A Child-World | Page 2

princeling with his early gold?To toss about so lavishly nor hold?In bounteous hoard to overbrim at once?All Nature's lap when came the Autumn months.?Under the spacious shade of this the eyes?Of swinging children saw swift-changing skies?Of blue and green, with sunshine shot between,?And "when the old cat died" they saw but green.?And, then, there was a cherry-tree.--We all?And severally will yet recall?From our lost youth, in gentlest memory,?The blessed fact--There was a cherry-tree.
There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows?Cool even now the fevered sight that knows?No more its airy visions of pure joy--?As when you were a boy.
There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay set?His blue against its white--O blue as jet?He seemed there then!--But now--Whoever knew?He was so pale a blue!
There was a cherry-tree--Our child-eyes saw?The miracle:--Its pure white snows did thaw?Into a crimson fruitage, far too sweet?But for a boy to eat.
There was a cherry-tree, give thanks and joy!--?There was a bloom of snow--There was a boy--?There was a Bluejay of the realest blue--?And fruit for both of you.
Then the old garden, with the apple-trees?Grouped 'round the margin, and "a stand of bees"?By the "white-winter-pearmain"; and a row?Of currant-bushes; and a quince or so.?The old grape-arbor in the center, by?The pathway to the stable, with the sty?Behind it, and upon it, cootering flocks?Of pigeons, and the cutest "martin-box"!--?Made like a sure-enough house--with roof, and doors?And windows in it, and veranda-floors?And balusters all 'round it--yes, and at?Each end a chimney--painted red at that?And penciled white, to look like little bricks;?And, to cap all the builder's cunning tricks,?Two tiny little lightning-rods were run?Straight up their sides, and twinkled in the sun.?Who built it? Nay, no answer but a smile.--?It may be you can guess who, afterwhile.?Home in his stall, "Old Sorrel" munched his hay?And oats and corn, and switched the flies away,?In a repose of patience good to see,?And earnest of the gentlest pedigree.?With half pathetic eye sometimes he gazed?Upon the gambols of a colt that grazed?Around the edges of the lot outside,?And kicked at nothing suddenly, and tried?To act grown-up and graceful and high-bred,?But dropped, k'whop! and scraped the buggy-shed,?Leaving a tuft of woolly, foxy hair?Under the sharp-end of a gate-hinge there.?Then, all ignobly scrambling to his feet?And whinneying a whinney like a bleat,?He would pursue himself around the lot?And--do the whole thing over, like as not!...?Ah! what a life of constant fear and dread?And flop and squawk and flight the chickens led!?Above the fences, either side, were seen?The neighbor-houses, set in plots of green?Dooryards and greener gardens, tree and wall?Alike whitewashed, and order in it all:?The scythe hooked in the tree-fork; and the spade?And hoe and rake and shovel all, when laid?Aside, were in their places, ready for?The hand of either the possessor or?Of any neighbor, welcome to the loan?Of any tool he might not chance to own.
THE OLD-HOME FOLKS
Such was the Child-World of the long-ago--?The little world these children used to know:--?Johnty, the oldest, and the best, perhaps,?Of the five happy little Hoosier chaps?Inhabiting this wee world all their own.--?Johnty, the leader, with his native tone?Of grave command--a general on parade?Whose each punctilious order was obeyed?By his proud followers.
But Johnty yet--?After all serious duties--could forget?The gravity of life to the extent,?At times, of kindling much astonishment?About him: With a quick, observant eye,?And mind and memory, he could supply?The tamest incident with liveliest mirth;?And at the most unlooked-for times on earth?Was wont to break into some travesty?On those around him--feats of mimicry?Of this one's trick of gesture--that one's walk--?Or this one's laugh--or that one's funny talk,--?The way "the watermelon-man" would try?His humor on town-folks that wouldn't buy;--?How he drove into town at morning--then?At dusk (alas!) how he drove out again.
Though these divertisements of Johnty's were?Hailed with a hearty glee and relish, there?Appeared a sense, on his part, of regret--?A spirit of remorse that would not let?Him rest for days thereafter.--Such times he,?As some boy said, "jist got too overly?Blame good fer common boys like us, you know,?To 'sociate with--less'n we 'ud go?And jine his church!"
Next after Johnty came?His little tow-head brother, Bud by name.--?And O how white his hair was--and how thick?His face with freckles,--and his ears, how quick?And curious and intrusive!--And how pale?The blue of his big eyes;--and how a tale?Of Giants, Trolls or Fairies, bulged them still?Bigger and bigger!--and when "Jack" would kill?The old "Four-headed Giant," Bud's big eyes?Were swollen truly into giant-size.?And Bud was apt in make-believes--would hear?His Grandma talk or read, with such an ear?And memory of both subject and big words,?That he would take the book up afterwards?And feign to "read aloud," with such success?As caused his truthful elders real distress.?But he must_ have _big words--they seemed to give?Extremer range to the superlative--?That was his passion. "My Gran'ma," he said,?One evening, after listening as she read?Some heavy old historical review--?With copious explanations thereunto?Drawn out