LITTLE BARE FEET

Little bare feet, sunburned and brown,
Patterin’, patterin’ up and down,
Dancin’ over the kitchen floor,
Light as the foam-flakes on the shore,—­
Right on the go from morn till late,
From the garden path ter the old front gate,—­
There hain’t no music ter me so sweet
As the patterin’ sound of them little bare feet.

When I mend my nets by the foamin’ sea,
Them little bare feet trot there with me,
And a shrill little voice I love’ll say: 
“Dran’pa, spin me a yarn ter-day.” 
And I know when my dory comes ter land,
There’s a spry little form somewheres on hand;
And the very fust sound my ears’ll meet
Is the welcomin’ run of them little bare feet.

Oh, little bare feet! how deep you’ve pressed
Yer prints of love in my worn old breast! 
And I sometimes think, when I come ter die,
’Twill be lonesome-like in the by and by;
That up in Heaven I’ll long ter hear
That little child’s voice, so sweet and clear;
That even there, on the golden street,
I’ll miss the pat of them little bare feet.

* * * * *

A RAINY DAY

Kind er like a stormy day, take it all together,—­
Don’t believe I’d want it jest only pleasant weather;
If the sky was allers blue, guess I’d be complainin’,
And a-pesterin’ around, wishin’ it was rainin’.

Like a stormy mornin’ now, with the water dashin’
From the eaves and from the spouts, foamin’ and a-splashin’,
With the leaves and twigs around, shinin’ wet and drippin’,
Shakin’ in the wind with drops every-which-way skippin’.

[Illustration]

Like ter see the gusts of rain, where there’s naught ter hinder,
Sail acrost the fields and come “spat” against the winder,
Streakin’ down along the panes, floodin’ sills and ledges,
Makin’ little fountains, like, in the sash’s edges.

Like ter see the brooks and ponds dimpled up all over,
Like ter see the di’mon’s shine on the bendin’ clover,
Like ter see the happy ducks in the puddles sailin’
And the stuck-up rooster all draggled, wet and trailin’.

But I like it best inside, with the fire a-gleamin’,
And myself, with chores all done, settin’ round and dreaming
With the kitten on my knee, and the kettle hummin’,
And the rain-drops on the roof, “Home, Sweet Home” a-drummin’.

Kind er like a stormy day, take it all together,
Don’t believe I’d want it jest only pleasant weather;
If the sky was allers blue, guess I’d be complaining
And a-pesterin’ around, wishin’ it was rainin’.

* * * * *

THE HAND-ORGAN BALL