LXV
And Doc he's allus had a knack inventin' things.—Dee-vised
A windlass wound its own se'f back as it run down: and s'prised
Their new hired girl with clothes-line, too, and clothes-pins, all in one:
Purt'-nigh all left fer her to do wuz git her primpin' done!
LXVI
And onc't, I mind, in airly Spring, and tappin' sugar-trees,
Doc made a dad-burn little thing to sharpen spiles with—these-
Here wood'-spouts 'at the peth's punched out, and driv' in where they bore
The auger-holes. He sharpened 'bout a million spiles er more!
LXVII
And Doc's the first man ever swung a bucket on a tree
Instid o' troughs; and first man brung grained sugar—so's 'at he
Could use it fer his coffee, and fer cookin', don't you know.—
Folks come clean up from Pleasantland 'fore they'd believe it, though!
LXVIII
And all Doc's stable-doors onlocks and locks theirse'ves—and gates
The same way;—all rigged up like clocks, with pulleys, wheels, and weights,—
So, 's Doc says, "drivin' out, er in, they'll open; and they'll then,
All quiet-like, shet up ag'in like little gentlemen!"