Part 13 (1/2)

Don't know jes what all occurred Next ten seconds--Nary word, But my heart jes drapt, s...o...b..d thue, And whirlt over and come to.-- Wrenched a big quart bottle from That fool-boy!--and cut my thumb On his little fiste-teeth--helt Him snug in one arm, and felt That-air little heart o' his Churn the blood o' Wigginses Into that old bead 'at spun Roun' her, spilt at Lexington!

His k'niptions, like enough, He'pped us both,--though it was rough-- Rough on him, and rougher on Me when last his nerve was gone, And he laid there still, his face Fis.h.i.+n' fer some hidin'-place Jes a leetle lower down In my breast than he 'd yit foun'!

Last I kindo' soothed him, so's He could talk.--And what you s'pose Them-air revelations of Poke's was? . . . He'd ben writin' love- Letters to Melviney, and Givin her to understand They was from ”a young man who Loved her,” and--”the violet's blue 'N sugar's sweet”--and Lord knows what!

Tel, 'peared-like, Melviney got S' interested in ”the young Man,” Poke _he_ says, 'at she brung A' answer onc't fer him to take, Statin' ”she'd die fer his sake,”

And writ fifty xs ”fer Love-kisses fer him from her!”

I was standin' in the road By the buggy, all I knowed When Poke got that fer.--”That's why,”

Poke says, ”I 'fessed up the lie-- _Had_ to--'cause I see,” says he, ”'Viney was in airnest--she Cried, too, when I told her.--Then She swore me, and smiled again, And got Pap and Mother to Let me hitch and drive her thue Into c.h.i.n.kypin, to be At Aunt 'Rindy's Chris'mas-tree-- That's to-night.” Says I, ”Poke--durn Your lyin' soul!--'s that beau o' hern-- That--_she_--loves--Does _he_ live in That h.e.l.lhole o' c.h.i.n.kypin?”

”No,” says Poke, ”er 'Viney would Went some _other_ neighborhood.”

”Who _is_ the blame whelp?” says I.

”Promised 'Viney, hope I'd die Ef I ever told!” says Poke, Pittiful and jes heart-broke-- ”'Sides that's why she left the place,-- 'She caint look him in the face Now no more on earth!' she says.--”

And the child broke down and jes Sobbed! Says I, ”Poke, I p'tend T' be _your_ friend, and your _Pap's_ friend, And your _Mother's_ friend, and all The _boys_' friend, little, large and small-- The _whole fambily's_ friend--and you Know that means _Melviney_, too.-- Now--you hush yer troublin!'--I'm Go' to he'p friends ever' time-- On'y in _this_ case, _you_ got To he'p _me_--and, like as not I kin he'p Melviney then, And we'll have her home again.

And now, Poke, with your consent, I'm go' go to that-air gent She's in love with, and confer With _him_ on his views o' _her_.-- Blast him! give the man _some_ show.-- Who is he?--_I'm go' to know_!”

Somepin' struck the little chap Funny, 'peared-like.--Give a slap On his leg--laughed thue the dew In his eyes, and says: ”It's you!”

Yes, and--'cordin' to the last Love-letters of ours 'at pa.s.sed Thue his hands--we was to be Married Chris'mas.--”Gee-mun-_nee_!

Poke,” says I, ”it's _suddent_--yit We _kin_ make it! You're to git Up tomorry, say, 'bout _three_-- Tell your folks you're go' with me:-- We'll hitch up, and jes drive in 'N take the town o' c.h.i.n.kypin!”

GO, WINTER!

Go, Winter! Go thy ways! We want again The twitter of the bluebird and the wren; Leaves ever greener growing, and the s.h.i.+ne Of Summer's sun--not thine.--

Thy sun, which mocks our need of warmth and love And all the heartening fervencies thereof, It scarce hath heat enow to warm our thin Pathetic yearnings in.

So get thee from us! We are cold, G.o.d wot, Even as _thou_ art.--We remember not How blithe we hailed thy coming.--That was O Too long--too long ago!

Get from us utterly! Ho! Summer then Shall spread her gra.s.ses where thy snows have been, And thy last icy footprint melt and mold In her first marigold.

ELIZABETH.

_May 1, 1891_.

I.

Elizabeth! Elizabeth!

The first May-morning whispereth Thy gentle name in every breeze That lispeth through the young-leaved trees, New raimented in white and green Of bloom and leaf to crown thee queen;-- And, as in odorous chorus, all The orchard-blossoms sweetly call Even as a singing voice that saith Elizabeth! Elizabeth!

II.

Elizabeth! Lo, lily-fair, In deep, cool shadows of thy hair, Thy face maintaineth its repose.-- Is it, O sister of the rose, So better, sweeter, blooming thus Than in this briery world with us?-- Where frost o'ertaketh, and the breath Of biting winter harrieth With sleeted rains and blighting snows All fairest blooms--Elizabeth!

III.