Part 3

Our Uncle Bill’s a bachelur, an’ it’s an awful shame, ’Cuz he knows stories about bears an’ knows ’em all by name. An’ growls ’ist like a really one an’ makes you think a bear Is underneath th’ table, but of course it isn’t there. An’ when he takes you on his knee he talks ’ist like a book An’ after w’ile your eyes get big an’ you’re a-scairt to look W’en he says: “Nen a bear come out an’ ’ist went Boo-oo-oo!” Becuz you almost think a bear is really after you.

An’ ’en he plays wild Indian an’ hides himself somewheres W’ile we look in th’ corners an’ behind th’ parlor chairs, An’ peek in th’ dark closets an’ p’tend we’re on a scout Till after w’ile he makes a whoop an’ ’en comes rushin’ out ’Ist like he’s on th’ warpath; an’ us chinnern run upstairs An’ hide in Mamma’s closet an’ he makes us think ’at bears Are comin’ in to get us an’ he growls ’ist like he’s one, An’ my! we’re turble scairt an’ yet it’s awful lots o’ fun.

An’ ’en he is a pirate an’ he makes us chinnern play At we are in a shipwreck an’ th’ crew is cast away Upon a desert island w’ere his treasure chest is hid, An’ we are only sailors an’ his name is Captain Kidd. An’ w’en we hear him comin’ he ’ist roars an’ ’en we run, ’Cuz he has broomsticks for a sword an’ pokers for a gun, An’ after w’ile he kills us all but it don’t hurt, an’ w’en He sails away in his big ship we come to life again.

’En after w’ile our Mother comes an’ taps him on th’ head, An’ says it’s time for bears an’ scouts an’ things to be in bed, An’ leads us chinnern all upstairs an’ maybe if we keep Right still she’ll let th’ candle burn until we go to sleep. ’En after w’ile our Uncle Bill comes up to say good-night, An’ see how snug an’ warm we are an’ all tucked in so tight, An’ ’en he kisses us good-night an’ ’en his eyes ’ist blur: I guess we make him sorry ’at he is a bachelur!

HOW HENRY BLAKE KNOWS

Don’t you dast kill a toad, Henry Blake says, for true As your’re born it’ll rain right away if you do. For Henry Blake says oncet some boys ’at he knowed Were goin’ a-fishin’ an’ one killed a toad, An’ it all clouded up an’ it got just as black, An’ it thundered an’ lightninged before they got back Till they were awful scairt. He says he dunno why, But he thinks toads has somethin’ t’ do with the sky. An’ Henry Blake showed Us th’ place in th’ road Where the boys went an’ kilt him an’ that’s how he knowed.

Henry Blake says if you just split a bean An’ put half of it on a wart when it’s green, An’ throw half of it between midnight an’ dawn In a cistern somewhere, why, your wart’ll be gone Just as soon as it rots. Henry Blake says it’s true ’Cuz a friend of his showed him a bean cut in two That took off a big wart, an’ th’ half was all black An’ Henry Blake says that it never came back. An’ Henry’s friend showed Him th’ cistern he throwed The other half into an’ that’s how he knowed!

THE LAND OF BLOW BUBBLES

His curls are like rings of red gold on his head, His lips are as red as a cherry, His cheeks are as round as an apple, and red, His eyes full of mischief and merry. His heart is as pure as a snowflake in air, A fig for the whole of his troubles! For he’s my Boy Careless--you’ve seen him somewhere, And he lives in the land of Blow Bubbles!

Now he’s riding a stick that is legless and dead, Through the lanes and across the sere stubbles, For a stick is a horse with four legs and a head In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles! He bears at his side a sword cut from a lath, With a big wooden gun on his shoulder, And woe to the wild beast that crosses his path For never a huntsman was bolder.

Now down from his steed leaps Boy Careless in haste, He drops on one knee in the stubbles, For stubbles are woods full of wild beasts, all chased To their death by the boys in Blow Bubbles! His musket he brings to his shoulder and shoots, The sound of it echoes and doubles, For a make-believe gun kills the make-believe brutes In that magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.

Then out from the forest a savage all red With blood-curdling yell leaps to battle, A thrust from the big wooden sword--he is dead With a most melancholy death-rattle. Then up from the ground lifts Boy Careless his horse, And back o’er the all-trackless stubbles, For it’s many a mile to his cabin, of course, In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles.

Oh, joy to the lad in his make-believe ride With the make-believe gun on his shoulder, With the make-believe sword cut from lath at his side, And a sigh from the heart that is older! A whistle for Care from the harp of his lips, A fig for the whole of his troubles, When he’s off like the wind on his make-believe trips In the magic boy land of Blow Bubbles!

THE GINGERCAKE MAN

The Gingercake man was a lump of brown dough Till a great rolling pin was run over him, so! To flatten him out, and he lay there so thin, His bones almost popped through the holes in his skin; They sifted him over with flour and spice, And made him some eyes with two kernels of rice, And took some dried currants, the biggest and best, To make him some buttons for closing his vest.

The Gingercake man wabbled this way and that, When they seeded a raisin and made him a hat That was stuck on his head in the jauntiest way, For a Gingercake man is not made every day. They stuck in some cloves for his ears; yes, indeed! And made him some teeth out of caraway seed, And when he was finished they buttered a pan-- The biggest they had--for the Gingercake man.

Then into the oven they put him to bake Until he was hard and could stand and not break His legs when he stood; and they set him to cool Until all the children should come home from school. And oh, the delight and the wonder and glee, When mother invited the children to see,

All sifted with sugar and out of the pan, The good-natured face of the Gingercake man.

But alas and alas! ’Tis a short life and sweet Is the Gingercake man’s--for they ate off his feet, They broke off his arms with the hungriest zest, And picked all the buttons from out of his vest; They nibbled his legs off and ate up his hat, And everything edible went just like that, Till the cloves and the kernels of rice you may scan As all that is left of the Gingercake man!

LONESOME

Say, little boy, be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you; And I won’t never tell on you, no matter what you do. It’s awful lonesome over here and, goodness, but it’s hard To have your mother say that you must play in your back yard. There’s lots of daisies where I am, and butterflies as bright As anything you ever saw, and I just saw one light; Perhaps you’d catch it in your cap if I would help you to-- Come over and be friends with me and I’ll be friends with you.

I’m all the children we have got--I’m lonesome as can be, I wish you wouldn’t be afraid to come and play with me. I don’t care if your face ain’t clean or if your clothes are torn, I didn’t have no clothes at all the time that I was born. We got ripe apples on our trees and I will boost you so That you can get some if you come, and when it’s time to go We’ll fill your cap and pockets full to take home. Don’t you see I’m willing to be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me?

I’ve got a lot of wooden toys, as fine as they can be, But I want something that’s alive to run around with me, And play wild Indians and bears, and if you’ll come and play Perhaps my Mamma ’ll let me come and play with you some day. We’ve got some dandy hollow trees, the finest anywheres, And one of us can hide in them when we are playing bears, And growl just like he’s awful cross, and all the time you know It’s only make-believe, of course, but then it scares you so.

I wish you’d come and play with me. I’ve got a jumping-jack I’ll give you for your very own to keep when you go back, And you can ride my v’locipede most all the afternoon And blow some bubbles with my pipe and play with my balloon. I’ve got an awful lot of toys and I will let you play That they are yours as much as mine for all the time you stay, I’m all the boys my folks have got. I’m lonesome as can be, Come on, and I’ll be friends with you if you’ll be friends with me.

THE GARDEN OF PLAY

Out in the Garden of Childhood gay Romp three glad youngsters with merry cries, Startling the birds with their boisterous play, Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. Ever you see them and hear them there, Morning or evening or blossomy noon, And oh, but the Garden of Youth is fair, And oh, but the years of it pass too soon!

Over the Garden arch cloudless skies, (Ah, but the skies of all Youth are blue!) Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes Find in each nook something rare and new. Cool is the shade of the coaxing trees, Bidding them hide from the sun at noon, And oh, but what glorious days are these, And oh, but the hours of them pass too soon!

Rare is the Garden with fragrant flowers (Ah, but the flowers of Youth are fair!) Garlands they weave of the golden hours, Sweet with the song of the birds in air. Splashed all the earth with a rosy light, Light of the sun at its splendid noon, And oh, but the sunshine of Youth is bright, And oh, but the light of it dies too soon!

Sweet to mine ears from the Garden gay Echo their calls and their merry cries, Startling the birds with their boisterous play, Lightheart and Laughter and big Brighteyes. Dips the red sun to its shadowed west, These are the years of mine afternoon, And oh, but the years of my youth were best, And oh, but the joy of them passed too soon!

WE AIN’T SCARED O’ PA

Us boys ain’t scared o’ Pa so much, He only makes a noise, An’ says he never did see such Onmanageable boys. But when Ma looks around I see Just somethin’ long an’ flat An’ always make a point to be Some better after that.

Pa promises an’ promises, But never does a thing; But what Ma says she does she does, An’ when I go to bring Her slipper or her hair brush when She says she’ll dust my pants, I think I could be better then If I had one more chance.

Pa always says nex’ time ’at he Will have a word to say, But Ma she is more apt to be A-doin’ right away; Pa turns around at us an’ glares As fierce as he can look, But when we’re out o’ sight, upstairs, He goes back to his book.

Ma doesn’t glare as much as Pa Or make as big a fuss, But what she says is law is law, And when she speaks to us She’s lookin’ carelessly around F’r somethin’ long an’ flat, And when we notice it, we’re bound To be good after that.

So we ain’t scairt o’ Pa at all, Although he thinks we are; But when we hear Ma come an’ call, No difference how far We are away we answer quick, An’ tell her where we’re at, When she stoops down and starts to pick Up somethin’ long an’ flat!

A PEARL OF PRICE

She isn’t worth a fortune and she hasn’t any stocks, Her wealth is all in little shoes and pinafores and frocks. In little rings of curling hair and big blue, laughing eyes, In leaves and grass and buds and flowers and bees and butterflies. But when she comes in tired from play and crawls upon my knee She’s worth a hundred millions to her mother and to me.

She sits among her dolls and toys and doesn’t seem to care If wealth is all in rosy cheeks and locks of curly hair. She toddles up to me and like an artful fairy clips A coupon bearing love from off the sweetness of her lips. And when she puts her arms around my neck and goos in glee, She’s worth uncounted millions to her mother and to me.

And when she’s in her crib at night and daintily tucked in, The wealth of Croesus couldn’t buy the dimple in her chin, And as she blinks her roguish eyes to play at peek-a-boo, She chuckles me a fortune with each archly spoken goo. And though she has no fortune, I am sure you will agree, She’s a fortune, more than money, to her mother and to me.

DEAR LITTLE, QUEER LITTLE MAN

Dear little, queer little man, With his hair all a tumble of curls, With a light in his eyes Like the blue of the skies When the dawn’s rosy banner unfurls! Sweet little, fleet little man, Who fills all the house with his toys, Whose laugh has the truth Of the heart of his youth: A toast to the health of our boys!

Dear little, queer little man, With a big, paper cap on his head, And a sword at his side As he gets up to ride On his hobby-horse, gaudy and red! Play, little, gay little man; Fill all of the house with your noise, For, oh, it were ill If your laughter were still! A toast to the laughter of boys!

Dear little, queer little man, With dreams of the future to be, When he shall grow tall And shall care for us all, His mother, his sister and me! Brave little, grave little man, With thoughts, like his youth, incomplete, But bearing the seed That shall blossom and lead To manhood all gracious and sweet.

Dear little, queer little man, Whose heart is so boyish and pure, May the sweetness and truth That are flowers of youth Through all of your being endure! Play, little, gay little man; Fill all of the house with your noise, For, oh, what so sweet As the pattering feet And the echoing laughter of boys?

Dear little, queer little man, The light of the dawn’s rosy beams Be evermore spread On your dear, curly head, And truth to your innocent dreams! Blest little, best little man, God keep you as pure as the truth That lingers and lies In the light of your eyes: Long life to the heart of your youth!

GIRL OF MINE

Oh, her frock is crisp and white, And her hair is curled up tight To her roguish little head, just like an aureole of light. Not a heart but she could win With the ribbon at her chin And her cheeks that have such very little merry dimples in.

Ah, the laughter in her eyes, And the wonder and surprise As she toddles through the waving grass in search of butterflies; And the flowers nod and sway In their love of her and say By their homage as she passes she’s a fairer flower than they.

Ah, the sweetness and the grace In her radiant little face As she scampers through the sunlight in her airy, fairy race; How the roguish laughter trips From the gateway of her lips Like the lilting of the robin through the leafy bough that slips.

And the birds in branches high Seem to join her merry cry, And to chirp a fearless greeting as she gaily toddles by; And so light her footsteps fall That the clover blossoms call: “See! She stepped on us in passing but we’re scarcely bruised at all!”

CHUMS

He lives acrost the street from us An’ ain’t as big as me; His mother takes in washin’ ’cuz They’re poor as they can be; But every night he brings his slate An’ ’en I do his sums, An’ help him get his lessons straight, ’Cuz him an’ me is chums.

His clo’es ain’t _quite_ as good as mine, But I don’t care for that; His mother makes his face ’ist shine, An’ I _lent_ him a hat. An’ every mornin’, ’ist by rule, W’en nine o’clock it comes, He takes my hand an’ goes to school, ’Cuz him an’ me is chums.

Nobody better plague him, too, No matter if he’s small, ’Cuz I’m his friend, for tried and true, An’ ’at’s th’ reason all Th’ boys don’t dare to plague him, ’cuz I ’ist wait till he comes, An’ he walks close to me, he does, ’Cuz him an’ me is chums.

He fell an’ hurt hi’self one day Th’ summer before last, An’ ’at’s w’at makes him limp ’at way An’ don’t grow very fast. So w’en I get a piece of pie, Or maybe nuts or plums, I always give him some, ’cuz I Get lots--an’ we are chums.

An’ w’en it’s nuttin’ time, we go, An’ I climb all th’ trees, ’Cuz he can’t climb--he’s hurt, you know-- But he gets all he sees Come droppin’ down, an’ my! he’s glad; An’ w’en th’ twilight comes He says w’at a fine time he had, ’Cuz him an’ me is chums.

But my! his mother’s awful queer; ’Cuz w’en we’re home again, She wipes her eye--a great, big tear-- An’ says: “God bless you, Ben! Th’ Lord will bless you all your days W’en th’ great Judgment comes.” But I say I don’t need no praise, ’Cuz him an’ me is chums.

THE LOST BOY

Little Boy Careless has strewn his blocks From end to end of the nursery; He has broken the top of the gaudy box That held sliced animals--My, Ah Me! His wooden soldiers are seamed and scarred From battle with him, and his jumping-jack Is lodged half-way from a blow too hard, Nor all of my coaxing will get him back.

Little Boy Careless has split his drum And bent the tube of his screeching fife Till all of its martial airs are dumb, And the doll that squeaked has lost her life From a mallet blow on her waxen head, And none of her sister dolls knows or cares How the sawdust in her is strewn and spread From the bedroom door to the hall downstairs.

Little Boy Careless has gone away And Big Boy Hopeful has come to me, The toys that were scattered here yesterday Are stored up there in the nursery. The broken drum and the jumping-jack, The waxen doll in her crib alone, Nor Little Boy Careless will e’er come back To scatter the toys by his years outgrown.

And ah, but the heart of me aches and cries For the Little Boy Careless to come and play, The light of the dawn in his big, brown eyes, With the toys that are gathered and laid away. The Big Boy Hopeful will come to pine For the world out there and will yearn to go, But the Little Boy Careless was mine, all mine, And that is the reason I loved him so!

LINES TO A BABY GIRL

Oh, she has such a way with her! I stay with her And play with her, Her cheeks are round and dimpled and Her eyes are Heaven’s blue; My life is spent quite half with her, I laugh with her And chaff with her, Till she looks up with laughing eyes, And all she says is “Goo!”

Sometimes I try to walk with her, I talk with her And rock with her; She knows some way my love for her Is tender and is true. And so I sit and speak with her And seek with her The cheek of her To brush with little kisses and Quite all she says is “Goo!”

She toddles in to share with me My chair with me; Her air with me Is that of queen imperious, My heart her subject true. Upon the floor she lies with me And tries with me To rise with me When romping time is over, and She looks up and says “Goo!”

Oh, she is such a part of me, The heart of me, And art of me Could not express my love for her, So tender and so true; She is the treasure blessed of me, Heart’s guest of me, The best of me, This little baby girl of me Who looks up and says “Goo!”

LITTLE MISCHEFUSS

Somebody went and broke my doll, an’ let her sawdust out On Mamma’s floor an’ my! there’s sawdust scattered all about! Dess scandalous! An’ bien by my Mamma’ll come an’ say: “I see ’at Little Mischefuss has been around today!”

An’ sometimes w’en th’ sugar bowl’s lef’ open, she says ’en: “I dess ’at Little Mischefuss has been around again!” An’ my! I’m awful much surprised! an’ ast how does she know, But she dess says a little bird flew in an’ told her so!

One time somebody went, she did, and broke my jumpin’-jack An’ Mamma says: “I see ’at Little Mischefuss is back.” An’ w’en somebody spilled p’eserves right on the pantry shelf She says: “I see ’at Mischefuss has tried to he’p herself!”

One day somebody tored my dress an’ en she says: “I see At Little Mischefuss is dess as busy as can be!” An’ my! I’m awful much surprised an’ ast how does she know, But she dess says a little bird flew in an’ told her so!

Somebody frowed my blocks out doors an’ ’en ’ey dot all wet An’ all peeled off tuz why it rained an’ Mamma says she bet ’At Little Mischefuss is back from Topsyturvytown An’ mus’ be hidin’ in th’ house or else somew’eres aroun’.

Oncet Mamma’s goin’ t’ spank her w’en she catches her, an’ so I ast her not to tuz she’s dess a little girl, you know, An’ don’t know any better ’an t’ plague an’ pester us, Till she dess laughs, tuz why she says _I’m_ Little Mischefuss!

THE TRAVELS OF MORTIMER BROWN

This is the story of Mortimer Brown Who went for his mother some errands in town, Who was told he must come back as quick as he could And as earnestly promised his mother he would. He went down the front steps full three at a time And swung on the gate, for the swinging was prime.

He teetered on all the loose boards in the walk And met Jimmy Brady and sat down to talk; He climbed up the trunk of a big tree that stands Not so far from his home, and he swung with both hands. He passed the cow pasture and stopped for a stroll, Climbed the fence and turned twice on the very top pole.

Then he turned a few handsprings all through the long grass And sat on the fence to watch Peter Bates pass With a big flock of sheep, and he got himself chased By the biggest black ram and he fell in his haste Down the bank of the brook and he sat there about Half an hour in the sun till his clothes were dried out. He laid off his coat since the day was so hot And chose a bypath through the strawberry plot; He gathered some berries to eat on his way Till alarmed by the watch-dog’s deep, ominous bay. Then he followed a rabbit as far as he could Until it was lost in the depth of a wood, And marked a bee tree so to find it again When he and Jim Brady should visit Beech Glen. So tired then he was that he sat down to rest And he fell sound asleep with his coat and his vest

Spread under his head, when the rumble of wheels On the road waked him up and he saw Elmer Beals Driving by in the lane and he climbed up beside On a big load of squashes and had a fine ride, And helped lead the horses to water as soon As they both reached the town in the late afternoon. And then, oh, alas! The long list Mother wrote Of the things he should get had dropped out of his coat,

So he bought some stick candy and cookies--he knew Of the things she would need they must surely be two, And munching them sadly the whole of the way Back homeward he wondered what Mother would say. I wonder if ever in country or town You have known such a lad as this Mortimer Brown?

ADVENTURERS THREE