We ought ter have expected it—she's 'most eighteen, yer see;
But, sakes alive! she's always seemed a baby, like, ter me;
And so, a feller after her! why, that jest did beat all!
But, t' other Sunday, bless yer soul, he come around ter call;
And when I see him all dressed up as dandy as yer please,
But sort er lookin' 's if he had the shivers in his knees,
I kind er realized it then, yer might say, like a blow—
Thinks I, "No use! I'm gittin' old; Matildy's got a beau."
Just twenty-four short years gone by—it do'n't seem five, I vow!—
I fust called on Matildy—that's Matildy's mother now;
I recollect I spent an hour a-tyin' my cravat,
And I'd sent up ter town and bought a bang-up shiny hat.
And, my! oh, my! them new plaid pants; well, wa'n't I something grand
When I come up the walk with some fresh posies in my hand?
And didn't I feel like a fool when her young brother, Joe,
Sang out: "Gee crickets! Looky here! Here comes Matildy's beau!"
And now another feller comes up my walk, jest as gay,
And here's Matildy blushin' red in jest her mother's way;
And when she says she's got ter go an errand to the store,
We know he 's waitin' 'round the bend, jest as I've done afore;
Or, when they're in the parlor and I knock, why, bless yer heart!
I have ter smile ter hear how quick their chairs are shoved apart.
They think us old folks don't "catch on" a single mite; but, sho!
I reckon they fergit I was Matildy's mother's beau.
"SISTER'S BEST FELLER"
My sister's best feller is 'most six-foot-three,
And handsome and strong as a feller can be;
And Sis, she's so little, and slender, and small,
You never would think she could boss him at all;
But, my jing!
She do'n't do a thing
But make him jump 'round, like he worked with a string!
It jest makes me 'shamed of him sometimes, you know,
To think that he'll let a girl bully him so.
He goes to walk with her and carries her muff
And coat and umbrella, and that kind of stuff;
She loads him with things that must weigh 'most a ton;
And, honest, he likes it,—as if it was fun!
And, oh, say!
When they go to a play,
He'll sit in the parlor and fidget away,
And she won't come down till it's quarter past eight,
And then she'll scold him 'cause they get there so late.
He spends heaps of money a-buyin' her things,
Like candy, and flowers, and presents, and rings;
And all he's got for 'em 's a handkerchief case—
A fussed-up concern, made of ribbons and lace;
But, my land!
He thinks it's just grand,
"'Cause she made it," he says, "with her own little hand";
He calls her "an angel"—I heard him—and "saint,"
And "beautif'lest bein' on earth"—but she ain't.
'Fore I go an errand for her any time
I jest make her coax me, and give me a dime;
But that great, big silly—why, honest and true—
He'd run forty miles if she wanted him to.
Oh, gee whiz!
I tell you what 'tis!
I jest think it's awful—those actions of his.
I won't fall in love, when I'm grown—no sir-ee!
My sister's best feller's a warnin' to me!
"THE WIDDER CLARK"
It's getting on ter winter now, the nights are crisp and chill,
The wind comes down the chimbly with a whistle sharp and shrill,
The dead leaves rasp and rustle in the corner by the shed,
And the branches scratch and rattle on the skylight overhead.
The cracklin' blaze is climbin' up around the old backlog,
As we set by the fireplace here, myself and cat and dog;
And as fer me, I'm thinkin', as the fire burns clear and bright,
That it must be mighty lonesome fer the Widder Clark ter-night.
It's bad enough fer me, b'gosh, a-pokin' round the place,
With jest these two dumb critters here, and nary human face
To make the house a home agin, same as it used ter be
While mother lived, for she was 'bout the hull wide world ter me.
My bein' all the son she had, we loved each other more—
That's why, I guess, I'm what they call a "bach" at forty-four.
It's hard fer me to set alone, but women folks—'t ain't right,
And it must be mighty lonesome fer the Widder Clark ter-night.
I see her t' other mornin', and, I swan, 't wa'n't later 'n six,
And there she was, out in the cold, a-choppin' up the sticks
To kindle fire fer breakfast, and she smiled so bright and gay,
By gee, I simply couldn't bear ter see her work that way!
Well, I went in and chopped, I guess, enough ter last a year,
And she said "Thanks," so pretty, gosh! it done me good ter hear!
She do'n't look over twenty-five, no, not a single mite;
Ah, hum! it must be lonesome fer the Widder Clark ter-night.
I sez ter her, "Our breakfasts ain't much fun fer me or you;
Seems's if two lonesome meals might make one social one fer two."
She blushed so red that I did, too, and I got sorter 'fraid
That she was mad, and, like a fool, come home; I wish I'd stayed!
I'd like ter know, now, if she thinks that Clark's a pretty name—
'Cause, if she do'n't, and fancies mine, we'll make 'em both the same.
I think I'll go and ask her, 'cause 't would ease my mind a sight
Ter know 't wa'n't quite so lonesome fer the Widder Clark ter-night.