Part 16 (1/2)

”Can you spell, Buck?”

”Yes,” he says

”I bet you can't spell my name,” says I

”I bet you what you dare I can,” says he

”All right,” says I, ”go ahead”

”G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n?there now,” he says

”Well,” says I, ”you done it, but I didn't think you could It ain't no slouch of a na”

I set it down, private, because soht want _me_ to spell it next, and so I wanted to be handy with it and rattle it off like I was used to it

It was a hty nice house, too I hadn't seen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much style It didn't have an iron latch on the front door, nor a wooden one with a buckskin string, but a brass knob to turn, the same as houses in town There warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps of parlors in towns has beds in the fireplace that was bricked on the botto water on the them with another brick; sometimes they wash them over with red water-paint that they call Spanish-brown, sa-irons that could hold up a saw-log There was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with a picture of a town painted on the bottolass front, and a round place in the ing behind it It was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and so and scoured her up and got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty before she got tuckered out They wouldn't took anyoutlandish parrot on each side of the clock, audy By one of the parrots was a catby the other; and when you pressed down on them they squeaked, but didn't open their h underneath There was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out behind those things On the table in the middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery basket that had apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath

This table had a cover le painted on it, and a painted border all around It come all the way from Philadelphia, they said There was some books, too, piled up perfectly exact, on each corner of the table One was a big faress, about a man that left his family, it didn't say why I read considerable in it now and then The stateh Another was Friendshi+p's Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't read the poetry Another was Henry Clay's Speeches, and another was Dr

Gunn's Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or dead There was a hymn book, and a lot of other books And there was nice split-bottoed down in the middle and busted, like an old basket

They had pictures hung on the walls?hland Marys, and one called ”Signing the Declaration” There was sohters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen years old They was different from any pictures I ever see before?blacker, mostly, than is common One was a woman in a slies like a cabbage in the e black scoop-shovel bonnet with a black veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and very wee black slippers, like a chisel, and she was leaning pensive on a to , and her other hand hanging down her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, and underneath the picture it said ”Shall I Never See Thee More Alas”

Another one was a young lady with her hair all coht to the top of her head, and knotted there in front of a co into a handkerchief and had a dead bird laying on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said ”I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas”

There was one where a young lady was at alooking up at thedown her cheeks; and she had an open letter in one hand with black sealing wax showing on one edge of it, and she was ainst her mouth, and underneath the picture it said ”And Art Thou Gone Yes Thou Art Gone Alas” These was all nice pictures, I reckon, but I didn't somehow seem to take to theive me the fan-tods Everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done what they had lost But I reckoned that with her disposition she was having a better tiraveyard She was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and every night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it done, but she never got the chance It was a picture of a young woe all ready to ju up to thedown her face, and she had two arms folded across her breast, and two ar up towards the moon?and the idea was to see which pair would look best, and then scratch out all the other arot her mind made up, and now they kept this picture over the head of the bed in her roo flowers on it Other ti woman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but there was so many arms it irl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the Presbyterian Observer, and write poetry after theood poetry This is what she wrote about a boy by the na Bots that fell doell and was drownded:

ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D

And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the sad hearts thicken, And did theStephen Dowling Bots; Though sad hearts round hi-cough did rack his frame, Nor measles drear with spots; Not these i Bots

Despised love struck not oe That head of curly knots, Nor sto Bots

O no Then list with tearful eye, Whilst I his fate do tell His soul did froot hione for to sport aloft In the realerford could make poetry like that before she was fourteen, there ain't no telling what she could a done by and by Buck said she could rattle off poetry like nothing She didn't ever have to stop to think He said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn't find anything to rhyme with it would just scratch it out and slap down another one, and go ahead She warn't particular; she could write about anything you choose to give her to write about just so it was sadful

Every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on hand with her ”tribute” before he was cold She called thehbors said it was the doctor first, then Eot in ahead of E fire on a rhyme for the dead person's name, which was Whistler She warn't ever the same after that; she never co Poor thing, o up to the little rooet out her poor old scrap-book and read in it when her pictures had been aggravating me and I had soured on her a little I liked all that fa come between us Poor Emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was alive, and it didn't seeht that there warn't nobody to one; so I tried to sweat out a verse or two o somehow They kept Es fixed in it just the way she liked to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there

The old lady took care of the rooers, and she sewed there a good deal and read her Bible thereabout the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on the hite, with pictures painted on the down to drink There was a little old piano, too, that had tin pans in it, I reckon, and nothing was ever so lovely as to hear the young ladies sing ”The Last Link is Broken”

and play ”The Battle of Prague” on it The walls of all the rooms was plastered, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole house ashed on the outside

It was a double house, and the big open place betwixt them was roofed and floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the day, and it was a cool, co couldn't be better