Chapter IV

Then blow, Winds, blow!
And rave and shriek,
And snarl and snow
Till your breath grows weak--
While here in my room
I'm as snugly shut
As a glad little worm
In the heart of a nut!

THE RUNAWAY BOY

Wunst I sassed my Pa, an' he Won't stand that, an' punished me,-- Nen when he was gone that day, I slipped out an' runned away.

I tooked all my copper-cents, An' clumbed over our back fence In the jimpson-weeds 'at growed Ever'where all down the road.

Nen I got out there, an' nen I runned some--an' runned again When I met a man 'at led A big cow 'at shooked her head.

I went down a long, long lane Where was little pigs a-play'n'; An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!" An' jumped up, an' skeered me too.

Nen I scampered past, an' they Was somebody hollered "Hey!" An' I ist looked ever'where, An' they was nobody there.

I _Want_ to, but I'm 'fraid to try To go back.... An' by-an'-by Somepin' hurts my throat inside-- An' I want my Ma--an' cried.

Nen a grea'-big girl come through Where's a gate, an' telled me who Am I? an' ef I tell where My home's at she'll show me there.

But I couldn't ist but tell What's my _name_; an' she says well, An' she tooked me up an' says _She_ know where I live, she guess.

Nen she telled me hug wite close Round her neck!--an' off she goes Skippin' up the street! An' nen Purty soon I'm home again.

An' my Ma, when she kissed me, Kissed the _big girl_ too, an' _she_ Kissed me--ef I p'omise _shore_ I won't run away no more!

THE LITTLE COAT

Here's his ragged "roundabout"; Turn the pockets inside out: See; his pen-knife, lost to use, Rusted shut with apple-juice; Here, with marbles, top and string, Is his deadly "devil-sling," With its rubber, limp at last As the sparrows of the past! Beeswax--buckles--leather straps-- Bullets, and a box of caps,-- Not a thing of all, I guess, But betrays some waywardness-- E'en these tickets, blue and red, For the Bible-verses said-- Such as this his mem'ry kept-- "Jesus wept."

Here's a fishing hook-and-line, Tangled up with wire and twine, And dead angle-worms, and some Slugs of lead and chewing-gum, Blent with scents that can but come From the oil of rhodium. Here--a soiled, yet dainty note, That some little sweetheart wrote, Dotting,--"Vine grows round the stump," And--"My sweetest sugar lump!" Wrapped in this--a padlock key Where he's filed a touch-hole--see! And some powder in a quill Corked up with a liver pill; And a spongy little chunk Of "punk."

Here's the little coat--but O! Where is he we've censured so! Don't you hear us calling, dear? Back! come back, and never fear.-- You may wander where you will, Over orchard, field and hill; You may kill the birds, or do Anything that pleases you! Ah, this empty coat of his! Every tatter worth a kiss; Every stain as pure instead As the white stars overhead: And the pockets--homes were they Of the little hands that play Now no more--but, absent, thus Beckon us.

AN IMPETUOUS RESOLVE

When little Dickie Swope's a man,
He's go' to be a Sailor;
An' little Hamey Tincher, he's
A-go' to be a Tailor:
Bud Mitchell, he's a-go' to be
A stylish Carriage-Maker;
An' when _I_ grow a grea'-big man,
I'm go' to be a Baker!

An' Dick'll buy his sailor-suit
O' Hame; and Hame'll take it
An' buy as fine a double-rigg
As ever Bud can make it:
An' nen all three'll drive roun' fer me
An' we'll drive off togevver,
A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road
Ferever an' ferever!

WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ

Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still-- Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will. Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New Year's ain't a smell! Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the shell! Lawzy, though! at night, you know, to set around an' hear The old folks work the story off about the sledge an' deer, An' "Santy" skootin' round the roof, all wrapt in fur an' fuzz-- Long afore I knowed who "Santy-Claus" wuz!

Ust to wait, an' set up late, a week er two ahead; Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed; Kittle stewin' on the fire, an' Mother settin' here Darnin' socks, an' rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer; Pap gap', an' wonder where it wuz the money went, An' quar'l with his frosted heels, an' spill his liniment; An' me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir an' buzz, Long afore I knowed who "Santy-Claus" wuz!

Size the fire-place up an' figger how "Ole Santy" could Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would; Wisht 'at I could hide an' see him--wunderd what he'd say Ef he ketched a feller layin' fer him thataway! But I _bet_ on him, an' _liked_ him, same as ef he had Turned to pat me on the back an' say, "Look here, my lad, Here's my pack,--jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!" Long afore I knowed who "Santy-Claus" wuz!

Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it 'peared to be-- Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough fer me!-- Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child Climbin' in my lap to-night, an' beggin' me to tell 'Bout them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well I'm half sorry fer this little-girl-sweetheart of his-- Long afore She knows who "Santy-Claus" is!

THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS

They all climbed up on a high board-fence--
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes--
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat--
And I asked them what they were staring at.

And the first one said, as he scratched his head
With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear
And rasped its claws in his hair so red--
"This is what this little arm is fer!"
And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,
"How on earth do _you_ scratch your head?"

And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge--
Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;
And when he choked, with a final twinge
Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
With a fist that grew on the end of his tail
Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.

And the third little Goblin leered round at me--
And there were no lids on his eyes at all--
And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,
"What is the style of your socks this fall?"
And he clapped his heels--and I sighed to see
That he had hands where his feet should be.

Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,
Bowed his head, and I saw him slip
His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,
And paste them over his upper lip;
And then he moaned in remorseful pain--
"Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!"

And then the whole of the Goblin band
Rocked on the fence-top to and fro,
And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,
Singing the songs that they used to know--
Singing the songs that their grandsires sung
In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.

And ever they kept their green-glass eyes
Fixed on me with a stony stare--
Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise,
And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair,
And I felt the heart in my breast snap to
As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do.

And they sang "You're asleep! There is no board-fence, And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!-- 'Tis only a vision the mind invents After a supper of cold mince-pies,-- And you're doomed to dream this way," they said,-- "_And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!_"

TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS