"Remember you're only the steward," She said, "of your acres broad, And that the cry of a little child Goes straight to the ears of God."
I remarked that it wasn't her place To dictate to the trustee, And Cornflower lifted her eyes of blue And looked what she thought of me.
That night as we came up from the fields, And talked of the threatened frost, The chore-boy called out, half pleased, half scared: "The school-ma'am's got herself lost."
I turned me about and spoke no word; I'd find her and let her see I held no spite 'gainst a wayward girl For lecturing a trustee.
For I knew before I found the knot Of ribbon that she had worn, That somehow Betty had lost her way In the forest of ripened corn.
The sun went down and left the world Beautiful, happy and good; True, the girl and myself had quarrelled, But when I found her and stood
With silver stars mistily shining Through the deep blue of the skies, Heard somebody sob like a baby, Saw tears in somebody's eyes.
Why, I just whispered, "Betty, Betty," Then whispered "Betty" some more; Not another word did I utter— I'll stick to this o'er and o'er.
You needn't ask me to explain, friends, I don't know how 'twas myself, That first "Betty" said I was ashamed Of my greedy love of pelf.
The second one told her I'd be glad To raise the old schoolhouse up, And be in haste to put down a well, With a pump and drinking cup.