’Twas Christmas Eve, in the afternoon, an’ the store was jest a-hummin’
When we seen the parson comin’ in his pung along the road;
An’ as he passed the store he called in through the door,
‘Church to-night at the Crossroads! Come, boys, and bring a load!’
’Twas a new idee in them parts, an’ Bill Simmons made ’n oration
About ‘High Church innovation,’ an’ ‘a-driftin’ back to Rome,’
But I backed the parson’s rights to have Church o’ moonlight nights;
An’ I thought of Nance’s cute red lips, an’ pinted straight fur home.
I wasn’t long a-gittin’ the chores done up, you bet,
An’ the supper that I eat wouldn’t more’n a’ fed a fly!
Then I hitched the mare in the pung an’ soon was bowlin’ along
Down by the crick to Nance’s while the moon was white an’ high.
She didn’t keep me waitin’, fur church was at half-pas’ seven;
An’ my idee of Heaven, as I tucked her into the furs,
Was a-ridin’ with Nance at night when the moon was high an’ white,
An’ the deep sky all a-sparkle like them laughin’ eyes of hers.
I had a heap to say, but I couldn’t jest find my tongue;
But my heart it sung an’ sung, like canaries was into it.
So I chirruped to the mare with a kind of easy air,
An’ Nance had to do the talkin’,—as was jest the one could do it!
An’ I could feel her shoulder, kind of comfortin’ an’ warm,
Nestlin’ agin my arm,—sech a sweet an’ cunnin’ shoulder.
My heart was all afire, but I kep’ gittin’ shyer an’ shyer,
An’ wished that I’d been born a leetle sassier an’ bolder.
We come to them there Crossroads ’fore I’d time to say a word;
An’ I reckon as how I heard mighty little of the sarvice.
But ’twas grand to hear Nance sing ‘Glory to the new-born King,’
Tho’ the way the choir folks stared at us, it made me kind of narvous.
I wished the parson’d stop an’ give me another chance
Out there in the night with Nance, under the stars an’ moon;
An’ I vowed I’d have my say in the tidiest kind of way,
An’ she shouldn’t have no more call to think me a blame gossoon.
At last the preachin’ come to an end, an’ the folks all crowded out.
’Fore I knowed what I was about we was on the road fur home.
But the sky was overcast an’ a thick snow droppin’ fast,
An’ a big wind down from the mountins got a-rantin’ an moanin’ some.
We hadn’t rode two mile when it blowed like all possessed,
An’ at that I kind of guessed we was in fur a ticklish night.
We couldn’t go more’n a walk, an’ Nance she forgot to talk;
Then I jest slipped my arm around her, an’ she never kicked a mite.