Engineers Making Love

It's noon when Thirty-five is due,
An' she comes on time like a flash of light,
An' you hear her whistle "Too-tee-too!"
Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight.
Bill Madden's drivin' her in to-day,
An' he's calling his sweetheart far away—
Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill;
You might see her blushin'; she knows it's Bill.
"Tudie, tudie! Toot-ee! Tudie, tudie! Tu!"
Six-five, A.M. there's a local comes,
Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east;
An' the way her whistle sings and hums
Is a livin' caution to man and beast.
Every one knows who Jack White calls,—
Little Lou Woodbury, down by the falls;
Summer or Winter, always the same,
She hears her lover callin' her name—
"Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Lou-iee!"
But at one fifty-one, old Sixty-four—
Boston express, runs east, clear through—
Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar
With the softest whistle that ever blew.
An' away on the furthest edge of town
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown
Shine like the starlight, bright and clear,
When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear,
"You-oo! Su-u-u-u-u-e!"
Along at midnight a freight comes in,
Leaves Berlin sometime—I don't know when;
But it rumbles along with a fearful din
Till it reaches the Y-switch there and then
The clearest notes of the softest bell
That out of a brazen goblet fell
Wake Nellie Minton out of her dreams;
To her like a wedding-bell it seems—
"Nell, Nell, Nell! Nell, Nell, Nell!"
Tom Willson rides on the right-hand side,
Givin' her steam at every stride;
An' he touches the whistle, low an' clear,
For Lulu Gray on the hill, to hear—
"Lu-Lu! Loo-Loo! Loo-oo!"
So it goes all day an' all night
Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore;
Old maids and bachelors say it ain't right
For folks to do courtin' with such a roar.
But the engineers their kisses will blow
From a whistle valve to the girls they know,
An' stokers the name of their sweethearts tell;
With the "Too-too-too" and the swinging bell.
R.J. Burdette.

Guilty or Not Guilty

She stood at the bar of justice,
A creature wan and wild,
In form too small for a woman,
In features too old for a child;
For a look so worn and pathetic
Was stamped on her pale young face,
It seemed long years of suffering
Must have left that silent trace.
"Your name?" said the judge, as he eyed her
With kindly look yet keen,—
"Is Mary McGuire, if you please, sir."
And your age?"—"I am turned fifteen."
"Well, Mary," and then from a paper
He slowly and gravely read,
"You are charged here—I'm sorry to say it—
With stealing three loaves of bread.
"You look not like an offender,
And I hope that you can show
The charge to be false. Now, tell me,
Are you guilty of this, or no?"
A passionate burst of weeping
Was at first her sole reply.
But she dried her eyes in a moment,
And looked in the judge's eye.
"I will tell you just how it was, sir:
My father and mother are dead,
And my little brothers and sisters
Were hungry and asked me for bread.
At first I earned it for them
By working hard all day,
But somehow, times were bad, sir,
And the work all fell away.
"I could get no more employment.
The weather was bitter cold,
The young ones cried and shivered—
(Little Johnny's but four years old)—
So what was I to do, sir?
I am guilty, but do not condemn.
I took—oh, was it stealing?—
The bread to give to them."
Every man in the court-room—
Gray-beard and thoughtless youth—
Knew, as he looked upon her,
That the prisoner spake the truth;
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs,
Out from their eyes sprung tears,
And out from their old faded wallets
Treasures hoarded for years.
The judge's face was a study,
The strangest you ever saw,
As he cleared his throat and murmured
Something about the law;
For one so learned in such matters,
So wise in dealing with men,
He seemed, on a simple question,
Sorely puzzled, just then.
But no one blamed him or wondered,
When at last these words he heard,
"The sentence of this young prisoner
Is, for the present, deferred."
And no one blamed him or wondered
When he went to her and smiled
And tenderly led from the court-room,
Himself, the "guilty" child.

The Baby

Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into the here.
Where did you get your eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.
What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry spikes left in.
Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.
What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.
What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
Something better than anyone knows.
Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.
Where did you get that pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.
Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into hooks and bands.
Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as the cherubs' wings.
How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.
But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought of you, and so I am here.
George Macdonald.