Standard Selections Part 45

F. E. WEATHERLY

There were three young maids of Lee, And they were fair as fair can be; And they had lovers three times three, For they were fair as fair can be, These three young maids of Lee.

But these young maids they cannot find A lover each to suit her mind; The plain-spoke lad is far too rough, The rich young lord not rich enough, And one's too poor, and one too tall, And one an inch too short for them all.

"Others pick and choose, and why not we?

We can very well wait," said these maids of Lee.

There were three young maids of Lee, And they were fair as fair can be; And they had lovers three times three, For they were fair as fair can be, These three young maids of Lee.

There are three old maids of Lee, And they are old as old can be; And one is deaf, and one can't see, And they all are cross as a gallows tree, These three old maids of Lee.

Now, if any one chanced--'tis a chance remote-- One single charm in these maids to note, He need not a poet nor handsome be, For one is deaf, and one can't see; He need not woo on his bended knee, For they all are willing as willing can be; He may take the one or the two or the three, If he'll only take them away from Lee.

There are three old maids at Lee, And they are cross as cross can be; And there they are, and there they'll be, To the end of the chapter, one, two, three, These three old maids of Lee!

"THE DAY OF JUDGMENT"[66]

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS

I am thirteen years old and Jill is eleven and a quarter. Jill is my brother. That isn't his name, you know; his name is Timothy and mine is George Zacharias; but they call us Jack and Jill.

Well, Jill and I had an invitation to Aunt John's this summer, and that was how we happened to be there.

I'd rather go to Aunt John's than any place in the world. When I was a little fellow I used to think I'd rather go to Aunt John's than to Heaven. But I never dared to tell.

She invited us to come on the twelfth of August. It takes all day to get there. She lives at Little River in New Hampshire, way up. You have to wait at South Lawrence in a poky little depot, and you get some played out--at least I don't, but Jill does. So we bought a paper and Jill sat up and read it. When he'd sat a minute and read along--

"Look here!" said he.

"Look where?" said I.

"Why, there's going to be a comet," said Jill.

"Who cares?" said I.

Jill laid down the paper, and crunched a pop-corn all up before he answered that, then said he, "I don't see why father didn't tell us. I suppose he thought we'd be frightened, or something. Why, s'posing the world did come to an end? That's what this paper says. 'It is pre--'

where is my place? Oh! I see--'predicted by learned men that a comet will come into con-conjunction with our plant'--no--'our planet this night. Whether we shall be plunged into a wild vortex of angry s.p.a.ce, or suffocated with n-o-x--noxious gases, or scorched to a helpless crisp, or blasted at once, eternal an-ni-hi--'" A gust of wind grabbed the paper out of Jill's hand just then, and took it out of the window; so I never heard the rest.

"Father isn't a goose," said I. "He didn't think it worth while mentioning. He isn't going to be afraid of a comet at his time of life."

So we didn't think any more about the comet till we got to Aunt John's, where we found company. It wasn't a relation, only an old school friend, and her name was Miss Togy; she had come without an invitation, but had to have the spare room because she was a lady. That was how Jill and I came to be put in the little chimney bedroom.

That little chimney bedroom is the funniest place you ever slept in.

There had been a chimney once, and it ran up by the window, and grandfather had it taken away. It was a big, old-fashioned chimney, and it left the funniest little gouge in the room, so the bed went in as nice as could be. We couldn't see much but the ceiling when we got to bed.

"It's pretty dark," said Jill; "I shouldn't wonder if it did blow up a storm a little--wouldn't it scare--Miss--Bogy!"

"Togy," said I.

"Well, T-o--" said Jill; and right in the middle of it he went off as sound as a weasel.

The next thing I can remember is a horrible noise. I can't think of but one thing in this world it was like, and that isn't in this world so much. I mean the last trumpet, with the angel blowing as he blows in my old primer. The next thing I remember is hearing Jill sit up in bed--for I couldn't see him, it was so dark--and his piping out the other half of Miss Togy's name just as he had left it when he went to sleep.

"Gy--Bogy!--Fogy!--Soaky!--Oh," said Jill, coming to at last, "I thought--why, what's up?"

I was up, but I couldn't tell what else was for a little while. I went to the window. It was as dark as a great rat-hole out-of-doors, all but a streak of lightning and an awful thunder, as if the world was cracking all to pieces.

"Come to bed!" shouted Jill, "you'll get struck, and then that will kill me."

I went back to bed, for I didn't know what else to do, and we crawled down under the clothes and covered ourselves all up.

"W-would--you--call--Aunt--John?" asked Jill. He was most choked. I came up for air.

"No," said I, "I don't think I'd call Aunt John." I should have liked to call her by that time, but then I should have felt ashamed.

"I s'pose she has got her hands full with Miss Croaky, anyway,"

chattered Jill, bobbing up and under again. By that time the storm was the worst storm I had ever seen in my life. It grew worse and worse--thunder, lightning, and wind--wind, lightning, and thunder; rain and roar and awfulness. I don't know how to tell how awful it was.

In the middle of the biggest peal we'd had yet, up jumped Jill. "Jack!"

said he, "that comet!" I'd never thought of the comet till that minute; I felt an ugly feeling and cold all over. "It is the comet!" said Jill.

"It is the day of judgment, Jack."

Then it happened. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to get my head under the clothes. First there was a creak, then a crash, then we felt a shake as if a giant pushed his shoulder up through the floor and shoved us. Then we doubled up. And then we began to fall. The floor opened, and we went through. I heard the bed-post hit as we went by.

Then I felt another crash; then we began to fall again; then we b.u.mped down hard. After that we stopped falling. I lay still. My heels were doubled up over my head. I thought my neck would break. But I never dared to stir, for I thought I was dead. By and by I wondered if Jill were dead too, so I undoubled my neck a little and found some air. It seemed just as uncomfortable to breathe without air when you were dead as when you weren't.

I called out softly, "Jill!" no answer. "Jill!" not a sound. "O--Jill!"

But he did not speak, so then I knew Jill must be dead, at any rate. I couldn't help wondering why he was so much deader than I that he couldn't answer a fellow. Pretty soon I heard a rustling noise under my feet, then a weak, sick kind of a voice, just the kind of a noise I always supposed ghosts would make if they could talk.

"Jack?"

"Is that you, Jill?"

"I--suppose--so. Is it you, Jack?"

"Yes. Are you dead?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

"I guess I must be if you are. How awfully dark it is."

"Awfully dark! It must have been the comet."

"Yes; did you get much hurt?"