Complete Poetical Works by Bret Harte Part 41

It was spring the first time that I saw her, for her papa and mamma moved in Next door, just as skating was over, and marbles about to begin; For the fence in our back yard was broken, and I saw, as I peeped through the slat, There were "Johnny-jump-ups" all around her, and I knew it was spring just by that.

I never knew whether she saw me, for she didn't say nothing to me, But "Ma! here's a slat in the fence broke, and the boy that is next door can see."

But the next day I climbed on our wood-shed, as you know Mamma says I've a right, And she calls out, "Well, peekin' is manners!" and I answered her, "Sa.s.s is perlite!"

But I wasn't a bit mad, no, Papa, and to prove it, the very next day, When she ran past our fence in the morning I happened to get in her way,-- For you know I am "chunked" and clumsy, as she says are all boys of my size,-- And she nearly upset me, she did, Pa, and laughed till tears came in her eyes.

And then we were friends from that moment, for I knew that she told Kitty Sage,-- And she wasn't a girl that would flatter--"that she thought I was tall for my age."

And I gave her four apples that evening, and took her to ride on my sled, And-- "What am I telling you this for?" Why, Papa, my neighbor is DEAD!

You don't hear one half I am saying,--I really do think it's too bad!

Why, you might have seen c.r.a.pe on her door-k.n.o.b, and noticed to-day I've been sad.

And they've got her a coffin of rosewood, and they say they have dressed her in white, And I've never once looked through the fence, Pa, since she died--at eleven last night.

And Ma says it's decent and proper, as I was her neighbor and friend, That I should go there to the funeral, and she thinks that YOU ought to attend; But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall be in the way, And suppose they should speak to me, Papa, I wouldn't know just what to say.

So I think I will get up quite early,--I know I sleep late, but I know I'll be sure to wake up if our Bridget pulls the string that I'll tie to my toe; And I'll crawl through the fence, and I'll gather the "Johnny-jump-ups"

as they grew Round her feet the first day that I saw her, and, Papa, I'll give them to you.

For you're a big man, and, you know, Pa, can come and go just where you choose, And you'll take the flowers in to her, and surely they'll never refuse; But, Papa, don't SAY they're from Johnny; THEY won't understand, don't you see?

But just lay them down on her bosom, and, Papa, SHE'LL know they're from Me.

MISS EDITH'S MODEST REQUEST

My Papa knows you, and he says you're a man who makes reading for books; But I never read nothing you wrote, nor did Papa,--I know by his looks.

So I guess you're like me when I talk, and I talk, and I talk all the day, And they only say, "Do stop that child!" or, "Nurse, take Miss Edith away."

But Papa said if I was good I could ask you--alone by myself-- If you wouldn't write me a book like that little one up on the shelf.

I don't mean the pictures, of course, for to make THEM you've got to be smart But the reading that runs all around them, you know,--just the easiest part.

You needn't mind what it's about, for no one will see it but me, And Jane,--that's my nurse,--and John,--he's the coachman,--just only us three.

You're to write of a bad little girl, that was wicked and bold and all that; And then you're to write, if you please, something good--very good-- of a cat!

This cat, she was virtuous and meek, and kind to her parents, and mild, And careful and neat in her ways, though her mistress was such a bad child; And hours she would sit and would gaze when her mistress--that's me-- was so bad, And blink, just as if she would say, "Oh, Edith! you make my heart sad."

And yet, you would scarcely believe it, that beautiful, angelic cat Was blamed by the servants for stealing whatever, they said, she'd get at.

And when John drank my milk,--don't you tell me! I know just the way it was done,-- They said 'twas the cat,--and she sitting and was.h.i.+ng her face in the sun!

And then there was d.i.c.k, my canary. When I left its cage open one day, They all made believe that she ate it, though I know that the bird flew away.

And why? Just because she was playing with a feather she found on the floor.

As if cats couldn't play with a feather without people thinking 'twas more!

Why, once we were romping together, when I knocked down a vase from the shelf, That cat was as grieved and distressed as if she had done it herself; And she walked away sadly and hid herself, and never came out until tea,-- So they say, for they sent ME to bed, and she never came even to me.

No matter whatever happened, it was laid at the door of that cat.

Why, once when I tore my ap.r.o.n,--she was wrapped in it, and I called "Rat!"-- Why, they blamed that on HER. I shall never--no, not to my dying day-- Forget the pained look that she gave me when they slapped ME and took me away.

Of course, you know just what comes next, when a child is as lovely as that: She wasted quite slowly away; it was goodness was killing that cat.

I know it was nothing she ate, for her taste was exceedingly nice; But they said she stole Bobby's ice cream, and caught a bad cold from the ice.

And you'll promise to make me a book like that little one up on the shelf, And you'll call her "Naomi," because it's a name that she just gave herself; For she'd scratch at my door in the morning, and whenever I'd call out, "Who's there?"

She would answer, "Naomi! Naomi!" like a Christian, I vow and declare.

And you'll put me and her in a book. And mind, you're to say I was bad; And I might have been badder than that but for the example I had.

And you'll say that she was a Maltese, and--what's that you asked?

"Is she dead?"

Why, please, sir, THERE AIN'T ANY CAT! You're to make one up out of your head!

MISS EDITH MAKES IT PLEASANT FOR BROTHER JACK

"Crying!" Of course I am crying, and I guess you would be crying, too, If people were telling such stories as they tell about me, about YOU.

Oh yes, you can laugh if you want to, and smoke as you didn't care how, And get your brains softened like uncle's. Dr. Jones says you're gettin' it now.

Why don't you say "Stop!" to Miss Ilsey? She cries twice as much as I do, And she's older and cries just from meanness,--for a ribbon or anything new.

Ma says it's her "sensitive nature." Oh my! No, I sha'n't stop my talk!

And I don't want no apples nor candy, and I don't want to go take a walk!

I know why you're mad! Yes, I do, now! You think that Miss Ilsey likes YOU, And I've heard her REPEATEDLY call you the bold-facest boy that she knew; And she'd "like to know where you learnt manners." Oh yes! Kick the table,--that's right!

Spill the ink on my dress, and go then round telling Ma that I look like a fright!

What stories? Pretend you don't know that they're saying I broke off the match Twixt old Money-grubber and Mary, by saying she called him "Crosspatch,"

When the only allusion I made him about sister Mary was, she Cared more for his cash than his temper, and you know, Jack, you said that to me.

And it's true! But it's ME, and I'm scolded, and Pa says if I keep on I might By and by get my name in the papers! Who cares? Why, 'twas only last night I was reading how Pa and the sheriff were selling some lots, and it's plain If it's awful to be in the papers, why, Papa would go and complain.

You think it ain't true about Ilsey? Well, I guess I know girls, and I say There's nothing I see about Ilsey to show she likes you, anyway!

I know what it means when a girl who has called her cat after one boy Goes and changes its name to another's. And she's done it--and I wish you joy!

MISS EDITH MAKES ANOTHER FRIEND

Oh, you're the girl lives on the corner? Come in--if you want to-- come quick!

There's no one but me in the house, and the cook--but she's only a stick.

Don't try the front way, but come over the fence--through the window--that's how.

Don't mind the big dog--he won't bite you--just see him obey me!

there, now!

What's your name? Mary Ellen? How funny! Mine's Edith--it's nicer, you see; But yours does for you, for you're plainer, though maybe you're gooder than me; For Jack says I'm sometimes a devil, but Jack, of all folks, needn't talk, For I don't call the seamstress an angel till Ma says the poor thing must "walk."

Come in! It's quite dark in the parlor, for sister will keep the blinds down, For you know her complexion is sallow like yours, but she isn't as brown; Though Jack says that isn't the reason she likes to sit here with Jim Moore.

Do you think that he meant that she kissed him? Would you--if your lips wasn't sore?