Riley Farm-Rhymes | Page 4

boy must have a better
chanceThat?we ort to educate him, under any circumstance;?And John he j'ined his mother, and they ding-donged and
kep' on,?Tel I sent him off to school in town, half glad that he was
gone.
But--I missed him--w'y, of course I did!--The Fall and
Winter through?I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two,?Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gambrelpin,
But what I thought o' John, and wished that he was home
ag'in.
He'd come, sometimes--on Sund'ys most--and stay the
Sund'y out;?And on Thanksgivin'-Day he 'peared to like to be about:?But a change was workin' on him--he was stiller than
before,?And didn't joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any
more.
And his talk was all so proper; and I noticed, with a sigh, He was tryin' to raise side-whiskers, and had on a striped
tie,?And a standin'-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as bone; And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug-hat of
his own.
But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was to
come home?And he'p me through the season, I was glad to see him
come,?But my happiness, that evening, with the settin' sun went
down,?When he bragged of "a position" that was offered him in
town.
"But," says I, "you'll not accept it?" "W'y, of course I
will," says he.--?"This drudgin' on a farm," he says, "is not the life fer
me;?I've set my stakes up higher," he continued, light and
gay,?"And town's the place fer ME, and I'm a-goin' right
away!"
And go he did!--his mother clingin' to him at the gate,?A-pleadin' and a-cryin'; but it hadn't any weight.?I was tranquiller, and told her 'twarn't no use to worry
so,?And onclasped her arms from round his neck round mine
--and let him go!
I felt a little bitter feelin' foolin' round about?The aidges of my conscience; but I didn't let it out;--?I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuk the boy's hand,?And though I didn't say a word, I knowed he'd understand.
And--well!--sence then the old home here was mighty
lonesome, shore!?With me a-workin' in the field, and Mother at the door,?Her face ferever to'rds the town, and fadin' more and
more--?Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin' in a store!
The weeks and months dragged by us; and sometimes the
boy would write?A letter to his mother, sayin' that his work was light,?And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit--?Though his business was confinin', he was gittin' used
to it.
And sometimes he would write and ast how _I_ was gittin'
on,?And ef I had to pay out much fer he'p sence he was gone;?And how the hogs was doin', and the balance of the stock,?And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to talk.
And he wrote, along 'fore harvest, that he guessed he
would git home,?Fer business would, of course, be dull in town.--But
DIDN'T come:--?We got a postal later, sayin' when they had no trade?They filled the time "invoicin' goods," and that was why
he stayed.
And then he quit a-writin' altogether: Not a word--?Exceptin' what the neighbers brung who'd been to town
and heard?What store John was clerkin' in, and went round to inquire
If they could buy their goods there less and sell their
produce higher.
And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore away,?And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanksgivin'-
Day!?The night before that day of thanks I'll never quite fergit, The wind a-howlin' round the house-it makes me creepy
yit!
And there set me and Mother--me a-twistin' at the
prongs?Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair of
tongs,?And Mother sayin', "DAVID! DAVID!" in a' undertone,?As though she thought that I was thinkin' bad-words?unbeknown.
"I've dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," Mother
said,?A-tryin' to wedge some pleasant subject in my stubborn
head,--?"And the mince-meat I'm a-mixin' is perfection mighty
nigh;?And the pound-cake is delicious-rich--" "Who'll eat
'em?" I--says--I.
"The cramberries is drippin'-sweet," says Mother, runnin'
on,?P'tendin' not to hear me;--"and somehow I thought of
John?All the time they was a-jellin'--fer you know they allus
was?His favorITE--he likes 'em so!" Says I "Well, s'pose
he does?"
"Oh, nothin' much!" says Mother, with a quiet sort o'
smile--?"This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after
while!"?And as I turnt and looked around, some one riz up and
leant?And putt his arms round Mother's neck, and laughed in
low content.
"It's ME," he says--"your fool-boy John, come back to
shake your hand;?Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you understand
How dearer yit than all the world is this old home that
we?Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life--jest Mother, you
and me!"
Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John,?Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time
comes on;?And then, I want to say to you, we NEED sich he'p about,?As you'd admit, ef you could see the way the crops turn
out!
A CANARY AT THE FARM
Folks has be'n to town, and Sahry?Fetched 'er home a pet canary,--?And of all the blame', contrary,
Aggervatin' things alive!?I love music--that's I love it?When it's free--and plenty of it;--?But I kindo' git above it,
At a dollar-eighty-five!
Reason's plain as I'm a--sayin',--?Jes'