He owns the bird-songs of the hills—
  The laughter of the April rills;
  And his are all the diamonds set
  In Morning's dewy coronet,—
  And his the Dusk's first minted stars
  That twinkle through the pasture-bars
  And litter all the skies at night
  With glittering scraps of silver light;—
  The rainbow's bar, from rim to rim,
  In beaten gold, belongs to him.

   [Note from the transcriber: The Table of Contents below was taken from
   the book and is an ALPHABETICAL LIST of the poems.]

   AT AUNTY'S HOUSE

   BEAR STORY, THE

   BOY LIVES ON OUR FARM, THE

   BOYS' CANDIDATE, THE

   BUMBLEBEE, THE

   CIRCUS-DAY PARADE, THE

   CURLY LOCKS

   DAYS GONE BY, THE

   DOWN AROUND THE RIVER

   ENVOY

   FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW, THE

   GRANDFATHER SQUEERS

   HAPPY LITTLE CRIPPLE, THE

   HOME-MADE FAIRY-TALE, A

   IMPETUOUS RESOLVE, AN

   JOLLY MILLER, THE

   LIFE-LESSON, A

   LITTLE COAT, THE

   LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

   LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG, THE

   NAUGHTY CLAUDE

   NINE LITTLE GOBLINS, THE

   OLD AUNT MARY'S

   OLD HAY-MOW, THE

   OLD TRAMP, THE

   ON THE SUNNY SIDE

   OUR HIRED GIRL

   PET COON, THE

   PIXY PEOPLE, THE

   RAGGEDY MAN, THE

   RIDER OF THE KNEE, THE

   RUNAWAY BOY, THE

   SOUTH WIND AND THE SUN, THE

   SQUIRTGUN UNCLE MAKED ME, THE

   SUDDEN SHOWER, A

   TIME OF CLEARER TWITTERINGS

   WAITIN' FER THE CAT TO DIE

   WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ

   WINTER FANCIES

  [Unavailable image: They was two great big black things a-standin' by her side]

  Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
  An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
  An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
  An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
  An' all us other childern, when the supper things is done,
  We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
  A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
  An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
    Ef you
      Don't
        Watch
          Out!

  Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,—
  So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
  His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
  An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all!
  An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
  An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess;
  But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout:—
  An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
    Ef you
      Don't
        Watch
          Out!

  [Unavailable image: An' when they turn't the kivvers down]

  An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
  An' make fun of ever'one, an' all her blood an' kin;
  An' onc't, when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,
  She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
  An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
  They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
  An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
  An' the Gobble-uns'll git you
    Ef you
      Don't
        Watch
          Out!

  An' little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue,
  An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!  An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
  An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,—
  You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear,
  An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
  An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
  Er the Gobble-uns'll git you
    Ef you
      Don't
        Watch
          Out!

  [Unavailable image: Little Orphant Annie—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: The Raggedy Man—Title]

  O The Raggedy Man! He works fer Pa;
  An' he's the goodest man ever you saw!
  He comes to our house every day,
  An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay;
  An' he opens the shed—an' we all ist laugh
  When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf;
  An' nen—ef our hired girl says he can—
  He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann.—
    Aint he a' awful good Raggedy Man?
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

  W'y, The Raggedy Man—he's ist so good
  He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood;
  An' nen he spades in our garden, too,
  An' does most things 'at boys can't do!—
  He clumbed clean up in our big tree
  An' shooked a' apple down fer me—
  An' nother'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann—
  An' nother'n', too, fer The Raggedy Man.—
    Aint he a' awful kind Raggedy Man?
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

  [Unavailable image: He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got]

  An' The Raggedy Man, he knows most rhymes
  An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes:
  Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves,
  An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers therselves!
  An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot,
  He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got,
  'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can
  Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann!
    Aint he a funny old Raggedy Man?
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

  The Raggedy Man—one time when he
  Wuz makin' a little bow-'n'-orry fer me,
  Says "When you're big like your Pa is,
  Air you go' to keep a fine store like his—
  An' be a rich merchunt—an' wear fine clothes?—
  Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows!"
  An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann,
  An' I says "'M go' to be a Raggedy Man!—
    I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!"
      Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man!

  [Unavailable image: Curly Locks—Title]

  Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
  Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine,—
  But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
  And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.
  Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
  The throb of my heart is in every line,
  And the pulse of a passion as airy and glad
  In its musical beat as the little Prince had!

  [Unavailable image: Sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam]

  Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine!—
  O I'll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mine
  Till the pink of the nail of each finger shall be
  As a little pet blush in full blossom for me.

  But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
  And thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream,—
  The red of my veins, and the white of my love,
  And the gold of my joy for the braiding thereof.

  And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream
  From a service of silver, with jewels agleam,—
  At thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise,
  And twinkle my soul in the night of thine eyes!

  Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?
  Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine.—
  But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,
  And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.

  [Unavailable image: The Funny Little Fellow—Title]

  'Twas a Funny Little Fellow
    Of the very purest type,
  For he had a heart as mellow
    As an apple over-ripe;
  And the brightest little twinkle
    When a funny thing occurred,
  And the lightest little tinkle
    Of a laugh you ever heard!

  His smile was like the glitter
    Of the sun in tropic lands,
  And his talk a sweeter twitter
    Than the swallow understands;
  Hear him sing—and tell a story—
    Snap a joke—ignite a pun,—
  'Twas a capture—rapture—glory,
    And explosion—all in one!

  Though he hadn't any money—
    That condiment which tends
  To make a fellow "honey"
    For the palate of his friends;—
  Sweet simples he compounded—
    Sovereign antidotes for sin
  Or taint,—a faith unbounded
    That his friends were genuine.

  He wasn't honored, may be—
    For his songs of praise were slim,—
  Yet I never knew a baby
    That wouldn't crow for him;
  I never knew a mother
    But urged a kindly claim
  Upon him as a brother,
    At the mention of his name.

  [Unavailable image: Never knew a baby that wouldn't crow for him]

  The sick have ceased their sighing
    And have even found the grace
  Of a smile when they were dying
    As they looked upon his face;
  And I've seen his eyes of laughter
    Melt in tears that only ran
  As though, swift dancing after,
    Came the Funny Little Man.

  He laughed away the sorrow,
    And he laughed away the gloom
  We are all so prone to borrow
    From the darkness of the tomb;
  And he laughed across the ocean
    Of a happy life, and passed,
  With a laugh of glad emotion,
    Into Paradise at last.

  And I think the Angels knew him,
    And had gathered to await
  His coming, and run to him
    Through the widely-opened Gate—
  With their faces gleaming sunny
    For his laughter-loving sake,
  And thinking, "What a funny
    Little Angel he will make!"

  [Unavailable image: The Happy Little Cripple—Title]

  I'm thist a little cripple boy, an' never goin' to grow
  An' get a great big man at all!—'cause Aunty told me so.
  When I was thist a baby onc't, I falled out of the bed
  An' got "The Curv'ture of the Spine"—'at's what the Doctor said.
  I never had no Mother nen—fer my Pa runned away
  An' dassn't come back here no more—'cause he was drunk one day
  An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine!
  An' nen my Ma she died—an' I got "Curv'ture of the Spine!"

  [Unavailable image: An' I peck on the winder]

  I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!—
  Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!—An' I weigh thirty yet!
  I'm awful little fer my size—I'm purt' nigh littler 'nan
  Some babies is!—an' neighbers all calls me "The Little Man!"
  An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: "I 'spect, first thing you know,
  You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!"
  An' nen I laughed—till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'—
  Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got "Curv'ture of the Spine."

  I set—while Aunty's washin'—on my little long-leg stool,
  An' watch the little boys an' girls a-skippin' by to school;
  An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say:
  "Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all today?"
  An', nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks through,
  An' they all says: "Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' you!"
  An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine—
  They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got "Curv'ture of the Spine!"

  At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire,
  An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it higher,
  An' fetched the wood all in fer night, an' locked the kitchen door,
  An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the floor—
  She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea,
  An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg fer me;
  An' sometimes—when I cough so hard—her elderberry wine
  Don't go so bad fer little boys with "Curv'ture of the Spine!"

  [Unavailable image: An' cooks a' egg fer me]

  But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see,
  I'm 'most afeard she'll be took down—an' 'at's what bothers me!—
  'Cause ef my good old Aunty ever would git sick an' die,
  I don't know what she'd do in heaven—till I come, by an' by:—
  Fer she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know,
  An' no one there like me, to nuss an' worry over so!—
  'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' fine,
  They's nary angel 'bout the place with "Curv'ture of the Spine!"

  [Unavailable image: The Happy Little Cripple—Tailpiece]

  Knightly Rider of the Knee
  Of Proud-prancing Unclery!
  Gaily mount, and wave the sign
  Of that mastery of thine.

  Pat thy steed and turn him free,
  Knightly Rider of the Knee!
  Sit thy charger as a throne—
  Lash him with thy laugh alone:

  Sting him only with the spur
  Of such wit as may occur,
  Knightly Rider of the Knee,
  In thy shriek of ecstasy.

  Would, as now, we might endure,
  Twain as one—thou miniature
  Ruler, at the rein of me—
  Knightly Rider of the Knee!

  [Unavailable image: The Rider of the Knee]

  [Unavailable image: Down Around the River—Title]

  Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river!
  Have to furse with 'Lizey Ann— but lawzy! I fergive her!
  Drives me off the place, an' says 'at all 'at she's a-wishin',
  Land o' gracious! time'll come I'll git enough o' fishin'!
  Little Dave, a-choppin' wood, never 'pears to notice;
  Don't know where she's hid his hat, er keerin' where his coat is,—
  Specalatin', more'n like, he haint a-goin' to mind me,
  An' guessin' where, say twelve o'clock, a feller'd likely find me!

  Noon-time an' June-time, down around the river!
  Clean out o' sight o' home, an' skulkin' under kivver
  Of the sycamores, jack-oaks, an' swamp-ash an' ellum—
  Idies all so jumbled up, you kin hardly tell 'em!—
  Tired, you know, but lovin' it, an' smilin' jes' to think 'at
  Any sweeter tiredness you'd fairly want to drink it!
  Tired o' fishin'—tired o' fun—line out slack an' slacker—
  All you want in all the world's a little more tobacker!

  Hungry, but a-hidin' it, er jes' a-not a-keerin':—
  Kingfisher gittin' up an' skootin' out o' hearin';
  Snipes on the t'other side, where the County Ditch is,
  Wadin' up an' down the aidge like they'd rolled their britches!
  Old turkle on the root kindo-sorto drappin'
  Intoo th' worter like he don't know how it happen!
  Worter, shade an' all so mixed, don't know which you'd orter
  Say; th' worter in the shadder—shadder in the worter!
  Somebody hollerin'—'way around the bend in
  Upper Fork—where yer eye kin jes' ketch the endin'
  Of the shiney wedge o' wake some muss-rat's a-makin'
  With that pesky nose o' his! Then a sniff o' bacon,
  Corn-bred an' 'dock-greens—an' little Dave a-shinnin'
  'Crost the rocks an' mussel-shells, a-limpin' an' a-grinnin',
  With yer dinner fer ye, an' a blessin' from the giver,
  Noon-time an' June-time down around the river!

  [Unavailable image: Noon-time and June-time down around the river]

  [Unavailable image: Down Around The River—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: At Aunty's House—Title]

  One time, when we'z at Aunty's house—
    'Way in the country!—where
  They's ist but woods—an' pigs, an' cows—
    An' all's out-doors an' air!—
  An' orchurd-swing; an' churry-trees—
  An' churries in 'em!—Yes, an' these—
  Here red-head birds steals all they please,
    An' tetch 'em ef you dare!—
  W'y, wunst, one time, when we wuz there,
    We et out on the porch!
  [Unavailable image: We et out on the porch]

  Wite where the cellar-door wuz shut
    The table wuz; an' I
  Let Aunty set by me an' cut
    My vittuls up—an' pie.
  'Tuz awful funny!—I could see
  The red-heads in the churry-tree;
  An' bee-hives, where you got to be
    So keerful, goin' by;—
  An' "Comp'ny" there an' all!—an' we—
    We et out on the porch!
  An' I ist et p'surves an' things
    'At Ma don't 'low me to—
  An' chickun-gizzurds—(don't like wings    Like Parunts does! do you?)
  An' all the time, the wind blowed there,
  An' I could feel it in my hair,
  An' ist smell clover ever'where!—
    An' a' old red-head flew
  Purt' nigh wite over my high-chair,
    When we et on the porch!

  [Unavailable image: The Days Gone By—Title]

  O the days gone by! O the days gone by!
  The apples in the orchard, and the pathway through the rye;
  The chirrup of the robin, and the whistle of the quail
  As he piped across the meadows sweet as any nightingale;
  When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky,
  And my happy heart brimmed over, in the days gone by.

  [Unavailable image: In the orchard]

  In the days gone by, when my naked feet were tripped
  By the honeysuckle tangles where the water-lilies dipped,
  And the ripples of the river lipped the moss along the brink,
  Where the placid-eyed and lazy-footed cattle came to drink,
  And the tilting snipe stood fearless of the truant's wayward cry
  And the splashing of the swimmer, in the days gone by.

  O the days gone by! O the days gone by!
  The music of the laughing lip, the lustre of the eye;
  The childish faith in fairies, and Aladdin's magic ring—
  The simple, soul-reposing, glad belief in everything,—
  When life was like a story, holding neither sob nor sigh,
  In the golden olden glory of the days gone by.

  You better not fool with a Bumblebee!—
  Ef you don't think they can sting—you'll see!
  They're lazy to look at, an' kindo' go
  Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow,
  An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out,
  Danglin' their legs as they drone about
  The hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in
  'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out agin!
  Wunst I watched one climb clean 'way
  In a jim'son-blossom, I did, one day,—
  An' I ist grabbed it—an' nen let go—
  An' "Ooh-ooh! Honey! I told ye so!"
  Says The Raggedy Man; an' he ist run
  An' pullt out the stinger, an' don't laugh none,
  An' says: "They has ben folks, I guess,
  'At thought I wuz predjudust, more er less,—
  Yit I still muntain 'at a Bumblebee
  Wears out his welcome too quick fer me!"

  [Unavailable image: The Bumblebee]

  [Unavailable image: The Boy Lives on Our Farm—Title]

  The boy lives on our Farm, he's not
    Afeard o' horses none!
  An' he can make 'em lope, er trot,
    Er rack, er pace, er run.
  Sometimes he drives two horses, when
    He comes to town an' brings
  A wagon-full o' 'taters nen,
    An' roastin'-ears an' things.

  Two horses is "a team," he says,
    An' when you drive er hitch,
  The right-un's a "near-horse," I guess
    Er "off"—I don't know which—
  The Boy lives on our Farm, he told
    Me, too, 'at he can see,
  By lookin' at their teeth, how old
    A horse is, to a T!

  I'd be the gladdest boy alive
    Ef I knowed much as that,
  An' could stand up like him an' drive,
    An' ist push back my hat,
  Like he comes skallyhootin' through
    Our alley, with one arm
  A-wavin' Fare-ye-well! to you—
    The Boy lives on our Farm!

  [Unavailable image: Stand up like him an' drive]

  [Unavailable image: The Squirtgun Uncle Maked Me—Title]

  Uncle Sidney, when he wuz here,
    Maked me a squirtgun out o' some
  Elder-bushes 'at growed out near
  Where wuz the brickyard—'way out clear
      To where the toll-gate come!

  So when we walked back home again,
    He maked it, out in our woodhouse where
  Wuz the old workbench, an' the old jack-plane,
  An' the old 'pokeshave, an' the tools all lay'n'
      Ist like he wants 'em there.

  He sawed it first with the old hand-saw;
    An' nen he peeled off the bark, an' got
  Some glass an' scraped it; an' told 'bout Pa,
  When he wuz a boy an' fooled his Ma,
      An' the whippin' 'at he caught.

  Nen Uncle Sidney, he took an' filed
    A' old arn ramrod; an' one o' the ends
  He screwed fast into the vise; an' smiled,
  Thinkin', he said, o' when he wuz a child,
      'Fore him an' Pa wuz mens.

  He punched out the peth, an' nen he put
    A plug in the end with a hole notched through;
  Nen took the old drawey-knife an' cut
  An' maked a handle 'at shoved clean shut
      But ist where yer hand held to.

  An' he wropt th'uther end with some string an' white
    Piece o' the sleeve of a' old tored shirt;
  An' nen he showed me to hold it tight,
  An' suck in the water an' work it right
      An' it 'ud ist squirt an' squirt!

  [Unavailable image: The Squirtgun—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: An' nen he peeled off the bark]

  [Unavailable image: The Old Tramp.]

  A Old Tramp slep' in our stable wunst,
    An' The Raggedy Man he caught
  An' roust him up, an' chased him off
    Clean out through our back lot!

  An' th' Old Tramp hollered back an' said,—
    "You're a purty man!—You air!—
  With a pair o' eyes like two fried eggs,
    An' a nose like a Bartlutt pear!"

  Wasn't it pleasant, O brother mine,
  In those old days of the lost sunshine
  Of youth—when the Saturday's chores were through,
  And the "Sunday's wood" in the kitchen, too,
  And we went visiting, "me and you,"
            Out to Old Aunt Mary's?

  It all comes back so clear to-day!
  Though I am as bald as you are gray—
  Out by the barn-lot, and down the lane,
  We patter along in the dust again,
  As light as the tips of the drops of the rain,
            Out to Old Aunt Mary's!

  We cross the pasture, and through the wood
  Where the old gray snag of the poplar stood,
  Where the hammering "red-heads" hopped awry,
  And the buzzard "raised" in the "clearing" sky
  And lolled and circled, as we went by
            Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

  And then in the dust of the road again;
  And the teams we met, and the countrymen;
  And the long highway, with sunshine spread
  As thick as butter on country bread,
  Our cares behind, and our hearts ahead
            Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

  [Unavailable image: We patter along in the dust again]

  Why, I see her now in the open door,
  Where the little gourds grew up the sides and o'er
  The clapboard roof!—And her face—ah, me!
  Wasn't it good for a boy to see—
  And wasn't it good for a boy to be
            Out to Old Aunt Mary's?

  And O my brother, so far away,
  This is to tell you she waits to-day
  To welcome us:—Aunt Mary fell
  Asleep this morning, whispering, "Tell
  The boys to come!" And all is well
            Out to Old Aunt Mary's.

  [Unavailable image: Old Aunt Mary's—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: Winter Fancies—Title]

  I

    Winter without
      And warmth within;
    The winds may shout
      And the storm begin;
    The snows may pack
      At the window pane,
    And the skies grow black,
      And the sun remain
    Hidden away
      The livelong day—
  But here—in here is the warmth of May!

  [Unavailable image: Winter without and warmth within]

  II

    Swoop your spitefullest
        Up the flue,
        Wild Winds—do!
  What in the world do I care for you?
    O delightfullest
        Weather of all,
        Howl and squall,
  And shake the trees till the last leaves fall!

  III

    The joy one feels,
        In an easy chair,
    Cocking his heels
        In the dancing air
  That wreathes the rim of a roaring stove
  Whose heat loves better than hearts can love,
    Will not permit
        The coldest day
            To drive away
  The fire in his blood, and the bliss of it!

  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!

  [Unavailable image: Here in my room I'm as snugly shut]

  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.

  [Unavailable image: An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!"]

  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!

  [Unavailable image: Hug wite close round her neck]

  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."

  [Unavailable image: The Little Coat]

  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.

  [Unavailable image: The Little Coat—Tailpiece]

  [Unavailable image: An Impetuous Resolve—Title]

  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!

  [Unavailable image: I'm go' to be a baker]

  [Unavailable image: A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road]

  [Unavailable image: Who Santy-Claus Wuz—Title]

  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!

  [Unavailable image: An' quar'l with his frosted heels]

  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!

  [Unavailable image: Who Santy-Claus Wuz—Tailpiece]