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“OLD BOB WHITE”

Old Bob White’s a funny bird!—­
Funniest you ever heard!—­
Hear him whistle,—­“Old—­Bob—­White!”
You can hear him, clean from where
He’s ’way ’crosst the wheat-field there,
Whistlin’ like he didn’t care—­
“Old-Bob-White!”

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[Illustration:  WHEN WE DROVE TO HARMONY]

* * * * *

Whistles alluz ist the same—­
So’s we won’t fergit his name!—­
Hear him say it?—­“Old—­Bob—­White!”
There! he’s whizzed off down the lane—­
Gone back where his folks is stayin’—­
Hear him?—­There he goes again,—­
“Old—­Bob—­White!”

When boys ever tries to git
Clos’t to him—­how quick he’ll quit
Whistlin’ his “Old-Bob—­White!”
“Whoo-rhoo-rhoo!” he’s up an’ flew,
Ist a-purt’-nigh skeerin’ you
Into fits!—­’At’s what he’ll do.—­
“Old-Bob—­White!”

Wunst our Hired Man an’ me,
When we drove to Harmony,
Saw one, whistlin’ “Old—­Bob—­White!”
An’ we drove wite clos’t, an’ I
Saw him an’ he didn’t fly,—­
Birds likes horses, an’ that’s why. 
“Old—­Bob—­White!”

One time, Uncle Sidney says,
Wunst he rob’ a Bob White’s nes’
Of the eggs of “Old Bob White”;
Nen he hatched ’em wiv a hen
An’ her little chicks, an’ nen
They ist all flewed off again! 
“Old—­Bob—­White!”

* * * * *

A SESSION WITH UNCLE SIDNEY

[1869]

I

ONE OF HIS ANIMAL STORIES

  Now, Tudens, you sit on this knee—­and ’scuse
  It having no side-saddle on;—­and, Jeems,
  You sit on this—­and don’t you wobble so
  And chug my old shins with your coppertoes;—­
  And, all the rest of you, range round someway,—­
  Ride on the rockers and hang to the arms
  Of our old-time splint-bottom carryall!—­
  Do anything but squabble for a place,
  Or push or shove or scrouge, or breathe out loud,
  Or chew wet, or knead taffy in my beard!—­
  Do anything almost—­act anyway,—­
  Only keep still, so I can hear myself
  Trying to tell you “just one story more!”

  One winter afternoon my father, with
  A whistle to our dog, a shout to us—­
  His two boys—­six and eight years old we were,—­
  Started off to the woods, a half a mile
  From home, where he was chopping wood.  We raced,
  We slipped and slid; reaching, at last, the north
  Side of Tharp’s corn-field.—­There we struck what seemed
  To be a coon-track—­so we all agreed: 
  And father, who was not a hunter, to
  Our glad surprise, proposed we follow