The Project Gutenberg eBook of Boys and Girls, by James W. Foley.

OH, she has such a way with her!
I stay with her
And play with her,
Her cheeks are round and dimpled and
Her eyes are Heaven’s blue;
My life is spent quite half with her,
I laugh with her
And chaff with her,
Till she looks up with laughing eyes,
And all she says is “Goo!”

Sometimes I try to walk with her,
I talk with her
And rock with her;
She knows some way my love for her
Is tender and is true.
And so I sit and speak with her
And seek with her
The cheek of her
To brush with little kisses and
Quite all she says is “Goo!”

She toddles in to share with me
My chair with me;
Her air with me
Is that of queen imperious,
My heart her subject true.
Upon the floor she lies with me
And tries with me
To rise with me
When romping time is over, and
She looks up and says “Goo!”

Oh, she is such a part of me,
The heart of me,
And art of me
Could not express my love for her,
So tender and so true;
She is the treasure blessed of me,
Heart’s guest of me,
The best of me,
This little baby girl of me
Who looks up and says “Goo!”

SOMEBODY went and broke my doll, an’ let her sawdust out
On Mamma’s floor an’ my! there’s sawdust scattered all about!
Dess scandalous! An’ bien by my Mamma’ll come an’ say:
“I see ’at Little Mischefuss has been around today!”

An’ sometimes w’en th’ sugar bowl’s lef’ open, she says ’en:
“I dess ’at Little Mischefuss has been around again!”
An’ my! I’m awful much surprised! an’ ast how does she know,
But she dess says a little bird flew in an’ told her so!

One time somebody went, she did, and broke my jumpin’-jack
An’ Mamma says: “I see ’at Little Mischefuss is back.”
An’ w’en somebody spilled p’eserves right on the pantry shelf
She says: “I see ’at Mischefuss has tried to he’p herself!”

One day somebody tored my dress an’ en she says: “I see
At Little Mischefuss is dess as busy as can be!”
An’ my! I’m awful much surprised an’ ast how does she know,
But she dess says a little bird flew in an’ told her so!

Somebody frowed my blocks out doors an’ ’en ’ey dot all wet
An’ all peeled off tuz why it rained an’ Mamma says she bet
’At Little Mischefuss is back from Topsyturvytown
An’ mus’ be hidin’ in th’ house or else somew’eres aroun’.

Oncet Mamma’s goin’ t’ spank her w’en she catches her, an’ so
I ast her not to tuz she’s dess a little girl, you know,
An’ don’t know any better ’an t’ plague an’ pester us,
Till she dess laughs, tuz why she says I’m Little Mischefuss!

THIS is the story of Mortimer Brown
Who went for his mother some errands in town,
Who was told he must come back as quick as he could
And as earnestly promised his mother he would.
He went down the front steps full three at a time
And swung on the gate, for the swinging was prime.

He teetered on all the loose boards in the walk
And met Jimmy Brady and sat down to talk;
He climbed up the trunk of a big tree that stands
Not so far from his home, and he swung with both hands.
He passed the cow pasture and stopped for a stroll,
Climbed the fence and turned twice on the very top pole.

Then he turned a few handsprings all through the long grass
And sat on the fence to watch Peter Bates pass
With a big flock of sheep, and he got himself chased
By the biggest black ram and he fell in his haste
Down the bank of the brook and he sat there about
Half an hour in the sun till his clothes were dried out.
He laid off his coat since the day was so hot
And chose a bypath through the strawberry plot;
He gathered some berries to eat on his way
Till alarmed by the watch-dog’s deep, ominous bay.
Then he followed a rabbit as far as he could
Until it was lost in the depth of a wood,
And marked a bee tree so to find it again
When he and Jim Brady should visit Beech Glen.
So tired then he was that he sat down to rest
And he fell sound asleep with his coat and his vest

Spread under his head, when the rumble of wheels
On the road waked him up and he saw Elmer Beals
Driving by in the lane and he climbed up beside
On a big load of squashes and had a fine ride,
And helped lead the horses to water as soon
As they both reached the town in the late afternoon.
And then, oh, alas! The long list Mother wrote
Of the things he should get had dropped out of his coat,

So he bought some stick candy and cookies—he knew
Of the things she would need they must surely be two,
And munching them sadly the whole of the way
Back homeward he wondered what Mother would say.
I wonder if ever in country or town
You have known such a lad as this Mortimer Brown?

I KNOW a little sailor who has never been to sea,
But walks the deck of our back porch as bold as he can be.
He never shows a sign of fear when in the stoutest gale,
Nor ever lost a ship, although he never reefed a sail.
I’ve heard him send his crew aloft when fearful tempests blew,
But though I’ve searched the rigging oft, I never saw the crew.
I’m sure he is a sailor, for his mother showed to me
His clothes, such as the sailors wear when they go forth to sea.

I know a little hunter who has never fired a gun,
But roams about our orchard with a painted wooden one;
A hunter of such prowess that he hasn’t left a bear,
A tiger or an animal of that description there.
I know he used to see them, for I’ve seen him creep and crawl,
And finally destroy one that I never saw at all.
I’m sure he was a hunter, for I saw his buckskins spread
Just as a plainsman leaves them—on the foot-board of his bed.

I know a little soldier who has never been to war,
But wears a splendid uniform, all buttoned down before.
I’ve seen him drill in our back yard a dozen times a day,
I’ve seen him march and counter in a military way.
I’ve heard him shout commands with all a captain’s dignity,
But though I’ve searched the lawn, I never saw his company.
I’m sure he was a soldier, for I saw the clothes he wore
Last night beside his bed, when he had finished with the war.

Sometimes he gets a wetting when the seas are very high,
And has to have his sailor clothes hung on the line to dry,
So he becomes a soldier and upon a march he goes,
And what he is this moment quite depends upon his clothes.
He never shoots a lion when he wears a sailor suit,
Or walks the deck in buckskins, which he only wears to shoot,
And never thinks of drilling or of marching off to war
Unless he wears his uniform with buttons down before.

ONE time I’m awful sick in bed,
An’ sometimes I’m delirious,
’Cuz I got fever in my head,
An’ when I’m th’ most serious
My Pa, he sits beside of me
An’ ’en he rubs my head, an’ ’en
He says when I get well, why, he
Won’t ever scold his boy again.

An’ ’en my Ma, she rubs my head
’Ist burnin’ hot, an’ ’en her chin
’Ist shivers an’ she says: “Poor Ned!
His little hands so white an’ thin!”
An’ ’en she says she never knew
How precious ’ist a boy could be,
An’ when I’m well she’s goin’ t’ do
’Ist what I want her to for me.

An’ by and by my Aunty comes
An’ says when I get well why she
Don’t care if I have twenty drums,
An’ she will buy a sled for me.
An’ my big sister’s goin’ t’ buy
A really pony ’ist as quick
As ever doctor says ’at I
Am well again from bein’ sick.

An’ even our old hired man
Comes in an’ stays a while with me,
Whenever doctor says he can,
’Ist kind an’ gentle as can be,
’Cuz once he had a boy, an’ ’en
He had th’ fever an’ ’at’s why
He’s awful kind to me an’ when
He sees me, why he starts t’ cry.

An’ even teacher comes to see
Me on her way from school, an’ ’en
She says it won’t be hard for me
When I come back to school again.
’Cuz she won’t make my lessons long,
Or keep me after school; an’ she
’Ist wants me to get well an’ strong
An’ ’en she stoops an’ kisses me.

An’ ’at’s th’ way you really know
How much they love you, when your head
’Ist burnin’ up an’ you can’t go
Nowheres except to stay in bed.
An’ even if you’re awful bad
An’ hot with fever, why, you know,
It makes you feel ’ist sweet an’ glad
Becuz they all ’ist love you so.

SOMEBODY stood up right on top of a chair
An’ reached in the cooky-jar, way, way up there,
W’en nobody’s lookin’ an’ Mamma’s asleep,
An’ all of us chinnern wuz playin’ Bo-peep
Now’eres near the pantry; an’ tryin’ to get
Some cookies, an’ someway the jar got upset,
An’ my! it ’ist busted all over the floor.
But John, he ain’t scairt; an’ he rapped on the door,
W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!”

An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
’Cuz we don’t know who done it—but Somebody did!

Somebody crawled up in the big leather chair
By the lib’ary table w’at stood over there
W’en we wuz a-playin’ now’eres near the ink
An’ Mamma was sewin’—an’ w’at do you think?
Somebody upset it and knocked it, ’ist Chug!
Right off’n the table an’ down on the rug,
An’ my! it ’ist busted an’ runned everyw’eres.
But John, he ain’t scairt; an’ he runned right upstairs,
W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!”

An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
’Cuz we don’t know who done it—but Somebody did!

An’ wunst w’en the kitchen wuz all scrubbed so clean,
The floor wuz ’ist shiny as ever you seen,
An’ we wuz all playin’ outdoors in the street,
Somebody went in with the muddies’ feet
An’ tracked it all over the floor, ’ist a sight;
An’ my! when we seen it we ’ist shook with fright,
’Cuz none of us chinnern went near it all day.
But John, he ain’t scairt; an’ he went right away,
W’ile all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
An’ ’en he says: “Ma, see w’at Somebody did!”

An’ all of us chinnern we runned off an’ hid,
’Cuz we don’t know who done it—but Somebody did!

THE queerest things rained down all over our street,
With long legs, like spiders, and muddy brown feet;
They must have rained down, for I saw them all run
Through puddles and mud ere the shower was done.
They’re some sort of Waders, and all over town
Through pools and deep gutters they splash up and down,
Bareheaded, barelegged, barefooted and wet,
The Waders of Frogpond—I hear them splash yet.

The rain fell in torrents, the gutters’ deep tides
Were black, and the rain barrels ran o’er their sides,
The frothy white waters whirled from the eavespout,
But with the first lull all the Waders came out.
They danced in the frogponds, they sounded the streams
In gutters and made the air shrill with their screams,
They rolled up their dresses and trousers and dashed
Through mud, froth and water, and waded and splashed.

And forth with the Waders came all kinds of dogs,
Came sailors with bark boats, came navies of frogs.
Came big rubber boots on such tiny brown legs,
Came floating armadas of cans and half-kegs;
Came long poles for sounding, came all sorts of crafts,
Unseaworthy boxes made over to rafts,
I wonder if ever in my life again
I’ll see so much gladness come down with the rain.

They must have rained down, for a minute ago
The frogpond was dry and deserted, you know;
There wasn’t a Wader, a dog or a craft,
A pair of gum boots, a bark boat or a raft;
The eave’s but done dripping, scarce dry is the spout,
When lo, all the navy of Waders is out!
The pond’s full of ships as the old Spanish Main.
Who’d think so much fun could come down with the rain?

SHE kept him aftur skool when awl the burds
Were singen swetely in the woods an wurds
Kood not deskribe his sufferens. the air
Was full uv blossums an the urth was fare
Ecksept to himm. becaws he did not no
His jogafy she wood not let him go
An when he hurd us cloas the dore the teers
Rolld down his cheeks an he livd menny yeers
In just a singul owr. it was like sum
Old torchure ur sum krewel marturdum.

How kood he study when he noo that we
Were goen gayly homewurd glad an free
Wile he was kept a prizzuner becaws
He did not no ware venna zweela was.
An when he thot uv how weere ap too go
In swimmen aftur skool his greef an wo
Was almoast moar than he kood bare an yet
She sturnly kept him thare an wood not let
Him leev his seet altho he felt he must
An so she bowd his spearut in the dust.

An aftur wile when its too late to play
She lookt at him in sutch a skornful way
Az tho he was a krimminle an sed
He mite go home. his proud and hotty hed
Was bent with greef and he went slowly owt
The skoolroom dore and then lookt awl abowt
Az tho releest from prizzen an the brand
Uv sin on him was moar than he kood stand.
An he went sloly homewurd bowd with shaim
O liburtey the krimes dun in thi naim.

DEAR Lord, excuse Jim Banks and me
For hitting Aunty Griggs when we
Threw snowballs at the cat, because
We did not know where Aunty was!

Jim Banks and me are sorry, Lord,
For, drawing Teacher on the board,
And after what we got, we do
Not need more punishment from you!

Excuse Jim Banks especially,
Because his mother’s dead and he
Just heard of you the other day
And is too bashful yet to pray!

But you would like him if you knew
Jim Banks as well as we all do.
And if you have some clothes to spare
Remember him, for he’s quite bare!

He says old shoes will help him some,
And some worn pants; and he will come
Most any night, but where he stays
He earns his keep by working days!

And if there is an angel there
Who might like him and you can spare,
Would you mind telling this to him
And see what he can do for Jim?

And Jimmy’s hat is straw and old,
You know the weather’s pretty cold,
And Jimmy’s ears stick out into
The weather, and his nose gets blue!

Dear Lord, please do the very best
You can for him! I’ve got a vest
And sweater on the closet shelf
That I am going to give myself!

And beg your pardon, Lord, and pray
My soul to keep; and Jimmy may
Be President some day, and then
We’ll all be proud of him. Amen!

DEAR Lord, be good to Santa Claus,
He’s been so good to me;
I never told him so because
He is so hard to see.
He must love little children so
To come through snow and storm;
Please care for him when cold winds blow
And keep him nice and warm.

Dear Lord, be good to him and good
To Mary Christmas, too.
I’d like to tell them, if I could,
The things I’m telling you.
They’ve both been very good to me,
And everywhere they go
They make us glad;—no wonder we
All learn to love them so.

Please have him button up his coat
So it will keep him warm;
And wear a scarf about his throat
If it should start to storm.
And when the night is dark, please lend
Him light if stars are dim,
Or maybe sometimes you could send
An Angel down with him.

Please keep his heart so good and kind
That he will always smile;
And tell him maybe we will find
And thank him after while.
Please keep him safe from harm and keep
Quite near and guard him when
He’s tired and lays him down to sleep.
Dear Lord, please do! Amen.

HENRY Blake’s chum he had awful red hair,
And most of his clothes were too small;
And often and often he wore his feet bare
Until it was late in the fall.
But he would just whistle as though he had shoes,
Was never discouraged or glum;
And most any boy would be sorry to lose
A fellow like Henry Blake’s chum.

Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about trees,
And woodticks and crickets and birds,
And all of the things that a boy really sees
But can’t always tell them in words;
And he knew where fish were the most apt to bite,
And when the first blackberries come,
And how to catch birds in a trap when they light—
No wonder he’s good for a chum.

Henry Blake’s chum, he had rabbits for pets,
And crows that he taught how to speak,
And dogs that will haul you, and he often gets
A new dog or two every week.
And often he crawls up and catches a frog
Between his first finger and thumb,
Where it may be sitting alone on a log;
And my! Henry’s proud of his chum!

Henry Blake’s chum, he knew all about flowers
And always could tell you their name,
And didn’t mind thunder or lightning or showers
Because he said it’s all the same
So long as you’re barefoot and haven’t much clothes.
And he knew how partridges drum,
And whistled just like a Bob White’s whistle goes—
No wonder he’s somebody’s chum.

Henry Blake’s chum, he came up from the farm,
And my! he was awful ashamed
In school not to know the big bone in your arm
Or what the equator was named.
But when it came recess we all stood about
And waited until he would come,
And he told us things we had never found out—
And my! Henry’s proud of his chum!

ONCE upon a time rare flowers grew
On every shrub and bush we used to see;
The skies above our heads were always blue,
The woods held secrets deep for you and me;
The hillsides had their caves where tales were told
Of swart-cheeked pirates from a far-off clime,
When cutlases were fierce and rovers bold—
Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

Once upon a time from sun to sun
The hours were full of joy—there was no care,
And webs of gaudy dreams in air were spun
Of deeds heroic and of fortunes fair;
The jangling schoolhouse bell was all the woe
Our spirits knew, and in its tuneless chime
Was all the sorrow of the long ago—
Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

Once upon a time the witches rode
In sinister and ominous parade
Upon their sticks at night, and queer lights glowed
With eery noises by the goblins made;
And many things mysterious there were
For boyish cheeks to pale at through the grime
That held them brown; and shadows queer would stir—
Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

Once upon a time our faith was vast
To compass all the things on sea and land
That boys have trembled o’er for ages past,
Nor ever could explain or understand,
And in that faith found happiness too deep
For all the gifted tongues of prose or rime,
And joys ineffable we could not keep—
Don’t you remember?—Once upon a time.

FIVE minutes chasing butterflies
Way over, off the road;
Five minutes watching Willie Price
Do tricks with his pet toad;
Five minutes helping Gibbsie get
His pig back in the pen—
I wonder if it’s school-time yet?
I guess I’m late again.

I think I lost a little time
Because I walked so slow
Where Johnny Watkins lost a dime
A day or two ago.
It’s underneath the leaves somewhere,
And Johnny feels so blue
That I just stopped a minute there
Because he asked me to.

And then it rained a little bit,
And Dominick McPhee
Had his straw hat and had to sit
Under a good thick tree,
Or else he’d get it spoiled and get
The top all swelled. You see,
A straw hat is not safe to wet—
His kind, especially.

And after we had saved his hat
From getting spoiled for him,
A big woodpecker came and sat
Upon a rotten limb;
And Johnny said when they’re about,
Somebody told the boys,
You see a lot of worms come out
To see what makes the noise.

So then we boys all stayed about
A couple minutes more,
In hopes to see the worms come out
Which he was rapping for;
But after he went b-r-r-r! and b-r-r-r!
A while, he flew away,
And Johnny said he guessed there were
No worms at home that day.

So then we hurried up, and ran
As fast as we could run,
To get there just as school began.
And just when it’s begun
I had to run back to the tree
To get my slate and rule;
And yet the teacher cannot see
Why boys are late for school.

OUR Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue
Whenever he goes by our yard;
And he says, “Good-morning” or “How-do-you-do?”
But sometimes he winks awful hard.
I guess he don’t know what my name really is,
Or else he forgot, if he knew;
And my! You would think I am really part his—
He calls me his Little Boy Blue!

Our Neighbor, he told me that Little Boy Blue
Once stood all his toys in a row,
And said, “Now, don’t go till I come back for you”—
But that was a long time ago.
And one time, at Christmas, when I had a tree,
He brought me a sled, all brand-new,
And smiled when he said it was partly for me
And partly for Little Boy Blue.

Our Neighbor, he’s not going to have any tree,
So he says the best he can do
Is try to get something to partly give me
And partly give Little Boy Blue,
Because, if he’s here, it would make him so glad,
And he said he knew it was true
That ever and ever so many folks had
A boy just like Little Boy Blue.

Our Neighbor, he calls me his Little Boy Blue,
And said he would like to help trim
Our tree when it came—he would feel that he knew
It was partly for me and for him.
He said he would fix it with lights and wax flowers,
With popcorn and berries—you see,
He’d like to come over and help to trim ours—
He’s not going to have any tree!

HE’S ’ist a little orfant boy
W’at goes to school with me;
An’ ain’t got any parents ’cuz
His folks is dead, you see.
An’ w’en he sees my toys an’ things—
My, but his eyes ’ist shine;
An’ he ain’t got no marbles, so
I give him half of mine.

An’ once it’s orful stormy w’en
It’s noon an’ he can’t go
Back where he works for board an’ clo’es
To get his lunch, an’ so
I had some san’wiches an’ things
’At he thought was ’ist fine,
An’ ’cuz he didn’t have no lunch
I give him half of mine.

An’ once w’en we went down to fish
He come along with me,
An’ w’en we’re there says he ’ist wish
’At he could fish. You see
He’s orful poor an’ brought a pole
But didn’t have a line,
An’ w’en I saw how bad he felt
I give him half of mine.

An’ one time I ’ist told my Ma
How he don’t have much fun
’Cuz he ain’t got no Ma or Pa
Or Aunt or any one.
An’ ’en I told her how I thought
’At it would be ’ist fine
’Cuz he ain’t got no mother if
I’d give him half of mine.

He ain’t my brother, really true,
He’s ’ist an orfant, so
My Ma she took him, ’cuz she knew
He had no place to go.
I’m awful glad we got him an’
My Pa thinks it ’ist fine—
He didn’t have no mother, so
I give him half of mine.

MY Mamma says ’at once ’ere was
A little girl she knew
Who went an’ cried, an’ ’ist because—
Because she wanted to;
An’ w’ile her face was all askew
The wind changed, so they say,
An’ Mamma told me ’at it’s true,
Her face ’ist staid ’at way!
An’ w’en she told me ’at, w’y nen
I said I’ll never cry again.

My Mamma said ’at once she heard
A little girl like me
Tell ’ist one fib, an’ says, my word!
Her Mamma looked to see
W’ere was her tongue, an’ goodness me!
Her mouth was ’ist all bare,
An’ w’ere her tongue ’ud ought to be
There wasn’t any there!
An’ w’en she told me ’at, w’y nen
I said I’ll never fib again!

My Mamma knew a little girl
’At used to run away
W’en her dear mother ’d start to curl
Her hair; an’ one fine day
Some gypsies took her off, somehow,
An’ stole her from her home,
An’ my! Her hair is awful now,
’Cause gypsies never comb!
An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nen
I never runned away again!

An’ never don’t make fun, she says,
Of folks ’at’s blind or lame,
Or got red hair or warts, unless
You want to be the same.
’Cause lots of times it happens so,
An’ surely if you do,
You never, never, never know
What’s going to happen you.
An’ since she told me ’at, w’y nen
I never don’t make fun again.