Said, bark o' trees 's a' open book to Doc, and vines and moss
He read like writin'—with a look knowed ever' dot and cross:
Said, stars at night wuz jes as good 's a compass: said, he s'pose
You couldn't lose Doc in the woods the darkest night that blows!
XIX
Said, Doc'll tell you, purty clos't, by underbresh and plants,
How fur off warter is,—and 'most perdict the sort o' chance
You'll have o' findin' fish; and how they're liable to bite,
And whether they're a-bitin' now, er only after night.
XX
And, whilse we're talkin' fish,—I mind they formed a fishin'-crowd
(When folks could fish 'thout gittin' fined, and seinin' wuz allowed!)
O' leadin' citizens, you know, to go and seine "Old Blue"—
But hadn't no big seine, and so—w'y, what wuz they to do?...
XXI
And Doc he say he thought 'at he could knit a stitch er two—
"Bring the materials to me—'at's all I'm astin' you!"
And down he sets—six weeks, i jing! and knits that seine plum done—
Made corks too, brails and ever'thing—good as a boughten one!
XXII
Doc's public sperit—when the sick 's not takin' all his time
And he's got some fer politics—is simple yit sublime:—
He'll talk his principles—and they air honest;—but the sly
Friend strikes him first, election-day, he'd 'commodate, er die!