THE CORNFLOWER.
The day she came we were planting corn, The west eighty-acre field,— These prairie farms are great for size, And they're sometimes great for yield.
"The new school-ma'am is up to the house," The chore-boy called out to me; I went in wishing anyone else Had been put in chief trustee.
I was to question that girl, you see, Of the things she ought to know; As for these same things, I knew right well I'd forgot them long ago.
I hadn't kept track of women's ways, 'Bout all I knew of the sex Was that they were mighty hard to please, And easy enough to vex.
My sister Mary, who ruled my house— And me—with an iron hand, Was all the woman I knew real well— Her I didn't understand.
But I'd no call to grumble at fate, Fifty, well off, and unwed; Young as a lad in spite of the dust Old Time had thrown on my head.
I engaged the school-ma'am on the spot, And the reason, I surmise, Was this, she didn't giggle or blush, But looked me fair in the eyes.