Part 2 (1/2)

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 p.r.o.ngs 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 un- derstand How dearer yit than all the world is this old home that we Will spend Thanksgivin' in fer life--jest Mother, you and me!”

n.o.body 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' the idy, now, o' layin'

Out yer money, and a-payin'

Fer a wilder-cage and bird, When the medder-larks is wingin'

Round you, and the woods is ringin'

With the beautifullest singin'

That a mortal ever heard!

Sahry's sot, tho'.--So I tell her He's a purty little feller, With his wings o' creamy-yeller, And his eyes keen as a cat; And the twitter o' the critter Tears to absolutely glitter!

Guess I'll haf to go and git her A high-priceter cage 'n that!

WHERE THE CHILDREN USED TO PLAY

The old farm-home is Mother's yet and mine, And filled it is with plenty and to spare,-- But we are lonely here in life's decline, Though fortune smiles around us everywhere: We look across the gold Of the harvests, as of old-- The corn, the fragrant clover, and the hay But most we turn our gaze, As with eyes of other days, To the orchard where the children used to play.

O from our life's full measure And rich h.o.a.rd of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play