The glory of Thy face,
And setteth throned behind the skies
In Thy abiding-place:
Though I but dimly recko'nize
Thy purposes of grace;
And though with weak and wavering
Deserts, and vexd with fears,
I lift the hands I can not wring
All dry of sorrow's tears,
Make puore my prayers that daily wing
Theyr way unto Thy ears!
Oh! with the hand that tames the flood
And smooths the storm to rest,
Make ba'mmy dews of all the blood
That stormeth in my brest,
And so refresh my hart to bud
And bloom the loveliest.
Lull all the clammer of my soul
To silunce; bring release
Unto the brane still in controle
Of doubts; bid sin to cease,
And let the waves of pashun roll
And kiss the shores of peace.
Make me to love my feller-man--
Yea, though his bitterness
Doth bite as only adders can--
Let _me_ the fault confess,
And go to him and clasp his hand
And love him none the less.
So keep me, Lord, ferever free
From vane concete er whim;
And he whose pius eyes can see
My faults, however dim,--
Oh! let him pray the least fer me,
And me the most fer him.
THE FIRST BLUEBIRD
Jest rain and snow! and rain again!
And dribble! drip! and blow!
Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then--
Some more rain and snow!
This morning I was 'most afeard
To _wake_ up--when, I jing!
I seen the sun shine out and heerd
The first bluebird of Spring!--
Mother she'd raised the winder some;--
And in acrost the orchurd come,
Soft as a angel's wing,
A breezy, treesy, beesy hum,
Too sweet fer anything!
The winter's shroud was rent a-part--
The sun bust forth in glee,--
And when that _that bluebird_ sung, my hart
Hopped out o' bed with me!
EVAGENE BAKER--WHO WAS DYIN' OF DRED CONSUMTION
AS THESE LINES WAS PENNED BY A TRUE FRIEND
Pore afflicted Evagene!
Whilse the woods is fresh and green,
And the birds on ev'ry hand
Sings in rapture sweet and grand,--
Thou, of all the joyus train,
Art bedridden, and in pain
Sich as only them can cherish
Who, like flowrs, is first to perish!
When the neghbors brought the word
She was down, the folks inferred
It was jest a cold she'd caught,
Dressin' thinner than she'd ort
Fer the frolicks and the fun
Of the dancin' that she'd done
'Fore the Spring was flush er ary
Blossom on the peach er cherry.
But, last Sund'y, her request
Fer the Church's prayers was jest
Rail hart-renderin' to hear!--
Many was the silunt tear
And the tremblin' sigh, to show
She was dear to us below
On this earth--and _dearer_, even,
When we thought of her a-leavin'!
Sisters prayed, and coted from
Genesis to Kingdom-come
Provin' of her title clear
To the mansions.--"Even _her_,"
_They_ claimed, "might be saved, _someway_,
Though she'd danced, and played crowkay,
And wrought on her folks to git her
Fancy shoes that never fit her!"
_Us_ to pray fer _Evagene_!--
With her hart as puore and clean
As a rose is after rain
When the sun comes out again!--
What's the use to pray for _her_?
_She_ don't need no prayin' fer!--
Needed, all her life, more _playin'_
Than she ever needed prayin'!
I jest thought of all she'd been
Sence her _mother_ died, and when
She turned in and done _her_ part--
All _her_ cares on that child-hart!--
Thought of years she'd slaved--and had
Saved the farm--danced and was glad....
Mayby Him who marks the sporry
Will smooth down her wings tomorry!
ON ANY ORDENARY MAN IN A HIGH STATE
OF LAUGHTURE AND DELIGHT
As it's give' me to percieve,
I most certin'y believe
When a man's jest glad plum through,
God's pleased with him, same as you.
TOWN AND COUNTRY
They's a predjudice allus 'twixt country and town
Which I wisht in my hart wasent so.
You take _city_ people, jest square up and down,
And they're mighty good people to know:
And whare's better people a-livin', to-day,
Than us in the _country_?--Yit good
As both of us is, we're divorsed, you might say,
And won't compermise when we could!
Now as nigh into town fer yer Pap, ef you please,
Is the what's called the sooburbs.--Fer thare
You'll at least ketch a whiff of the breeze and a sniff
Of the breth of wild-flowrs ev'rywhare.
They's room fer the childern to play, and grow, too--
And to roll in the grass, er to climb
Up a tree and rob nests, like they _ortent_ to do,
But they'll do _any_how ev'ry time!
My Son-in-law said, when he lived in the town,
He jest natchurly pined, night and day,
Fer a sight of the woods, er a acre of ground
Whare the trees wasent all cleared away!
And he says to me onc't, whilse a-visitin' us
On the farm, "It's not strange, I declare,
That we can't coax you folks, without raisin' a fuss,
To come to town, visitin' thare!"
And says I, "Then git back whare you sorto' _belong_--
And _Madaline_, too,--and yer three
Little childern," says I, "that don't know a birdsong,
Ner a hawk from a chicky-dee-dee!
Git back," I-says-I, "to the blue of the sky
And the green of the fields, and the shine
Of the sun, with a laugh in yer voice and yer eye
As harty as Mother's and mine!"
Well--long-and-short of it,--he's compermised _some_--
He's moved in the sooburbs.--And now
They don't haf to coax, when they want us to come,
'Cause we turn in and go _anyhow_!
Fer thare--well, they's room fer the songs and purfume
Of the grove and the old orchurd-ground,
And they's room fer the childern out thare, and they's room
Fer theyr Gran'pap to waller 'em round!
LINES FER ISAAC BRADWELL, OF INDANOPLIS, IND.,
COUNTY-SEAT OF MARION
[Writ on the flyleaf of a volume of the author's poems that come in one
of gittin' burnt up in the great Bowen-Merrill's fire of March 17,
1890.]
Through fire and flood this book has passed.--
Fer what?--I hardly dare to ast--
Less'n it's still to pamper me
With extry food fer vanity;--
Fer, sence it's fell in hands as true
As _yourn_ is--and a _Hoosier_ too,--
I'm prouder of the book, I jing!
Than 'fore they tried to burn the thing!
DECORATION DAY ON THE PLACE
It's lonesome--sorto' lonesome,--it's a _Sund'y-day_, to me,
It 'pears-like--more'n any day I nearly ever see!--
Yit, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,
On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.
They say, though, Decoration Days is giner'ly observed
'Most _ev'rywhares_--espeshally by soldier-boys that's served.--
But me and Mother's never went--we seldom git away,--
In p'int o' fact, we're _allus_ home on _Decoration Day_.
They say the old boys marches through the streets in colum's grand,
A-follerin' the old war-tunes they're playin' on the band--
And citizuns all jinin' in--and little childern, too--
All marchin', under shelter of the old Red White and Blue.--
With roses! roses! roses!--everybody in the town!--
And crowds o' little girls in white, jest fairly loaded down!--
Oh! don't THE BOYS know it, from theyr camp acrost the hill?--
Don't they see theyr com'ards comin' and the old flag wavin' still?
Oh! can't they hear the bugul and the rattle of the drum?--
Ain't they no way under heavens they can rickollect us some?
Ain't they no way we can coax 'em, through the roses, jest to say
They know that ev'ry day on earth's theyr Decoration Day?
We've tried that--me and Mother,--whare Elias takes his rest,
In the orchurd--in his uniform, and hands acrost his brest,
And the flag he died fer, smilin' and a-ripplin' in the breeze
Above his grave--and over that,--_the robin in the trees_!
And _yit_ it's lonesome--lonesome!--It's a _Sund'y-day_, to _me_,
It 'pears-like--more'n any day I nearly ever see!--
Still, with the Stars and Stripes above, a-flutterin' in the air,
On ev'ry Soldier's grave I'd love to lay a lilly thare.
THE TREE-TOAD
"'S cur'ous-like," said the tree-toad,
"I've twittered fer rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And hollered tel noon--
But the sun, hit blazed away,
Tell I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole,
Weary at hart, and sick at soul!
"Dozed away fer an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin:
And I sung, and sung,
Tel I knowed my lung
Was jest about give in;
And _then_, thinks I, ef hit don't rain _now_,
They's nothin' in singin', anyhow!
"Onc't in a while some farmer
Would come a-drivin' past;
And he'd hear my cry,
And stop and sigh--
Tel I jest laid back, at last,
And I hollered rain tel I thought my th'oat
Would bust wide open at ever' note!
"But I _fetched_ her!--O _I fetched_ her!--
'Cause a little while ago,
As I kindo' set,
With one eye shet,
And a-singin' soft and low,
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain,
A-sayin',--'_Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!_'"
THE ROSSVILLE LECTUR' COURSE
[Set down from the real facts of the case that come under notice of the
author whilse visitun far distunt relatives who wuz then residin' at
Rossville, Mich.]
Folks up here at Rossville got up a Lectur' Course:--
All the leadin' citizens they wuz out in force;
Met and talked at Williamses', and 'greed to meet ag'in;
And helt another corkus when the next reports wuz in:
Met ag'in at Samuelses'; and met ag'in at Moore's,
And Johnts putt the shutters up and jest barr'd the door!--
And yit, I'll jest be dagg-don'd! ef't didn't take a week
'Fore we'd settled whare to write to git a man to speak!
Found out whare the "_Bureau_" wuz; and then and thare agreed
To strike whilse the iron's hot and foller up the lead.--
Simp wuz Secatary; so he tuk his pen in hand,
And ast 'em what they'd tax us fer the one on "Holy Land"--
"One of Colonel J. De-Koombs's Abelust and Best
Lectur's," the circ'lar stated, "Give East er West!"
Wanted fifty dollars and his kyar-fare to and from,
And Simp wuz hence instructed fer to write him not to come.
Then we talked and jawed around another week er so,
And writ the "_Bureau_" 'bout the town a-bein' sorto' slow--
Old-fogey-like, and pore as dirt, and lackin' interprise,
And ignornter'n any other, 'cordin' to its size:
Tel finully the "_Bureau_" said they'd send a cheaper man
Fer forty dollars, who would give "A Talk About Japan"--
"A reg'lar Japanee hise'f," the pamphlet claimed; and so,
Nobody knowed his languige, and of course we let him go!
Kindo' then let up a spell--but rallied onc't ag'in,
And writ to price a feller on what's called the "violin"--
A Swede, er Pole, er somepin'--but no matter what he wuz,
Doc Cooper said he'd heerd him, and he wuzn't wuth a kuss!
And then we ast fer _Swingse's_ terms; and _Cook_, and _Ingersoll_--
And blame! ef forty dollars looked like anything at all!
And then _Burdette_, we tried fer _him_; and Bob he writ to say
He wuz busy writin' ortographts and couldn't git away.
At last--along in Aprile--we signed to take this-here
Bill Nye of Californy, 'at wuz posted to appear
"The Comicalest Funny Man 'at Ever Jammed a Hall!"
So we made big preperations, and swep' out the church and all!
And night he wuz to lectur', and the neghbors all wuz thare,
And strangers packed along the aisles 'at come from ev'rywhare,
Committee got a telegrapht the preacher read, 'at run--
"Got off at Rossville, _Indiany_, 'stid of Michigun."
WHEN THE GREEN GITS BACK IN THE TREES
In Spring, when the green gits back in the trees,
And the sun comes out and _stays_,
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,
And you think of yer bare-foot days;
When you _ort_ to work and you want to _not_,
And you and yer wife agrees
It's time to spade up the garden-lot,
When the green gits back in the trees--
Well! work is the least o' _my_ idees
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!
When the green gits back in the trees, and bees
Is a-buzzin' aroun' ag'in
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please
Old gait they bum roun' in;
When the groun's all bald whare the hay-rick stood,
And the crick's riz, and the breeze
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,
And the green gits back in the trees,--
I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,
The time when the green gits back in the trees!
When the whole tail-fethers o' Wintertime
Is all pulled out and gone!
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,
And the swet it starts out on
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down
At the old spring on his knees--
I kindo' like jest a-loaferin' roun'
When the green gits back in the trees--
Jest a-potterin' roun' as I--durn--please--
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!
HOW IT HAPPENED
I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts dead and gone--
And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John
A-livin' all alone thare in that lonesome sorto' way,
And him a blame old bachelor, confirmder ev'ry day!
I'd knowed 'em all, from childern, and theyr daddy from the time
He settled in the neghborhood, and hadn't ary a dime
Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!--
So I got to _thinkin'_ of her--both her parunts dead and gone!
I got to _thinkin'_ of her; and a-wundern what _she_ done
That all _her sisters_ kep' a-gittin' married, one by one,
And her without _no_ chances--and the best girl of the pack--
A' old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back!
And _Mother_, too, afore she died,--_she_ ust to jest take on,
When none of 'em wuz left, you know, but Evaline and John,
And jest declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline
To not see what a wife they'd git ef they got Evaline!
I got to _thinkin'_ of her: In my great affliction she
Wuz sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neghborly,--
She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane,
And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again--
They'd sometimes _cry_ together--though, fer the most part, she
Would have the child so rickonciled and happy-like 'at we
Felt lonesomer'n ever when she'd putt her bonnet on
And say she'd railly _haf_ to be a-gittin' back to John!
I got to _thinkin'_ of her, as I say,--and more and more
I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,--
Her parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone
And married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John--
You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life
Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh to git hisse'f a wife--
'Less some one married _Evaline_ and packed her off some day!--
So I got to _thinkin'_ of her--and--It happened _thataway_.
A DOS'T O' BLUES
I' got no patience with blues at all!
And I ust to kindo' talk
Aginst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall,
They wuz none in the fambly stock;
But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy,
That visitud us last year,
He kindo' convinct me differunt
Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here.
From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from,
They'd pester him _ev'ry_-ways;
They'd come to him in the night, and come
On Sundys, and rainy days;
They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time,
And in harvest, and airly Fall,--
But a dos't o' blues in the _Winter_time,
He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all!
Said "All diseases that ever _he_ had--
The mumps, er the rhumatiz--
Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger--bad
As ever the blame thing is!--
Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck,
Er a felon on his thumb,--
But you keep _the blues_ away from him,
And all o' the rest could come!"
And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below!
Ner a spear o' grass in sight!
And the whole woodpile's clean under snow!
And the days is dark as night!
You can't go out--ner you can't stay in--
Lay down--stand up--ner set!"
And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues
Would double him jest clean shet!
I writ his parunts a postal-kyard
He could stay tel Springtime come;
And Aprile--_first_, as I rickollect--
Wuz the day we shipped him home!
Most o' his _relatives_, sence then,
Has eether give up, er quit,
Er jest died off; but I understand
_He's_ the same old color yit!
THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL
This is "The old Home by the Mill"--fer we still call it so,
Although the _old mill_, roof and sill, is all gone long ago.
The old home, though, and the old folks--the old spring, and a few
Old cattails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you!
Here, Marg'et!--fetch the man a _tin_ to drink out of! Our spring
Keeps kindo'-sorto' cavin' in, but don't "_taste_" anything!
She's kindo' _age_in', Marg'et is--"the _old_ process"--like me,
All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three.
Jest me and Marg'et lives alone here--like in long ago;
The childern all putt off and gone, and married, don't you know?
One's millin' 'way out West somewhare; two other miller-boys
In Minnyopolis they air; and one's in Illinoise.
The _oldest_ gyrl--the first that went--married and died right here;
The next lives in Winn's Settlement--fer purt'-nigh thirty year!
And youngest one--was allus fer the old home here--but no!--
Her man turns in and he packs _her_ 'way off to Idyho!
I don't miss them like _Marg'et_ does--'cause I got _her_, you see;
And when she pines for them--that's 'cause _she's_ only jest got _me_!
I laugh, and joke her 'bout it all.--But talkin' sense, I'll say,
When she was tuk so bad last Fall, I laughed then t'other way!
I hain't so favor'ble impressed 'bout _dyin'_; but ef I
Found I was only second-best when _us two_ come to die,
I'd 'dopt the "new process" in full, ef _Marg'et_ died, you see,--
I'd jest crawl in my grave and pull the green grass over me!
THE WAY IT WUZ
Las' July--and, I persume,
'Bout as hot
As the old Gran'-Jury room
Whare they sot!--
Fight 'twixt Mike and Dock McGreff....
'Pears to me jest like as ef
I'd a-dremp' the whole blame thing--
Allus ha'nts me roun' the gizzard
When they's nightmares on the wing
And a feller's blood's jes' friz!
Seed the row from A to Izzard--
'Cause I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
Tell you the way it wuz--
And I don't _want_ to see,
Like _some_ fellers does,
When they's goern to be
Any kind o' fuss--
On'y makes a rumpus wuss
Fer to _interfere_
When theyr dander's riz--
Might as lif to _cheer_!
But I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
I wuz kindo' strayin'
Past the blame saloon--
Heerd some fiddler playin'
That old "Hee-cup tune!"
I'd _stopped_-like, you know,
Fer a minit er so,
And wuz jest about
Settin' down, when--_Jeemses-whizz!_--
Whole durn winder-sash fell out!
And thare laid Dock McGreff, and Mike
A-straddlin' him, all bloody-like,
And both a-gittin' down to biz!--
And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
I wuz the on'y man aroun'--
(Durn old-fogey town!
'Peared more like, to me,
_Sund'y_ than _Saturd'y_!)
Dog come 'crost the road
And tuk a smell
And putt right back:
Mishler driv by 'ith a load
O' cantalo'pes he couldn't sell--
Too mad, 'i jack!
To even ast
What wuz up, as he went past!
Weather most outrageous hot!--
Fairly hear it sizz
Roun' Dock and Mike--tel Dock he shot,--
And Mike he slacked that grip o' his
And fell, all spraddled out. Dock riz
'Bout half up, a spittin' red,
And shuck his head....
And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
And Dock he says,
A-whisperin'-like,--
"It hain't no use
A-tryin'!--Mike
He's jest ripped my daylights loose!--
Git that blame-don fiddler to
Let up, and come out here--You
Got some burryin' to do,--
Mike makes _one_, and, I expects,
'Bout ten seconds, I'll make _two_!"
And he drapped back, whare he'd riz,
'Crost Mike's body, black and blue,
Like a great big letter X!--
And I wuz a-standin' as clos't to 'em
As me and you is!
PAP'S OLD SAYIN'
Pap had one old-fashioned sayin'
That I'll never quite fergit--
And they's seven growed-up childern
Of us rickollects it yit!--
Settin' round the dinner-table,
Talkin' 'bout our friends, perhaps,
Er abusin' of our neghbors,
I kin hear them words o' Pap's--
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Pap he'd never argy with us,
Ner cut any subject short
Whilse we all kep' clear o' gossip,
And wuz actin' as we ort:
But ef we'd git out o' order--
Like sometimes a fambly is,--
Faultin' folks, er one another,
Then we'd hear that voice o' his--
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Wuz no hand hisse'f at talkin'--
_Never_ hadn't _much_ to say,--
Only, as I said, pervidin'
When we'd rile him thataway:
Then he'd allus lose his temper
Spite o' fate, and jerk his head
And slam down his caseknife vicious'
Whilse he glared around and said--
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Mind last time 'at Pap was ailin'
With a misery in his side,
And had hobbled in the kitchen--
Jest the day before he died,--
Laury Jane she ups and tells him,
"Pap, you're pale as pale kin be--
Hain't ye 'feard them-air cowcumbers
Hain't good fer ye?" And says he,
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
Well! I've saw a-many a sorrow,--
Forty year', through thick and thin;
I've got best,--and I've got _wors'ted_,
Time and time and time ag'in!--
But I've met a-many a trouble
That I hain't run onto twice,
Haltin'-like and thinkin' over
Them-air words o' Pap's advice:
"Shet up, and eat yer vittels!"
ROMANCIN'
I' b'en a-kindo' "_musin'_," as the feller says, and I'm
About o' the conclusion that they hain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the times we ust to know
When we swore our first "_dog-gone-it_" sorto' solum-like and low!
You git my idy, do you?--_Little_ tads, you understand--
Jest a-wishin' thue and thue you that you on'y wuz a _man_.--
Yit here I am, this minit, even sixty, to a day,
And fergettin' all that's in it, wishin' jest the other way!
I hain't no hand to lectur' on the times, er _dim_onstrate
Whare the trouble is, er hector and domineer with Fate,--
But when I git so flurried, and so pestered-like and blue,
And so rail owdacious worried, let me tell you what I do!--
I jest gee-haw the hosses, and onhook the swingle-tree,
Whare the hazel-bushes tosses down theyr shadders over me;
And I draw my plug o' navy, and I climb the fence, and set
Jest a-thinkin' here, i gravy! tel my eyes is wringin'-wet!
Tho' I still kin see the trouble o' the _presunt_, I kin see--
Kindo' like my sight wuz double--all the things that _ust_ to be;
And the flutter o' the robin and the teeter o' the wren
Sets the willer-branches bobbin' "howdy-do" thum _Now_ to _Then_!
The deadnin' and the thicket's jest a-bilin' full of June,
Thum the rattle o' the cricket, to the yallar-hammer's tune;
And the catbird in the bottom, and the sapsuck on the snag,
Seems ef they can't--od-rot 'em!--jest do nothin' else but brag!
They's music in the twitter of the bluebird and the jay,
And that sassy little critter jest a-_peckin'_ all the day;
They's music in the "flicker," and they's music in the thrush,
And they's music in the snicker o' the chipmunk in the brush!
They's music _all around_ me!--And I go back, in a dream
Sweeter yit than ever found me fast asleep,--and in the stream
That ust to split the medder whare the dandylions growed,
I stand knee-deep, and redder than the sunset down the road.
Then's when I' b'en a-fishin'!--And they's other fellers, too,
With theyr hick'ry-poles a-swishin' out behind 'em; and a few
Little "shiners" on our stringers, with theyr tails tip-toein' bloom,
As we dance 'em in our fingers all the happy jurney home.
I kin see us, true to Natur', thum the time we started out,
With a biscuit and a 'tater in our little "roundabout"!--
I kin see our lines a-tanglin', and our elbows in a jam,
And our naked legs a-danglin' thum the apern o' the dam.
I kin see the honeysuckle climbin' up around the mill,
And kin hear the worter chuckle, and the wheel a-growlin' still;
And thum the bank below it I kin steal the old canoe,
And jest git in and row it like the miller ust to do.
W'y, I git my fancy focussed on the past so mortul plane
I kin even smell the locus'-blossoms bloomin' in the lane;
And I hear the cow-bells clinkin' sweeter tunes 'n "Money-musk"
Fer the lightnin' bugs a-blinkin' and a-dancin' in the dusk.
And when I've kep' on "musin'," as the feller says, tel I'm
Firm-fixed in the conclusion that they hain't no better time,
When you come to cipher on it, than the _old_ times,--I de-clare
I kin wake and say "dog-gone-it!" jest as soft as any prayer!
AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY
AN OLD SETTLER'S STORY
William Williams his name was--er so he said;--Bill Williams they
called him, and them 'at knowed him best called him Bill Bills.
The first I seed o' Bills was about two weeks after he got here. The
Settlement wasn't nothin' but a baby in them days, fer I mind 'at old
Ezry Sturgiss had jist got his saw and griss-mill a-goin', and Bills
had come along and claimed to know all about millin', and got a job
with him; and millers in them times was wanted worse'n congerssmen, and
I reckon got better wages; fer afore Ezry built, there wasn't a dust o'
meal er flour to be had short o' the White Water, better'n sixty mil'd
from here, the way we had to fetch it. And they used to come to Ezry's
fer their grindin' as fur as that; and one feller I knowed to come from
what used to be the old South Fork, over eighty mil'd from here, and in
the wettest, rainyest weather; and mud! _Law!_