Armazindy Page #4

								

  As her note went on to say,
  When Sol read the thing next day.

  Raally didn’t ’pear to be
  Extry waste o’ sympathy
  Over Sol—pore feller!—Yit,
  Sake o’ them-air little bit
  O’ two orphants—as you might
  Call ’em then, by law and right,—
  Sol’s old friends wuz sorry, and
  Tried to hold him out their hand
  Same as allus: But he’d flinch—
  Tel, jes ’peared-like, inch by inch,
  He let all holts go; and so
  Took to drinkin’, don’t you know,—
  Tel, to make a long tale short,
  He wuz fuller than he ort
  To ’a’ be’n, at work one day
  ’Bout his th’asher, and give way,
  Kindo’-like, and fell and ketched
  In the beltin’.
                ... Rid and fetched
  Armazindy to him.—He
  Begged me to.—But time ’at she
  Reached his side, he smiled and tried
  To speak.—Couldn’t. So he died....
  Hands all turned and left her there
  And went somers else—somewhere.
  Last, she called us back—in clear
  Voice as man’ll ever hear—
  Clear and stiddy, ’peared to me,
  As her old Pap’s ust to be.—
  Give us orders what to do
  ’Bout the body—he’pped us, too.
  So it wuz, Sol Stephens passed
  In Armazindy’s hands at last.
  More’n that, she claimed ’at she
  Had consent from him to be
  Mother to his childern—now
  ’Thout no parents anyhow.

  Yes-sir! and she’s got ’em, too,—
  Folks saw nothin’ else ’ud do—
  So they let her have her way—
  Like she’s doin’ yit to-day!
  Years now, I’ve be’n coaxin’ her—
  Armazindy Ballenger—
  To in-large her fambily
  Jes one more by takin’ me—
  Which I’m feared she never will,
  Though I’m ’lectioneerin’ still.

THE OLD TRUNDLE-BED

  O the old trundle-bed where I slept when a boy!
  What canopied king might not covet the joy?
  The glory and peace of that slumber of mine,
  Like a long, gracious rest in the bosom divine:
  The quaint, homely couch, hidden close from the light,
  But daintily drawn from its hiding at night.
  O a nest of delight, from the foot to the head,
  Was the queer little, dear little, old trundle-bed!

  O the old trundle-bed, where I wondering saw
  The stars through the window, and listened with awe
  To the sigh of the winds as they tremblingly crept
  Through the trees where the robin so restlessly slept:
  Where I heard the low, murmurous chirp of the wren,
  And the katydid listlessly chirrup again,
  Till my fancies grew faint and were drowsily led
  Through the maze of the dreams of the old trundle-bed.

  O the old trundle-bed! O the old trundle-bed!
  With its plump little pillow, and old-fashioned spread;
  Its snowy-white sheets, and the blankets above,
  Smoothed down and tucked round with the touches of
  love;
  The voice of my mother to lull me to sleep
  With the old fairy stories my memories keep
  Still fresh as the lilies that bloom o’er the head
  Once bowed o’er my own in the old trundle-bed.

NATURAL PERVERSITIES

  I am not prone to moralize
    In scientific doubt
  On certain facts that Nature tries
    To puzzle us about,—
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