“Sometimes it sounds for turning wheels,—
A circus coming into town,—
And then the tune gets in my heels
And shakes them up and down.
“Sometimes it sounds for marching men,
With cry of bugles in the street,
And fair flags blowing free—and then
I cannot hold my feet.
“I follow, follow on and on;
I let it lead me where it will;
And when the last clear notes are gone,
Somehow I hear them still.”
The old man was plainly pleased with the verses; he told Amos that little boys had always felt that way about bands, and probably always would.
“Wait a moment,” he said, as the Journeying Man made the move to go. “Did the June fellow tell them the story of Contrary Mary?”
“Yes, he did,” the children answered in duet. “And oh, wasn’t she curious, sure enough?”
“Well, she had a right to be queer,” the old man said meditatively. “She inherited queerness. Fact of the matter is, her family name was Queeribus. Let me tell you about her great-great-great-grandfather!
“Old Quin Queeribus—
He loved his garden so,
He wouldn’t have a rake around,
A shovel or a hoe.
“For each potato’s eyes he bought
Fine spectacles of gold,
And mufflers for the corn, to keep
Its ears from getting cold.