Standard Selections Part 48

"Yo' fam'bly got any?"

"Not 'nough fer rain."

"Well den it look like faith es 'bout as scyarce an' hard ter git as rain. Has Macedony Church got any?"

"Plenty."

"Got 'nough fer rain?"

"Plenty."

"Well den you go down dyah to prayer-meeting ter-night; an' take yo'

fambly, an' all de n.i.g.g.e.rs in de settlement what' got faith,--don't get none but faith n.i.g.g.e.rs,--an' see ef you git er rain. You git rain, an'

I'll give up. I hyah you all been prayin' fer me ter come in chu'ch--cause de ole roof wants patchin' I reckon. Git de rain an' you gits me too. Go on, an' try hit. I ain't got no time ter waste. Fus'

thing you know, rain'll be pourin' down, an' dat dah chu'ch'll be leakin' faster'n a sieve. You goin' ter git rain, Ben?"

"Yes, I'm going' ter try. An' ef we have faith we'll git hit. Hit's a dry moon; ain't narry drop of water dyah, but faith c'n do hit."

The next morning a thin little cloud floated out of the brazen east, a mere ghost of a cloud, and from it was sifted down for about two minutes the poorest apology that nature ever made to injured verdure. Soon it pa.s.sed into nothingness, and the full sun blazed over the parched land once more. A triumphant laugh was heard out where the hands were hoeing, and Ben's voice was recognized above all the others. They were congratulating him upon his success, when up came old Henry, his sack of carpenter's tools on his back. Ben shouted,

"h.e.l.lo, Unc' Henry. I told you we'd fetch hit."

"Ben, did you say hit only taks faith as er grain er mustard seed ter move er mountain?"

"Yes, sah."

"Well now, hyah's de whole of Macedony Church, full of faith n.i.g.g.e.rs, a prayin' for rain, an' de whole pack o' 'em can't lay de dust!"

FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN[68]

S. W. GILLILAN

Superintindint wuz Flannigan; Boss of the siction wuz Finnigin; Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back, Finnigin writ it to Flannigan, Afther the wrick wuz all on agin.

That is, this Finnigin Repoorted to Flannigan.

Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan He writ tin pages--did Finnigin.

An' he tould jist how the smash occurred-- Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd Did Finnigin write to Flannigan Afther the cars had gone on agin.

That wuz how Finnigin Repoorted to Flannigan.

Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin-- Had more idjucation--had Flannigan; An' it wore 'm clane an' complately out To tell what Finnigin writ about In his writin' to Muster Flannigan.

So he writed back to Finnigin: "Don't do sich a sin agin!

Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"

Whin Finnigin got this frum Flannigan, He blushed rosy rid--did Finnigin; An' he said: "I'll gamble a whole moonth's pa-ay That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay Befoore Sup'rintindint--that's Flannigan-- Gits a whack at this very same sin agin.

From Finnigin to Flannigan Repoorts won't be long agin."

Wan da-ay on the siction of Finnigin, On the road sup'rintinded by Flannigan, A rail give way on a bit av a curve, An' some kyears went off as they made the swerve.

"There's n.o.body hurted," sez Finnigin, "But repoorts must be made to Flannigan,"

An' he winked at McGorrigan As married a Finnigin.

He wus shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin, As minny a railroader's been agin, An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright In Finnigin's shanty all that night-- Bilin' down his repoort, wuz Finnigin.

An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan: Off agin, on agin, Gone agin.--Finnigin."

FOOTNOTE:

[68] By permission of the author.

GAVROCHE AND THE ELEPHANT[69]

VICTOR HUGO

[A story of how Gavroche, a street gamin of Paris, uses for a home the monument built in the form of a huge elephant, which Napoleon Bonaparte erected in 1823.]

The forest has a bird. Paris a child. The bird is called a sparrow. The child--a gamin. This little being is joyous; he has not food every day; no shoes on his feet; not much clothing on his body. He runs, he swears like a convict, he haunts all the wine shops, knows all the thieves--but he has no evil in his heart. Little Gavroche was one of these. He had been dispatched into life with a kick and had simply taken flight. The pavements were less hard to him than his mother's heart.

One evening, little Gavroche was skipping along an alley, hands in his pockets and singing merrily, when he came upon a young man who had a wild, happy look in his eye, but no hat on his head.

"Whoa there, monsieur, where's your roof? You've got enough light in them blinkers of yours to light up my apartments--say, monsieur, you're either crazy or you've had an awful good time!"

"Be off with you, imp."

"Say, did you know there wus a goin' ter be war in this town in a few days and I'm goin' to enlist as general of the army--Forward--March--Say, monsieur, I believe I know you, yes, sir, I've seen you down in that Napoleon meetin' way down there in that cellar--"

"Oh, be off with you, imp!"

"Yes, sir, I'm goin' now. Sorry I can't walk with you further, but business calls me in the other direction.

"Good evenin', monsieur--Watch out there. Can't ye see where yer goin'?

Little more an' ye'd been eatin' the dandelions! Good evenin', monsieur!"

A little further down the street, Gavroche was standing scrutinizing a shop window, when two little children came up to him crying.

"What's the matter with you, brats?"

"Boo-hoo--we--ain't got no place to sleep."

"The idea a bawlin' about that. Come along with me, I'll give ye a place to sleep. Say, hev ye got any shiners?"

"Boo-hoo--no--sir!"