He had no tobacco, nor tobacco could he beg.
Another old man had a wooden box,
And he always kept tobacco in the old tobacco box.
Said the first old man, “Gimme a chew.”
Said the second old man, “Durned if I do.
Take my advice and save up your rocks
And you’ll always have tobacco in the old tobacco box!”
“I know dozens,” she announced happily, as she hopped down on to the ground, “but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather have supper now and sing some more to-morrow.”
“Drive into that shed,” Prince Hawkins told her. “You come around to the kitchen—I guess your pa can unhitch, can’t he?”
Thurley laughed. “Dear, no—makes him cough—he’s got a pain in his side, too. I sang four songs in the last town for painkiller, but it didn’t do him any good—over there, pa, dear—I’ll be with you in a minnit.” She watched the rickety wagon creak towards the shed.