“No! I don’t remember nuthin’, nor don’t want to. I want to go to sleep!” sez he, snappish as anything, so I went out and let him think if he wanted to, that I made the Springs, and the Minerals, and the Gysers, and the Spoutin’ Rock, and everything. Good land! I knew I didn’t; but I had to rest under the unkind insinnuation. Such is some of the trials of pardners.
But Josiah waked up real clever. And I brung him up some delicate warm toast and some fragrant tea, and his smile on me wuz dretful good-natured, almost warm. And I forgot all his former petulence and basked in the rays of love and happiness that beamed on me out of the blue sky of my companion’s eyes. The clear blue sky that held two stars, to which my heart turned.
Such is some of the joys of pardners with which the world don’t meddle with, nor can’t destroy.
But to resoom. Ardelia sot down awhile in our room before she went back to her boardin’ house. I see she wuz a writin’ for she had a long lead pencil in her right hand and occasionally she would lean her forrerd down upon it, in deep thought, and before she went, she slipped the verses into my hand:
“STANZAS ON A MINERAL SPRING.
“Oh! waters that doth bubble up and spout
Oh, didst thou bubble down insted of up,
Thou couldest not with all thy minerals get out
We could not then arise and drink thee in a cup.
“Oh! human waves that float and seeth and tear
Oh wiltest thou not too a learn to bubble up
Instead of down, a lesson deep to bear,
Oh Soul, can here be learned, one smooth, or rough.
“A lesson deep of powerful min-er-als
That act with power the constitution on,[[1]]
And still that softly bubbles up, and tells
To souls unborn, how sweetly they have ron.
“Oh water that doth mount on slender tip,
And spoutest up some 30 feet, through pole;
Oh Hope, learn thou a lesson from the water’s lip,
Spout out, spout out, in peace from hollow soul.”
[1] As in the case of Mr. Allen, poor dear man.
Sez I, a lookin’ over my specks at Ardelia after I had finished readin’ the verses: “What does ‘ron’ mean? I never heerd of that word before, nor knew there wuz sech a one.”
Sez she, “I meant ran, but I s’pose it is a poetical license to say ‘ron,’ don’t you think so?”
“Oh, yes,” sez I, “I s’pose so, I don’t know much about licenses, nor don’t want to, they are suthin’ I never believed in. But,” sez I, for I see she looked red and overcasted by my remarks, “I don’t s’pose it will make any difference in a 100 years whether you say ran or ron.”