I hai n't no hand at tellin’ tales, Er spinnin’ yarns, as the sailors say; Someway o’‘ nother, language fails To slide fer me in the oily way
That LAWYERS has; and I wisht it would, Fer I've got somepin’ that I call good; But bein’ only a country squire, I've learned to listen and admire,
Ruther preferrin’ to be addressed Than talk myse'f — but I'll do my best:— Old Jeff Thompson — well, I'll say, Was the clos'test man I ever saw!—
Rich as cream, but the porest pay, And the meanest man to work fer — La! I've knowed that man to work one “hand” — Fer little er nothin’, you understand —
From four o'clock in the morning light Tel eight and nine o'clock at night, And then find fault with his appetite! He'd drive all over the neighberhood
To miss the place where a toll-gate stood, And slip in town, by some old road That no two men in the county knowed, With a jag o’ wood, and a sack o’ wheat,
That would n't burn and you could n't eat! And the trades he'd make,‘ ll I jest de-clare, Was enough to make a preacher swear! And then he'd hitch, and hang about
Tel the lights in the toll-gate was blowed out, And then the turnpike he'd turn in And sneak his way back home ag'in! Some folks hint, and I make no doubt,
That that's what wore his old wife out — Toilin’ away from day to day And year to year, through heat and cold, Uncomplainin’ — the same old way
The martyrs died in the days of old; And a-clingin’, too, as the martyrs done, To one fixed faith, and her ONLY one,— Little Patience, the sweetest child
That ever wept unrickonciled, Er felt the pain and the ache and sting That only a mother's death can bring. Patience Thompson!— I think that name
Must‘ a’ come from a power above, Fer it seemed to fit her jest the same As a GAITER would, er a fine kid glove! And to see that girl, with all the care
Of the household on her — I de-clare It was OUDACIOUS, the work she'd do, And the thousand plans that she'd putt through; And sing like a medder-lark all day long,
And drowned her cares in the joys o’ song; And LAUGH sometimes tel the farmer's “hand,” Away fur off in the fields, would stand A-listenin’, with the plow half drawn,
Tel the coaxin’ echoes called him on; And the furries seemed, in his dreamy eyes, Like foot-paths a-leadin’ to Paradise, As off through the hazy atmosphere
The call fer dinner reached his ear. Now LOVE'S as cunnin'a little thing As a hummin’ - bird upon the wing, And as liable to poke his nose
Jest where folks would least suppose,— And more'n likely build his nest Right in the heart you'd leave unguessed, And live and thrive at your expense —
At least, that's MY experience. And old Jeff Thompson often thought, In his se'fish way, that the quiet John Was a stiddy chap, as a farm-hand OUGHT
To always be,— fer the airliest dawn Found John busy — and “EASY,” too, Whenever his wages would fall due!— To sum him up with a final touch,
He EAT so little and WORKED so much, That old Jeff laughed to hisse'f and said, “He makes ME money and airns his bread!— But John, fer all of his quietude,
Would sometimes drap a word er so That none but PATIENCE understood, And none but her was MEANT to know!— Maybe at meal-times John would say,
As the sugar-bowl come down his way, “Thanky, no; MY coffee's sweet Enough fer ME!” with sich conceit, SHE'D know at once, without no doubt,
HE meant because she poured it out; And smile and blush, and all sich stuff, And ast ef it was “STRONG enough?” And git the answer, neat and trim,
“It COULDN'T be too‘ strong’ fer HIM!” And so things went fer‘ bout a year, Tel John, at last, found pluck to go And pour his tale in the old man's ear —
And ef it had been HOT LEAD, I know It could n't‘ a’ raised a louder fuss, Ner‘ a’ riled the old man's temper wuss! He jest LIT in, and cussed and swore,
And lunged and rared, and ripped and tore, And told John jest to leave his door, And not to darken it no more! But Patience cried, with eyes all wet,
“Remember, John, and do n't ferget, WHATEVER comes, I love you yet!” But the old man thought, in his se'fish way, “I'll see her married rich some day;
And THAT,” thinks he, “is money fer ME — And my will's LAW, as it ought to be!” So when, in the course of a month er so, A WIDOWER, with a farm er two,
Comes to Jeff's, w'y, the folks, you know, Had to TALK — as the folks'll do: It was the talk of the neighberhood — PATIENCE and JOHN, and THEIR affairs;—
And this old chap with a few gray hairs Had “cut John out,” it was understood. And some folks reckoned “Patience, too, Knowed what SHE was a-goin’ to do —
It was LIKE her — la! indeed!— All she loved was DOLLARS and CENTS — Like old JEFF — and they saw no need Fer JOHN to pine at HER negligence!”
But others said, in a KINDER way, They missed the songs she used to sing — They missed the smiles that used to play Over her face, and the laughin’ ring
Of her glad voice — that EVERYthing Of her OLD se'f seemed dead and gone, And this was the ghost that they gazed on! So we talked on fer a’ hour er more,
And sunned ourselves in the open door,— Tel a hoss-and-buggy down the road Come a-drivin’ up, that I guess John KNOWED,— Fer he winked and says, “I'll dessappear —
THEY'D smell a mice ef they saw ME here!” And he thumbed his nose at the old gray mare, And hid hisse'f in the house somewhere. Well.— The rig drove up: and I raised my head
As old Jeff hollered to me and said That “him and his old friend there had come To see ef the squire was at home.” ... I told‘ em “I was; and I AIMED to be
At every chance of a weddin’ - fee!” And then I laughed — and they laughed, too,— Fer that was the object they had in view. “Would I be on hands at eight that night?”
They ast; and‘ s-I, “You're mighty right, I'LL be on hand!” And then I BU'ST Out a-laughin’ my very wu'st,— And so did they, as they wheeled away
And drove to'rds town in a cloud o’ dust. Then I shet the door, and me and John Laughed and LAUGHED, and jest LAUGHED on, Tel Mother drapped her specs, and BY
JEEWHILLIKERS! I thought she'd DIE!— And she could n't‘ a’ told, I'll bet my hat, What on earth she was laughin’ at! But all o’ the fun o’ the tale hai n't done!—
Fer a drizzlin’ rain had jest begun, And a-havin’‘ bout four mile’ to ride, I jest concluded I'd better light Out fer Jeff's and save my hide,—
Fer IT WAS A-GOIN’ TO STORM, THAT NIGHT! So we went down to the barn, and John Saddled my beast, and I got on; And he told me somepin’ to not ferget,
And when I left, he was LAUGHIN’ yet. And,‘ proachin’ on to my journey's end, The great big draps o’ the rain come down, And the thunder growled in a way to lend
An awful look to the lowerin’ frown The dull sky wore; and the lightnin’ glanced Tel my old mare jest MORE'N pranced, And tossed her head, and bugged her eyes
To about four times their natchurl size, As the big black lips of the clouds‘ ud drap Out some oath of a thunderclap, And threaten on in an undertone
That chilled a feller clean to the bone! But I struck shelter soon enough To save myse'f. And the house was jammed With the women-folks, and the weddin'stuff:—
A great, long table, fairly CRAMMED With big pound-cakes — and chops and steaks — And roasts and stews — and stumick-aches Of every fashion, form, and size,
From twisters up to punkin-pies! And candies, oranges, and figs, And reezins,— all the “whilligigs” And “jim-cracks” that the law allows
On sich occasions!— Bobs and bows Of gigglin’ girls, with corkscrew curls, And fancy ribbons, reds and blues, And “beau-ketchers” and “curliques”
To beat the world! And seven o'clock Brought old Jeff; - and brought — THE GROOM,— With a sideboard-collar on, and stock That choked him so, he had n't room
To SWALLER in, er even sneeze, Er clear his th'oat with any case Er comfort — and a good square cough Would saw his Adam's apple off!
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