A Child-World Part 5

No companions? Yes, a book Sometimes under his arm he took To read aloud to a lonesome brook.

And school-boys, truant, once had heard A strange voice chanting, faint and dim-- Followed the echoes, and found it him, Perched in a tree-top like a bird, Singing, clean from the highest limb; And, fearful and awed, they all slipped by To wonder in whispers if he could fly.

"Let him alone!" his father said When the old schoolmaster came to say, "He took no part in his books to-day-- Only the lesson the readers read.-- His mind seems sadly going astray!"

"Let him alone!" came the mournful tone, And the father's grief in his sad eyes shone-- Hiding his face in his trembling hand, Moaning, "Would I could understand!

But as heaven wills it I accept Uncomplainingly!" So he wept.

Then went "The Dreamer" as he willed, As uncontrolled as a light sail filled Flutters about with an empty boat Loosed from its moorings and afloat: Drifted out from the busy quay Of dull school-moorings listlessly; Drifted off on the talking breeze, All alone with his reveries; Drifted on, as his fancies wrought-- Out on the mighty gulfs of thought.

II

The farmer came in the evening gray And took the bars of the pasture down; Called to the cows in a coaxing way, "Bess" and "Lady" and "Spot" and "Brown,"

While each gazed with a wide-eyed stare, As though surprised at his coming there-- Till another tone, in a higher key, Brought their obeyance lothfully.

Then, as he slowly turned and swung The topmost bar to its proper rest, Something fluttered along and clung An instant, shivering at his breast-- A wind-scared fragment of legal cap, Which darted again, as he struck his hand On his sounding chest with a sudden slap, And hurried sailing across the land.

But as it clung he had caught the glance Of a little penciled countenance, And a glamour of written words; and hence, A minute later, over the fence, "Here and there and gone astray Over the hills and far away,"

He chased it into a thicket of trees And took it away from the captious breeze.

A sc.r.a.p of paper with a rhyme Scrawled upon it of summertime: A pencil-sketch of a dairy-maid, Under a farmhouse porch's shade, Working merrily; and was blent With her glad features such sweet content, That a song she sung in the lines below Seemed delightfully _apropos_:--

SONG

"Why do I sing--Tra-la-la-la-la!

Glad as a King?--Tra-la-la-la-la!

Well, since you ask,-- I have such a pleasant task, I can not help but sing!

"Why do I smile--Tra-la-la-la-la!

Working the while?--Tra-la-la-la-la!

Work like this is play,-- So I'm playing all the day-- I can not help but smile!

"So, If you please--Tra-la-la-la-la!

Live at your ease!--Tra-la-la-la-la!

You've only got to turn, And, you see, its bound to churn-- I can not help but please!"

The farmer pondered and scratched his head, Reading over each mystic word.-- "Some o' the Dreamer's work!" he said-- "Ah, here's more--and name and date In his hand-write'!"--And the good man read,-- "'Patent applied for, July third, Eighteen hundred and forty-eight'!"

The fragment fell from his nerveless grasp-- His awed lips thrilled with the joyous gasp: "I see the p'int to the whole concern,-- He's studied out a patent churn!"

FLORETTY'S MUSICAL CONTRIBUTION

All seemed delighted, though the elders more, Of course, than were the children.--Thus, before Much interchange of mirthful compliment, The story-teller said _his_ stories "went"

(Like a bad candle) _best_ when they went _out_,-- And that some sprightly music, dashed about, Would _wholly_ quench his "glimmer," and inspire Far brighter lights.

And, answering this desire, The flutist opened, in a rapturous strain Of rippling notes--a perfect April-rain Of melody that drenched the senses through;-- Then--gentler--gentler--as the dusk sheds dew, It fell, by velvety, staccatoed halts, Swooning away in old "Von Weber's Waltz."

Then the young ladies sang "Isle of the Sea"-- In ebb and flow and wave so billowy,-- Only with quavering breath and folded eyes The listeners heard, buoyed on the fall and rise Of its insistent and exceeding stress Of sweetness and ecstatic tenderness ...

With lifted finger _yet_, Remembrance--List!-- "_Beautiful isle of the sea!_" wells in a mist Of tremulous ...

... After much whispering Among the children, Alex came to bring Some kind of _letter_--as it seemed to be-- To Cousin Rufus. This he carelessly Unfolded--reading to himself alone,-- But, since its contents became, later, known, And no one "_plagued_ so _awful_ bad," the same May here be given--of course without full name, Fac-simile, or written kink or curl Or clue. It read:--

"Wild Roved an indian Girl Brite al Floretty"

deer freind I now take *this* These means to send that _Song_ to you & make my Promus good to you in the Regards Of doing What i Promust afterwards, the _notes_ & _Words_ is both here _Printed_ SOS you *kin* can git _uncle Mart_ to read you *them* those & cousin Rufus you can git to _Play_ the _notes_ fur you on eny Plezunt day His Legul Work aint *Pressin* Pressing.

Ever thine As sh.o.r.e as the Vine doth the Stump intwine thou art my Lump of Sackkerrine Rinaldo Rinaldine the Pirut in Captivity.

... There dropped Another square sc.r.a.p.--But the hand was stopped That reached for it--Floretty suddenly Had set a firm foot on her property-- Thinking it was the _letter_, not the _song_,-- But blushing to discover she was wrong, When, with all gravity of face and air, Her precious letter _handed_ to her there By Cousin Rufus left her even more In apprehension than she was before.

But, testing his unwavering, kindly eye, She seemed to put her last suspicion by, And, in exchange, handed the song to him.--

A page torn from a song-book: Small and dim Both notes and words were--but as plain as day They seemed to him, as he began to play-- And plain to _all_ the singers,--as he ran An airy, warbling prelude, then began Singing and swinging in so blithe a strain, That every voice rang in the old refrain: From the beginning of the song, clean through, Floretty's features were a study to The flutist who "read _notes_" so readily, Yet read so little of the mystery Of that face of the girl's.--Indeed _one_ thing Bewildered him quite into worrying, And that was, noticing, throughout it all, The Hired Man shrinking closer to the wall, She ever backing toward him through the throng Of barricading children--till the song Was ended, and at last he saw her near Enough to reach and take him by the ear And pinch it just a pang's worth of her ire And leave it burning like a coal of fire.

He noticed, too, in subtle pantomime She seemed to dust him off, from time to time; And when somebody, later, asked if she Had never heard the song before--"What! _me?_"

She said--then blushed again and smiled,-- "I've knowed that song sence _Adam_ was a child!-- It's jes a joke o' this-here man's.--He's learned To _read_ and _write_ a little, and its turned His fool-head some--That's all!"

And then some one Of the loud-wrangling boys said--"_Course_ they's none No more, _these_ days!--They's Fairies _ust_ to be, But they're all dead, a hunderd years!" said he.

"Well, there's where you're _mustakened_!"--in reply They heard Bud's voice, pitched sharp and thin and high.--

"An' how you goin' to _prove_ it!"

"Well, I _kin_!"

Said Bud, with emphasis,--"They's one lives in Our garden--and I _see_ 'im wunst, wiv my Own eyes--_one_ time I did."

"_Oh, what a lie_!"

--"'_Sh!_'"

"Well, nen," said the skeptic--seeing there The older folks attracted--"Tell us _where_ You saw him, an' all _'bout_ him!'

"Yes, my son.-- If you tell 'stories,' you may tell us one,"

The smiling father said, while Uncle Mart, Behind him, winked at Bud, and pulled apart His nose and chin with comical grimace-- Then sighed aloud, with sanctimonious face,-- "'_How good and comely it is to see Children and parents in friendship agree!_'-- You fire away, Bud, on your Fairy-tale-- Your _Uncle's_ here to back you!"

Somewhat pale, And breathless as to speech, the little man Gathered himself. And thus his story ran.

BUD'S FAIRY-TALE

Some peoples thinks they ain't no Fairies _now_ No more yet!--But they _is_, I bet! 'Cause ef They _wuzn't_ Fairies, nen I' like to know Who'd w'ite 'bout Fairies in the books, an' tell What Fairies _does_, an' how their _picture_ looks, An' all an' ever'thing! W'y, ef they don't Be Fairies anymore, nen little boys 'U'd ist _sleep_ when they go to sleep an' wont Have ist no dweams at all,--'Cause Fairies--_good_ Fairies--they're a-purpose to make dweams!

But they _is_ Fairies--an' I _know_ they is!

'Cause one time wunst, when its all Summertime, An' don't haf to be no fires in the stove Er fireplace to keep warm wiv--ner don't haf To wear old scwatchy flannen shirts at all, An' aint no fweeze--ner cold--ner snow!--An'--an'

Old skweeky twees got all the gween leaves on An' ist keeps noddin', noddin' all the time, Like they 'uz lazy an' a-twyin' to go To sleep an' couldn't, 'cause the wind won't quit A-blowin' in 'em, an' the birds won't stop A-singin' so's they _kin_.--But twees _don't_ sleep, I guess! But _little boys_ sleeps--an' _dweams_, too.-- An' that's a sign they's Fairies.

So, one time, When I ben playin' "Store" wunst over in The shed of their old stable, an' Ed Howard He maked me quit a-bein' pardners, 'cause I dwinked the 'tend-like sody-water up An' et the sh.o.r.e-nuff cwackers.--W'y, nen I Clumbed over in our garden where the gwapes Wuz purt'-nigh ripe: An' I wuz ist a-layin'

There on th' old cwooked seat 'at Pa maked in Our arber,--an' so I 'uz layin' there A-whittlin' beets wiv my new dog-knife, an'

A-lookin' wite up through the twimbly leaves-- An' wuzn't 'sleep at all!--An'-sir!--first thing You know, a little _Fairy_ hopped out there!

A _leetle-teenty Fairy!--hope-may-die!_ An' he look' down at me, he did--An' he Ain't bigger'n a _yellerbird!_--an' he Say "Howdy-do!" he did--an' I could _hear_ Him--ist as _plain!_

Nen _I_ say "Howdy-do!"

An' he say "_I'm_ all hunkey, Nibsey; how Is _your_ folks comin' on?"

An' nen I say "My name ain't '_Nibsey_,' neever--my name's _Bud_.