Jim of the Hills | Page 8

sad,
Upon a fool in love with love.?Go, find her, lad, an' be again,?Fit to associate with men.
"Don't leave yourself upon the shelf:
It's bad for man to live alone."?"Hold on," says I. "What ails yourself?
What are you doin' on your own?"?Quickly he turned away his head.?"That's neither here nor there," he said.
I saw I'd made a clumsy break;
An' tied to cover it with talk?Of anything, for old Blair's sake.
He don't reply; but when I'd walk?Outside he says, "What's this I hear?About the mill boys actin' queer?"
So then we yarns about the strike,
An' old Bob Brown frowns an' shakes his head.?"There's something there I hardly like;
The boss has acted fair," he said.?"Eight years I've toiled here constantly,?An' boss an' friend he's been to me.
"I know he's up against it bad;
Stintin' himself to pay the men.?Don't listen to this tattle, lad,
An' leave that dirty work to Ben.?He tries to play on others need;?It's partly devil, partly greed.
"Ben's not a reel bad lot at heart,
But ignorant an' dull of sight,?An' crazed by these new creeds that start
An' grow like mushrooms, overnight;?An' this strange greed that's spread the more?Since the great sacrifice of war.
"Greed everywhere!" sighed old man Blair.
"Master an' man have caught the craze;?An' those who yesterday would share
Like brothers, now spend all their days?Snatchin' for gain - the great, the small.?And, of, folly of it all!"
He tapped the small book by his hand.
"Two thousand years ago they knew?That those who think an' understand
Can make their wants but very few.?Two thousand years they taught?That happiness can not be bought."
"Progress?" he shouted. "Bah! A Fig!
Where are the things that count or last?In buildin' something very big
Or goin' somewhere very fast??We put the horse behind the cart;?For where's your progress of the heart?
"Great wisdom lived long years ago,
An' yet we say that we progress.?The paint an' tinsel of our show
Are men more generous, or kind??Then where's your progress of the mind?"
(I think Bob Blair's a trifle mad;
They say so, too, around these parts;?An' he can be, when he's reel bad,
A holy terror once he starts.?Dare say it's readin' books an' such.?Thank God I never read too much!)
I says I'm sure I don't know
Where all this progress gets to now.?He smiles a bit an' answers low,
"Maybe you'll find out, lad, somehow.?But talkin' makes my old head whirl;?So you be off, an' - find that girl."
I says Good night, an' out I goes;
But I was hardly at the door?When his old specs is on his nose,
An' his book in his hand once more;?An', as I take the track for home,?Bob Blair goes back to Ancient Rome.
VII. THE WOOER
I nearly fell fair in my tracks.?I'm trudgin' homeward with my axe
When I come on her suddenly.?"I wonder if I'm lost?" says she.?"It's risky on such roads as this."?I lifts my hat an' says, "Yes, miss."
I knew 'twas rude for me to stare,?But, oh, that sunlight in her hair!
"I wonder if I'm lost? says she,?An' gives a smile that staggers me.
"An' yet, it wouldn't matter much?Supposing that I was, with such?A glorious green world about,?With bits of blue sky peepin' out.
Do you think there will be a fog?"?"No, miss," says I, an' pats my dog.
"Oh, what a dear old dog!" says she.?"Most dogs are pretty fond of me."
She calls him to her, an' he goes.?(He didn't find it hard, I s'pose;?I know I wouldn't if she called.)?"It's wondrous how the tracks are walled
With these great trees that touch the sky?On either side." "Yes, miss," says I.
She fondles my old dog a bit;?I wait to make a bolt for it.
(There ain't no call to stand an' talk?With one who'd be too proud to walk?A half-a-yard with such as me.)?"The wind keeps workin' up," says she.
"Yes, miss," says I, an' lifts me hat.?An' she just let's it go at that.
She let me reach the dribblin' ford -?That day to me it fairly roared.
(At least, that's how the thing appears;?But blood was poundin' in my ears.)?She waits till I ahve fairly crossed:?"I thought I told I was lost?"
She cries. "An' you go walkin' off,?Quite scornful, like some proud bush toff!"
She got me thinkin' hard with that.?"Yes, miss," I says, an' lifts my hat.
But she just waits there on the track,?An' lets me walk the whole way back.?"An' are you reely lost?" says I.?"Yes, sir," says she an' drops her eye. . .
I wait, an' wait for what seems days;?But not another word she says.
I pats my dog, an' lifts my hat;?But she don't seem to notice that.
I looks up trees an' stares at logs,?An' long for twenty hats an' dogs.?"The weather's kept reel good to-day,"?I blurts at last. Say she, "Hurray!"
"Hurray!" she says, an' then, "Encore!"?An' gets me wonderin' what for.
"Is this the right road to 'The Height?'"?I tell her it's the road, all right,
But that the way she's walkin' ain't.?At that she looked