A Child-World

  There was a curious quiet for a space
  Directly following: and in the face
  Of one rapt listener pulsed the flush and glow
  Of the heat-lightning that pent passions throw
  Long ere the crash of speech.—He broke the spell—
  The host:—The Traveler's story, told so well,
  He said, had wakened there within his breast
  A yearning, as it were, to know the rest—
  That all unwritten sequence that the Lord
  Of Righteousness must write with flame and sword,
  Some awful session of His patient thought—
  Just then it was, his good old mother caught
  His blazing eye—so that its fire became
  But as an ember—though it burned the same.
  It seemed to her, she said, that she had heard
  It was the Heavenly Parent never erred,
  And not the earthly one that had such grace:
  "Therefore, my son," she said, with lifted face
  And eyes, "let no one dare anticipate
  The Lord's intent. While He waits, we will wait"
  And with a gust of reverence genuine
  Then Uncle Mart was aptly ringing in—

      "'If the darkened heavens lower,
        Wrap thy cloak around thy form;
      Though the tempest rise in power,
        God is mightier than the storm!'"

  Which utterance reached the restive children all
  As something humorous. And then a call
  For him to tell a story, or to "say
  A funny piece." His face fell right away:
  He knew no story worthy. Then he must
  Declaim for them: In that, he could not trust
  His memory. And then a happy thought
  Struck some one, who reached in his vest and brought
  Some scrappy clippings into light and said
  There was a poem of Uncle Mart's he read
  Last April in "The Sentinel." He had
  It there in print, and knew all would be glad
  To hear it rendered by the author.

                      And,
  All reasons for declining at command
  Exhausted, the now helpless poet rose
  And said: "I am discovered, I suppose.
  Though I have taken all precautions not
  To sign my name to any verses wrought
  By my transcendent genius, yet, you see,
  Fame wrests my secret from me bodily;
  So I must needs confess I did this deed
  Of poetry red-handed, nor can plead
  One whit of unintention in my crime—
  My guilt of rhythm and my glut of rhyme.—

      "Mænides rehearsed a tale of arms,
        And Naso told of curious metatmurphoses;
      Unnumbered pens have pictured woman's charms,
        While crazy I've made poetry on purposes!"

  In other words, I stand convicted—need
  I say—by my own doing, as I read.

  THE OLD SNOW-MAN

  Ho! the old Snow-Man
    That Noey Bixler made!
  He looked as fierce and sassy
    As a soldier on parade!—
  'Cause Noey, when he made him,
    While we all wuz gone, you see,
  He made him, jist a-purpose,
    Jist as fierce as he could be!—
      But when we all got ust to him,
        Nobody wuz afraid
      Of the old Snow-Man
        That Noey Bixler made!

  'Cause Noey told us 'bout him
    And what he made him fer:—
  He'd come to feed, that morning
    He found we wuzn't here;
  And so the notion struck him,
    When we all come taggin' home
  'Tud s'prise us ef a' old Snow-Man
    'Ud meet us when we come!
  So, when he'd fed the stock, and milked,
    And ben back home, and chopped
  His wood, and et his breakfast, he
    Jist grabbed his mitts and hopped
  Right in on that-air old Snow-Man
    That he laid out he'd make
  Er bust a trace a-tryin'—jist
    Fer old-acquaintance sake!—
      But work like that wuz lots more fun.
        He said, than when he played!
      Ho! the old Snow-Man
        That Noey Bixler made!

  He started with a big snow-ball,
    And rolled it all around;
  And as he rolled, more snow 'ud stick
    And pull up off the ground.—
  He rolled and rolled all round the yard—
    'Cause we could see the track,
  All wher' the snow come off, you know,
    And left it wet and black.
  He got the Snow-Man's legs-part rolled—
    In front the kitchen-door,—
  And then he hat to turn in then
    And roll and roll some more!—
  He rolled the yard all round agin,
    And round the house, at that—
  Clean round the house and back to wher'
    The blame legs-half wuz at!
      He said he missed his dinner, too—
        Jist clean fergot and stayed
      There workin'. Ho! the old Snow-Man
        That Noey Bixler made!

  And Noey said he hat to hump    To git the top-half on
  The legs-half!—When he did, he said,
    His wind wuz purt'-nigh gone.—
  He said, I jucks! he jist drapped down
    There on the old porch-floor
  And panted like a dog!—And then
    He up! and rolled some more!—
  The last batch—that wuz fer his head,—
    And—time he'd got it right
  And clumb and fixed it on, he said—
    He hat to quit fer night!—
  And then, he said, he'd kep' right on
    Ef they'd ben any moon  To work by! So he crawled in bed—
    And could a-slep' tel noon,
      He wuz so plum wore out! he said,—
        But it wuz washin'-day,
      And hat to cut a cord o' wood
        'Fore he could git away!

  But, last, he got to work agin,—
    With spade, and gouge, and hoe,
  And trowel, too—(All tools 'ud do
    What Noey said, you know!)
  He cut his eyebrows out like cliffs—
    And his cheekbones and chin
  Stuck furder out—and his old nose    Stuck out as fur-agin!
  He made his eyes o' walnuts,
    And his whiskers out o' this
  Here buggy-cushion stuffin'—moss,
    The teacher says it is.
  And then he made a' old wood'-gun,
    Set keerless-like, you know,
  Acrost one shoulder—kindo' like
    Big Foot, er Adam Poe—
      Er, mayby, Simon Girty,
        The dinged old Renegade!
      Wooh! the old Snow-Man
        That Noey Bixler made!

  And there he stood, all fierce and grim,
    A stern, heroic form:
  What was the winter blast to him,
    And what the driving storm?—
  What wonder that the children pressed
    Their faces at the pane
  And scratched away the frost, in pride
    To look on him again?—
      What wonder that, with yearning bold,
        Their all of love and care
      Went warmest through the keenest cold
        To that Snow-Man out there!

  But the old Snow-Man—
    What a dubious delight
  He grew at last when Spring came on
    And days waxed warm and bright.—
  Alone he stood—all kith and kin
    Of snow and ice were gone;—
  Alone, with constant teardrops in
    His eyes and glittering on
  His thin, pathetic beard of black—
    Grief in a hopeless cause!—
  Hope—hope is for the man that dies—
    What for the man that thaws!      O Hero of a hero's make!—
        Let marble melt and fade,
      But never you—you old Snow-Man
        That Noey Bixler made!

  And there, in that ripe Summer-night, once more
  A wintry coolness through the open door
  And window seemed to touch each glowing face
  Refreshingly; and, for a fleeting space,
  The quickened fancy, through the fragrant air,
  Saw snowflakes whirling where the roseleaves were,
  And sounds of veriest jingling bells again
  Were heard in tinkling spoons and glasses then.

  Thus Uncle Mart's old poem sounded young
  And crisp and fresh and clear as when first sung,
  Away back in the wakening of Spring
  When his rhyme and the robin, chorusing,
  Rumored, in duo-fanfare, of the soon
  Invading johnny-jump-ups, with platoon
  On platoon of sweet-williams, marshaled fine
  To blooméd blarings of the trumpet-vine.

  The poet turned to whisperingly confer
  A moment with "The Noted Traveler."
  Then left the room, tripped up the stairs, and then
  An instant later reappeared again,
  Bearing a little, lacquered box, or chest,
  Which, as all marked with curious interest,
  He gave to the old Traveler, who in
  One hand upheld it, pulling back his thin
  Black lustre coat-sleeves, saying he had sent
  Up for his "Magic Box," and that he meant
  To test it there—especially to show
  The Children. "It is empty now, you know."—
  He humped it with his knuckles, so they heard
  The hollow sound—"But lest it be inferred
  It is not really empty, I will ask
  Little Jack Janitor, whose pleasant task
  It is to keep it ship-shape."

                      Then he tried
  And rapped the little drawer in the side,
  And called out sharply "Are you in there, Jack?"
  And then a little, squeaky voice came back,—
  "Of course I'm in here—ain't you got the key
  Turned on me!"

                      Then the Traveler leisurely
  Felt through his pockets, and at last took out
  The smallest key they ever heard about!—
  It,wasn't any longer than a pin:
  And this at last he managed to fit in
  The little keyhole, turned it, and then cried,
  "Is everything swept out clean there inside?"
  "Open the drawer and see!—Don't talk to much;
  Or else," the little voice squeaked, "talk in Dutch—
  You age me, asking questions!"

                      Then the man
  Looked hurt, so that the little folks began
  To feel so sorry for him, he put down
  His face against the box and had to frown.—
  "Come, sir!" he called,—"no impudence to me!—
  You've swept out clean?"

                      "Open the drawer and see!"
  And so he drew the drawer out: Nothing there,
  But just the empty drawer, stark and bare.
  He shoved it back again, with a shark click.—

  "Ouch!" yelled the little voice—"un-snap it—quick!—
  You've got my nose pinched in the crack!"

                      And then
  The frightened man drew out the drawer again,
  The little voice exclaiming, "Jeemi-nee!—
  Say what you want, but please don't murder me!"

  "Well, then," the man said, as he closed the drawer
  With care, "I want some cotton-batting for
  My supper! Have you got it?"

                      And inside,
  All muffled like, the little voice replied,
  "Open the drawer and see!"

                      And, sure enough,
  He drew it out, filled with the cotton stuff.
  He then asked for a candle to be brought
  And held for him: and tuft by tuft he caught
  And lit the cotton, and, while blazing, took
  It in his mouth and ate it, with a look
  Of purest satisfaction.

                      "Now," said he,
  "I've eaten the drawer empty, let me see
  What this is in my mouth:" And with both hands
  He began drawing from his lips long strands
  Of narrow silken ribbons, every hue
  And tint;—and crisp they were and bright and new
  As if just purchased at some Fancy-Store.
  "And now, Bub, bring your cap," he said, "before
  Something might happen!" And he stuffed the cap
  Full of the ribbons. "There, my little chap,
  Hold tight to them," he said, "and take them to
  The ladies there, for they know what to do
  With all such rainbow finery!"

                      He smiled
  Half sadly, as it seemed, to see the child
  Open his cap first to his mother..... There
  Was not a ribbon in it anywhere!
  "Jack Janitor!" the man said sternly through
  The Magic Box—"Jack Janitor, did you  Conceal those ribbons anywhere?"

                      "Well, yes,"
  The little voice piped—"but you'd never guess
  The place I hid 'em if you'd guess a year!"

  "Well, won't you tell me?"

                      "Not until you clear
  Your mean old conscience" said the voice, "and make
  Me first do something for the Children's sake."

  "Well, then, fill up the drawer," the Traveler said,
  "With whitest white on earth and reddest red!—
  Your terms accepted—Are you satisfied?"

  "Open the drawer and see!" the voice replied.

  "Why, bless my soul!"—the man said, as he drew
  The contents of the drawer into view—
  "It's level-full of candy!—Pass it 'round—
  Jack Janitor shan't steal that, I'll be bound!"—
  He raised and crunched a stick of it and smacked
  His lips.—"Yes, that is candy, for a fact!—
  And it's all yours!"

                      And how the children there
  Lit into it!—O never anywhere
  Was such a feast of sweetness!

                      "And now, then,"
  The man said, as the empty drawer again
  Slid to its place, he bending over it,—
  "Now, then, Jack Janitor, before we quit
  Our entertainment for the evening, tell
  Us where you hid the ribbons—can't you?"

                      "Well,"
  The squeaky little voice drawled sleepily—
  "Under your old hat, maybe.—Look and see!"

  All carefully the man took off his hat:
  But there was not a ribbon under that.—
  He shook his heavy hair, and all in vain
  The old white hat—then put it on again:
  "Now, tell me, honest, Jack, where did you hide
  The ribbons?"

                      "Under your hat" the voice replied.—
  "Mind! I said 'under' and not 'in' it.—Won't
  You ever take the hint on earth?—or don't
  You want to show folks where the ribbons at?—
  Law! but I'm sleepy!—Under—unner your hat!"

  Again the old man carefully took off
  The empty hat, with an embarrassed cough,
  Saying, all gravely to the children: "You
  Must promise not to laugh—you'll all want to—
  When you see where Jack Janitor has dared
  To hide those ribbons—when he might have spared
  My feelings.—But no matter!—Know the worst—
  Here are the ribbons, as I feared at first."—
  And, quick as snap of thumb and finger, there
  The old man's head had not a sign of hair,
  And in his lap a wig of iron-gray
  Lay, stuffed with all that glittering array
  Of ribbons ... "Take 'em to the ladies—Yes.
  Good-night to everybody, and God bless
  The Children."

                      In a whisper no one missed
  The Hired Man yawned: "He's a vantrilloquist"

  So gloried all the night Each trundle-bed
  And pallet was enchanted—each child-head
  Was packed with happy dreams. And long before
  The dawn's first far-off rooster crowed, the snore
  Of Uncle Mart was stilled, as round him pressed
  The bare arms of the wakeful little guest
  That he had carried home with him....

                                          "I think,"
  An awed voice said—"(No: I don't want a dwink.—
  Lay still.)—I think 'The Noted Traveler' he
  'S the inscrutibul-est man I ever see!"

  [Footnote 1: Gilead—evidently.—[Editor.]