Up in Maine: Stories of Yankee Life Told in Verse. Holman Day
straight down;
So he never see’d the motions of them Number
’Leven feet,
And he went a-amblin’ by him—the goramded
blind old clown!
Now this ere part is truthful—ain’t a-stretehin’
it a mite—
When the feller see’d that Skillins was a-
walkin’ past the place,
Let go his teeth and hollered, but he grabbed
back quick and tight,
’Fore he had a chance to tumble, and he hung
there by the face.
And he never dropped the shingles and he never
missed his grip,
And he stepped out on the ladder when they
raised it underneath.
And up he went a-flukin’ with them shingles on
his hip,
—And there’s the satisfaction of a havin’
double teeth.
GRAMPY’S LULLABY
Your marmy’s mixin’ cream o’ tartar biskit up
for tea;
Fie, deedle, deedle, leetle ba-a-arby!
And I reckon you had better come and roost
upon my knee;
Tumpy, dumpy, deedle, leetle barby!
I s’picion how ye never heard of Ebernezer
Cowles.
Tell ye what, he warn’t brung up to be afraid of
owls.
Reckon that a spryer critter never tailored
boots;
Allus up to monkey tricks and full o’ squirms
and scoots.
Once he done a curis thing, I vummy, on a
stump:
Set a larder up one end and gin’ a mighty jump;
Run right up the larder, jest as nimble as a
monkey,
Balarnced, I sh’d suttin say, a minit—all a-
hunky;
Then he straddled out on air and grabbed the
pesky larder
And run ’er up another length—another length,
suh, farder;
Skittered up that larder ’fore she had a chance
to teeter,
Quicker’n any pussy cat—lighter’n a mos-
keeter.
Soon’s he clambered to the top, grabbed the
upper rung,
Ketched hisself with t’other hand, and there the
critter hung.
Gaffled up his britches’ slack and took a resky
charnce
And thar’ he held hisself right out, arms-length,
suh, by his parnts.
Ye ought ter heerd, my barby dear, the cheerins
and the howls
The crowd let out when they’d obsarved that
trick of Mister Cowles.
Sing’lar thing of which I sing—might not
think ’twas true;
Fie, deedle, deedle, leetle ba-a-arby!
But ye know, my leetle snoozer, grampy wouldn’t
lie to you,
—To his dumpy, dumpy deedle, leetle
barby.
Hush, I guess that mammy isn’t done a-makin’
bread,
We ain’t at all pertic’lar how she overhears
what’s said.
Ye’re over-young, purraps, to hear of Sam’wel
Doubl’yer Strout,
—Weighed about two hundred pounds, and,
chowder, warn’t he stout!
Used to work for me one time as sort of extry
hand,
—Allus planned to ’gage him when I cleared up
any land;
Once I see him lug a rock with fairly mod’rit
ease
So hefty that at ev’ry step he sunk above his
knees.
Hain’t at all surprised to see the wonder in your
eye;
Fie, deedle, deedle, leetle ba-a-arby!
But ye know your poor old grampy wouldn’t
tell ye ary lie,
—To his tumpy, dumpy deedle, leetle
barby.
Course ye’ve never heerd ’em tell of Atha-ni-al
Prime,
For he was round a-raisin’ Cain so long afore
your time.
Used to run the muley saw down to Hopkins
mill,
—Allus euttin’ ding-does up—a master curis
pill!
Once the chaps that tended sluice stood upon a
log,
Got to argyin’ this and that, suthin’ ’bout a dog.
Clean forgot to start the log a-goin’ up the
sluice,
But shook their fists and hollered round and spit
torbarker juice.
Atha-ni-al heerd the towse and grabbed a pick-
pole up,
—Wasn’t goin’ to stop a mill to fight about a
pup—
Tied a rope around the pole and then he let her
flam,
Speared the end of that air log and yanked her
quicker’n Sam.
Log, suh, come right out the bark, he twitched
the thing so quick;
Fellers never felt the yank, ’twas done so smooth
and