And the runchin’s of their feedin’ make this humble feller feel
That there ain’t no greater comfort than this ’ere--to understand
That a dozen faithful critters owe their com- fort to my hand.
Oh, the dim old barn seems homelike, with its overhanging mows,
With its warm and battened tie-up, full of well- fed sheep and cows.
Then I shet the door behind me, drop the bar and drive the pin
And, with Jeff a-waggin’ after, lug the foamin’ milk pails in.
That’s the style of things to our house--marm and me we don’t pull up
Until ev’ry critter’s eatin’, from the cattle to the pup.
Then the biskits and the spare-rib and plum preserves taste good,
For we’re feelin’, me and mother, that we’re actin’’bout’s we should.
Like as can be, after supper mother sews an- other patch
And she says the duds look trampy, ’cause she ain’t got goods to match.
Fust of all, though, comes the mealbins and the hay-mows; after those
If there’s any extry dollars, wal, we’ll see about new clothes.
But to-night, why, bless ye, mother, pull the rug acrost the door;
--Warmth and food and peace and comfort-- let’s not pester God for more.
A sort of a double-breasted face had old John W. Jones,
Reddened and roughened by sun and wind, with angular high cheek-bones.
At the fair, one time, of the Social Guild he re- ceived unique renown
By being elected unanimously the homeliest man in town.
The maidens giggled, the women smiled, the men laughed loud and long,
And old John W. leaned right back and ho- hawed good and strong.
And never was jest too broad for him--for all of the quip and chaff
That assailed his queer old mug through life he had but a hearty laugh.
“Ho, ho”, he’d snort, “haw, haw”, he’d roar; “that’s me, my friends, that’s me!
Now hain’t that the most skew-angled phiz that ever ye chanced to see?”
And then he would tell us this little tale.
“I was driving along in a piece of woods and there wasn’t a ray to see,
And all to once my cart locked wheels with another old chap’s cart;
We gee-ed and backed but we hung there fast, and neither of us could start.
Then the stranger man he struck a match, to see how he’d git away,
And I vum, he had the homeliest face I’ve seen for many a day.
Wal, jest for a joke I grabbed his throat and pulled my pipe-case out,