals, and held Them soft and warm against him as he could,— And home we happy children followed him.— Old "Ring" did not reach home till nearly dusk: The mother-fox had led him a long chase— [108] "Yes, and a fool's chase, too!" he seemed to say, And looked ashamed to hear us praising him. But, mother —well, we could not understand Her acting as she did—and we so pleased ! I can see yet the look of pained surprise And deep compassion of her troubled face When father very gently laid his coat, With the young foxes in it, on the hearth Beside her, as she brightened up the fire. She urged—for the old fox's sake and theirs— That they be taken back to the old tree; But father—for our wistful sakes, no doubt— Said we would keep them, and would try our best To raise them. And at once he set about Building a snug home for the little things Out of an old big bushel-basket, with Its fractured handle and its stoven ribs: So, lining and padding this all cosily, He snuggled in its little tenants, and Called in John Wesley Thomas, our hired man, And gave him in full charge, with much advice Regarding the just care and sustenance of Young foxes.—"John," he said, "you feed 'em milk — Warm milk, John Wesley! Yes, and keep 'em by The stove —and keep your stove a-roarin' , too, Both night and day!—And keep 'em covered up— Not smothered , John, but snug and comfortable.— "The young foxes in it, on the hearth beside her." And now, John Wesley Thomas, first and last,— You feed 'em milk — fresh milk—and always warm — Say five or six or seven times a day— Of course we'll grade that by the way they thrive ." But, for all sanguine hope, and care, as well, The little fellows did not thrive at all.— Indeed, with all our care and vigilance, By the third day of their captivity The last survivor of the fated five Squeaked, like some battered little rubber toy Just clean worn out.—And that's just what it was! And—nights,—the cry of the mother-fox for her young Was heard, with awe, for long weeks afterward. And we boys, every night, would go to the door And, peering out in the darkness, listening, Could hear the poor fox in the black bleak woods Still calling for her little ones in vain. As, all mutely, we returned to the warm fireside, Mother would say: "How would you like for me To be out there, this dark night, in the cold woods, Calling for my children?" II UNCLE BRIGHTENS UP— Uncle he says 'at 'way down in the sea Ever'thing's ist like it used to be:— He says they's mermaids, an' mermens, too, An' little merchildern, like me an' you— Little merboys, with tops an' balls, An' little mergirls, with little merdolls. Uncle Sidney's vurry proud Of little Leslie-Janey, 'Cause she's so smart, an' goes to school Clean 'way in Pennsylvany! "An' all be poets an' all recite." She print' an' sent a postul-card To Uncle Sidney, telling How glad he'll be to hear that she "Toock the onners in Speling." Uncle he learns us to rhyme an' write An' all be poets an' all recite: His little-est poet's his little-est niece, An' this is her little-est poetry-piece. III SINGS A "WINKY-TOODEN" SONG— O here's a little rhyme for the Spring- or Summer-time— An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho!— Just a little bit o' tune you can twitter, May or June, An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho! It's a song that soars and sings, As the birds that twang their wings Or the katydids and things Thus and so, don't you know, An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho! [117] It's a song just broken loose, with no reason or excuse— An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho! You can sing along with it—or it matters not a bit— An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho! It's a lovely little thing That 'most any one could sing With a ringle-dingle-ding, Soft and low, don't you know, An a-ho-winky-tooden-an-a-ho! IV AND MAKES NURSERY RHYMES 1 THE DINERS IN THE KITCHEN Our dog Fred Et the bread. Our dog Dash Et the hash. Our dog Pete Et the meat. Our dog Davy Et the gravy. Our dog Toffy Et the coffee. Our dog Jake Et the cake. Our dog Trip Et the dip. And—the worst, From the first,— Our dog Fido Et the pie-dough. 2 THE IMPERIOUS ANGLER Miss Medairy Dory-Ann Cast her line and caught a man, But when he looked so pleased, alack! She unhooked and plunked him back.— "I never like to catch what I can," Said Miss Medairy Dory-Ann. 3 THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS [ Voice from behind high board-fence .] "Where's the crowd that dares to go Where I dare to lead?—you know!" "Well, here's one !" Shouts Ezry Dunn. "Count me two !" Yells Cootsy Drew. "Here's yer three !" Sings Babe Magee. "Score me four !" Roars Leech-hole Moore. "Tally— five !" Howls Jamesy Clive. "I make six !" Chirps Herbert Dix. "Punctchul!— seven !" Pipes Runt Replevin. "Mark me eight !" Grunts Mealbag Nate. "I'm yet nine !" Growls "Lud'rick" Stein. "Hi! here's ten !" Whoops Catfish Ben. "And now we march, in daring line, For the banks of Brandywine!" 4 "IT" A wee little worm in a hickory-nut Sang, happy as he could be,— "O I live in the heart of the whole round world, And it all belongs to me!" 5 THE DARING PRINCE A daring prince, of the realm Rangg Dhune, Once went up in a big balloon That caught and stuck on the horns of the moon, And he hung up there till next day noon— When all at once he exclaimed, "Hoot-toot!" And then came down in his parachute. A DUBIOUS "OLD KRISS" Us-folks is purty pore —but Ma She's waitin'—two years more—tel Pa He serve his term out. Our Pa he— He's in the Penitenchurrie ! Now don't you never tell !—'cause Sis , The baby , she don't know he is.— 'Cause she wuz only four, you know, He kissed her last an' hat to go! Pa alluz liked Sis best of all Us childern.—'Spect it's 'cause she fall "When she'uz ist a child , one day— An' make her back look thataway. [131] Pa—'fore he be a burglar—he's A locksmiff, an' maked locks, an' keys, An' knobs you pull fer bells to ring, An' he could ist make anything !— 'Cause our Ma say he can!—An' this Here little pair o' crutches Sis Skips round on—Pa maked them —yes-sir!— An' silivur-plate-name here fer her! Pa's out o' work when Chris'mus come One time, an' stay away from home, An' 's drunk an' 'buse our Ma, an' swear They ain't no "Old Kriss" anywhere! An' Sis she alluz say they wuz A' Old Kriss—an' she alluz does. But ef they is a' Old Kriss, why, When's Chris'mus, Ma she alluz cry? [132] This Chris'mus now , we live here in Where Ma's rent's alluz due ag'in— An' she " ist slaves "—I heerd her say She did—ist them words thataway! An' th'other night, when all's so cold An' stove's 'most out—our Ma she rolled Us in th'old feather-bed an' said, "To-morry's Chris'mus—go to bed, [133] "An' thank yer blessed stars fer this— We don't 'spect nothin' from Old Kriss!" An' cried, an' locked the door, an' prayed, An' turned the lamp down.... An' I laid There, thinkin' in the dark ag'in, "Ef wuz Old Kriss, he can't git in, 'Cause ain't no chimbly here at all— Ist old stovepipe stuck frue the wall!" I sleeped nen.—An' wuz dreamin' some When I waked up an' morning's come,— Fer our Ma she wuz settin' square Straight up in bed, a-readin' there Some letter 'at she 'd read, an' quit, An' nen hold like she's huggin' it.— An' diamon' ear-rings she don't know Wuz in her ears tel I say so— An' wake the rest up. An' the sun In frue the winder dazzle-un Them eyes o' Sis's, wiv a sure- Enough gold chain Old Kriss bringed to 'er! [134] An' all of us git gold things!—Sis, Though, say she know it " ain't Old Kriss— He kissed her, so she waked an' saw Him skite out—an' it wuz her Pa." "Along the brink of wild brook-way." A SONG OF SINGING Sing! gangling lad, along the brink Of wild brook-ways of shoal and deep, Where killdees dip, and cattle drink, And glinting little minnows leap! Sing! slimpsy lass who trips above And sets the foot-log quivering! Sing! bittern, bumble-bee, and dove— Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing as you will, O singers all Who sing because you want to sing! Sing! peacock on the orchard wall, Or tree-toad by the trickling spring! Sing! every bird on every bough— Sing! every living, loving thing— Sing any song, and anyhow, But Sing! Sing! Sing! THE JAYBIRD The Jaybird he's my favorite Of all the birds they is! I think he's quite a stylish sight In that blue suit of his: An' when he' lights an' shuts his wings, His coat's a "cutaway"— I guess it's only when he sings You'd know he wuz a jay. I like to watch him when he's lit In top of any tree, 'Cause all birds git wite out of it When he 'lights, an' they see How proud he act', an' swell an' spread His chest out more an' more, An' raise the feathers on his head Like it's cut pompadore! "I like to watch him." A BEAR FAMILY Wunst, 'way West in Illinoise, Wuz two Bears an' their two boys: An' the two boys' names, you know, Wuz—like ours is,—Jim an' Jo; An' their parunts' names wuz same's, All big grown-up people's names,— Ist Miz Bear, the neighbers call 'Em, an' Mister Bear—'at's all. Yes—an' Miz Bear scold him, too, Ist like grown folks shouldn't do! Wuz a grea'-big river there, An', 'crosst that, 's a mountain where Old Bear said some day he'd go, Ef she don't quit scoldin'so! So, one day when he been down The river, fishin', 'most to town, An' come back 'thout no fish a-tall, An' Jim an' Jo they run an' bawl [142] An' tell their ma their pa hain't fetch' No fish,—she scold again an' ketch Her old broom up an' biff him, too.— An' he ist cry, an' say, " Boo-hoo ! I told you what I 'd do some day'." An' he ist turned an' runned away To where's the grea'-big river there, An' ist splunged in an' swum to where The mountain's at, 'way th'other side, An' clumbed up there. An' Miz Bear cried — An' little Jo an' little Jim— Ist like their ma—bofe cried fer him!— But he clumbed on, clean out o' sight , He wuz so mad!—An' served 'em right! [143] Nen—when the Bear got 'way on top The mountain, he heerd somepin' flop Its wings—an' somepin' else he heerd A-rattlin'-like.—An' he wuz skeerd , An' looked 'way up, an'— Mercy sake! — It wuz a' Eagul an' a SNAKE! An'-sir! the Snake, he bite an' kill' The Eagul, an' they bofe fall till They strike the ground— k'spang-k'spat! — Wite where the Bear wuz standin' at! An' when here come the Snake at him, The Bear he think o' little Jim [144] An' Jo, he did—an' their ma, too,— All safe at home; an' he ist flew Back down the mountain—an' could hear The old Snake rattlin', sharp an' clear, Wite clos't behind!—An' Bear he's so All tired out, by time, you know, He git down to the river there, He know' he can't swim back to where His folks is at. But ist wite nen He see a boat an' six big men

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