Jack’s dead an’ buried, it seems odd, A deep hole covered up with sod A lyin’ out there on the hill, An’ Jack, as never could keep still, A sleepin’ in it. Jack could race, And do it at a good old pace, Could sing a song, an’ laugh so hard That I could hear him in our yard When he was half-a-mile away. Why not another boy could play Like him, or run, or jump so high, Or swim, no matter how he’d try, An’ I can’t get it through my head At all, at all, that Jack is dead.
Jack’s mother didn’t use to be So awful good to him an’ me, For often when I’d go down there On Saturday’s, when it was fair, To get him out to fish or skate, She’d catch me hangin’ round the gate, An’ look as cross as some old hen, An’ tell me, “Go off home again, It’s not the thing for boys,” she’d say, “A hangin’ round the creek all day, You go off home and do your task, No, Jack can’t go, you needn’t ask,” An’ when he got in scrapes, why, she Would up and lay it on to me, An’ wish I lived so far away Jack couldn’t see me every day.
But last night when I’d done the chores, It seemed so queer like out of doors, I kept a listenin’ all the while An’ looking down the street a mile; I couldn’t bear to go inside, The house is lonesome since he died, The robber book we read by turns Is lyin’ there--an’ no boy learns All by himself, ’cause he can’t tell How many words he’ll miss or spell, Unless there’s someone lookin’ on To laugh at him when he gets done.
An’ neighbor women’s sure to come A visitin’ a feller’s home, An’ talkin’ when they look at me ’Bout how thick us two used to be-- A stealin’ off from school, an’ such-- An’ askin’ “Do I miss him much?” ’Till I sneak off out doors, you see, They just can’t let a feller be! Well, I walked down the road a bit, Smith’s dog came out, I throwed at it, An’ do you know it never howled Same as it always did, or growled, It seemed to say, “why! Jim’s alone, Now, I wonder where’s that other one?”
Afore I knew it I was down Way at the other end of town, A hangin’ round in the old way For some one to come out an’ play. There wasn’t no one there to look So I slipped in to our old nook, I found his knife hid in the grass Where we’d been Zulus at the pass, The can of bait, an’ hook an’ line, Were lyin’ with the ball of twine, An’ “Jim,” I seemed to hear him say, “The fish will suffer some to-day!”