"]
* * * * *
So all keep still: An' nen she gone
An' pat the Old Tree, an' says she,--
"Whose air you, Tree?" an' nen let on
Like she's a-list'nin' to the Tree,--
An' nen she say, "It's settled,--'cause
The Old Tree says he's _all_ our tree--
His _trunk_ belongs to bofe your Pas,
But _shade_ belongs to you an' me."
* * * * *
THE PENALTY OF GENIUS
[Illustration]
"When little 'Pollus Morton he's
A-go' to speak a piece, w'y, nen
The Teacher smiles an' says 'at she's
Most proud, of all her little men
An' women in her school--'cause 'Poll
He allus speaks the best of all.
An' nen she'll pat him on the cheek,
An' hold her finger up at you
_Before_ he speak'; an' _when_ he speak'
It's ist some piece _she_ learn' him to!
'Cause he's her favorite.... An' she
Ain't pop'lar as she _ust_ to be!
When 'Pollus Morton speaks, w'y, nen
Ist all the other childern knows
They're smart as him an' smart-again!--
Ef they _can't_ speak an' got fine clo'es,
Their Parunts loves 'em more 'n 'Poll-
Us Morton, Teacher, speech, an' all!
* * * * *
EVENSONG
Lay away the story,--
Though the theme is sweet,
There's a lack of something yet,
Leaves it incomplete:--
There's a nameless yearning--
Strangely undefined--
For a story sweeter still
Than the written kind.
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