A Child-World

The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Child-World, by James Whitcomb Riley #4 in our series by James Whitcomb Riley
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Title: A Child-World
Author: James Whitcomb Riley
Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9651]?[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]?[This file was first posted on October 13, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
? START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CHILD-WORLD ***
Produced by David Starner, Maria Cecilia Lim?and PG Distributed Proofreaders
A CHILD-WORLD
James Whitcomb Riley
A CHILD-WORLD
_The Child-World--long and long since lost to view--
A Fairy Paradise!--?How always fair it was and fresh and new--?How every affluent hour heaped heart and eyes?With treasures of surprise!
Enchantments tangible: The under-brink
Of dawns that launched the sight?Up seas of gold: The dewdrop on the pink,?With all the green earth in it and blue height?Of heavens infinite:
The liquid, dripping songs of orchard-birds--
The wee bass of the bees,--?With lucent deeps of silence afterwards;?The gay, clandestine whisperings of the breeze?And glad leaves of the trees.

O Child-World: After this world--just as when
I found you first sufficed?My soulmost need--if I found you again,?With all my childish dream so realised,?I should not be surprised._
CONTENTS
PROEM
THE CHILD-WORLD
THE OLD-HOME FOLKS
ALMON KEEPER
NOEY BIXLER
"A NOTED TRAVELER"
A PROSPECTIVE VISIT
AT NOEY'S HOUSE
"THAT LITTLE DOG"
THE LOEHRS AND THE HAMMONDS
THE HIRED MAN AND FLORETTY
THE EVENING COMPANY
MAYMIE'S STORY OF RED RIDING HOOD
LIMITATIONS OF GENIUS
MR. HAMMOND'S PARABLE--THE DREAMER
FLORETTY'S MUSICAL CONTRIBUTION
BUD'S FAIRY-TALE
A DELICIOUS INTERRUPTION
NOEY'S NIGHT-PIECE
COUSIN RUFUS' STORY
BEWILDERING EMOTIONS
ALEX TELLS A BEAR-STORY
THE PATHOS OF APPLAUSE
TOLD BY "THE NOTED TRAVELER"
HEAT-LIGHTNING
UNCLE MART'S POEM
"LITTLE JACK JANITOR"
FINALE
THE CHILD-WORLD
A Child-World, yet a wondrous world no less,?To those who knew its boundless happiness.?A simple old frame house--eight rooms in all--?Set just one side the center of a small?But very hopeful Indiana town,--?The upper-story looking squarely down?Upon the main street, and the main highway?From East to West,--historic in its day,?Known as The National Road--old-timers, all?Who linger yet, will happily recall?It as the scheme and handiwork, as well?As property, of "Uncle Sam," and tell?Of its importance, "long and long afore?Railroads wuz ever dreamp' of!"--Furthermore,?The reminiscent first Inhabitants?Will make that old road blossom with romance?Of snowy caravans, in long parade?Of covered vehicles, of every grade?From ox-cart of most primitive design,?To Conestoga wagons, with their fine?Deep-chested six-horse teams, in heavy gear,?High names and chiming bells--to childish ear?And eye entrancing as the glittering train?Of some sun-smitten pageant of old Spain.?And, in like spirit, haply they will tell?You of the roadside forests, and the yell?Of "wolfs" and "painters," in the long night-ride,?And "screechin' catamounts" on every side.--?Of stagecoach-days, highwaymen, and strange crimes,?And yet unriddled mysteries of the times?Called "Good Old." "And why 'Good Old'?" once a rare?Old chronicler was asked, who brushed the hair?Out of his twinkling eyes and said,--"Well John,?They're 'good old times' because they're dead and gone!"
The old home site was portioned into three?Distinctive lots. The front one--natively?Facing to southward, broad and gaudy-fine?With lilac, dahlia, rose, and flowering vine--?The dwelling stood in; and behind that, and?Upon the alley north and south, left hand,?The old wood-house,--half, trimly stacked with wood,?And half, a work-shop, where a workbench stood?Steadfastly through all seasons.--Over it,?Along the wall, hung compass, brace-and-bit,?And square, and drawing-knife, and smoothing-plane--?And little jack-plane, too--the children's vain?Possession by pretense--in fancy they?Manipulating it in endless play,?Turning out countless curls and loops of bright,?Fine satin shavings--Rapture infinite!?Shelved quilting-frames; the toolchest; the old box?Of refuse nails and screws; a rough gun-stock's?Outline in "curly maple"; and a pair?Of clamps and old krout-cutter hanging there.?Some "patterns," in thin wood, of shield and scroll,?Hung higher, with a neat "cane-fishing-pole"?And careful tackle--all securely out?Of reach of children, rummaging about.
Beside the wood-house, with broad branches free?Yet close above the roof, an apple-tree?Known as "The Prince's Harvest"--Magic phrase!?That was a boy's own tree, in many ways!--?Its girth and height meet both for the caress?Of his bare legs and his ambitiousness:?And then its apples, humoring his whim,?Seemed just to fairly hurry ripe for him--?Even in June, impetuous as he,?They dropped to meet him, halfway up the tree.?And O their bruised sweet faces where they fell!--?And ho! the lips that feigned to "kiss them well"!
"The Old Sweet-Apple-Tree," a stalwart, stood?In fairly sympathetic neighborhood?Of this wild