I was hoein' in my corn-field, on a spring day, just at noon,
An' a hearkin' in my stomach for the dinner-trumpet's tune,
An' reflectin', when my daughter should be married, 'twould be best
She should take Josiah Baker's son, who jines me on the west,
An' consolidate our acres into one immense abode,
When my hired man says, "By ginger, look a-yender down the road!"
"Well," I says, "my goodness gracious! things _is_ rather overgrown,
When a buggy-wheel gets loosened, an' goes runnin' 'round alone."
But my man he says, "By mustard!" (as the critter nearer came)
"Don't you see that there's a feller on a-straddle of the same?"
An' it _was_ as nice a shaver as you'd see 'most any day,
Who was travellin' through the country in that unexpected way.
He was rather young an' han'some, an' as smilin' as you please,
An' his pants they signed a contract with his stockin's at the knees;
An' he had a pair o' treadles some'at underneath his seat,
So's to run the queer contraption, by a-workin' of his feet;
An' the sun descended on it, in a manner warm an' bright;
'Twas as sing'lar as a circus, an' an interestin' sight.
When, as fate was bound to have it, on that quite partic'lar morn,
There was somethin' was the matter with my folks's dinner-horn;
Ah! the hired girl, when she tried to, couldn't blow it very well,
For to call us in to dinner--so she sent my daughter Belle:
Who came up just at that minute--nice a girl as could be found:
An' this fellow looked her over, an' came smashin' to the ground.
Smash to bang he came a-floppin'--wheel an' stockin's, pants an' all;
An' I run to him, remarking "You have caught a dreadful fall."
An' my daughter hovered round him, tremblin' with her she alarms,
Lookin' just as if she would like to some'at take him in her arms;
But he glanced up, faintly smilin', an' he gaspin'ly replied,
"I am only hurt intern'lly" (which I s'pose he meant inside).
An' we packed him on the stone-boat, an' then drove him to the house
An' he lay there on the sofa, still an' quiet as a mouse;
An' he would not have a doctor; but he called my daughter Belle,
An' then laughed an' chatted with her, like a person gettin' well;
An' along late in the evenin', I suppose, he went away;
For he wasn't there next mornin', an' Belle hadn't a word to say.
An' he left two silver dollars in an easy-noticed spot,
For to pay us for his passage on the stone-boat, like as not;
An' 'twas quite enough equivalent for his transitory stay;
But whate'er he might have left us, still he carried more away;
For my daughter Belle grew absent, glanced at every sound she heard,
And Josiah Baker junior couldn't get a civil word.