And _Bud_ loved Noey, for the little pair Of stilts he made him; or the stout old hair Trunk Noey put on wheels, and laid a track Of scantling-railroad for it in the back Part of the barn-lot; or the cross-bow, made Just like a gun, which deadly weapon laid Against his shoulder as he aimed, and--"_Sping!_" He'd hear the rusty old nail zoon and sing-- And _zip!_ your Mr. Bluejay's wing would drop A farewell-feather from the old tree-top! And _Maymie_ loved him, for the very small But perfect carriage for her favorite doll-- A _lady's_ carriage--not a _baby_-cab,-- But oilcloth top, and two seats, lined with drab And trimmed with white lace-paper from a case Of shaving-soap his uncle bought some place At auction once.
And _Alex_ loved him yet The best, when Noey brought him, for a pet, A little flying-squirrel, with great eyes-- Big as a child's: And, childlike otherwise, It was at first a timid, tremulous, coy, Retiring little thing that dodged the boy And tried to keep in Noey's pocket;--till, In time, responsive to his patient will, It became wholly docile, and content With its new master, as he came and went,-- The squirrel clinging flatly to his breast, Or sometimes scampering its craziest Around his body spirally, and then Down to his very heels and up again.
And _Little Lizzie_ loved him, as a bee Loves a great ripe red apple--utterly. For Noey's ruddy morning-face she drew The window-blind, and tapped the window, too; Afar she hailed his coming, as she heard His tuneless whistling--sweet as any bird It seemed to her, the one lame bar or so Of old "Wait for the Wagon"--hoarse and low The sound was,--so that, all about the place, Folks joked and said that Noey "whistled bass"-- The light remark originally made By Cousin Rufus, who knew notes, and played The flute with nimble skill, and taste as wall, And, critical as he was musical, Regarded Noey's constant whistling thus "Phenominally unmelodious." Likewise when Uncle Mart, who shared the love Of jest with Cousin Rufus hand-in-glove, Said "Noey couldn't whistle '_Bonny Doon_' Even! and, _he'd_ bet, couldn't carry a tune If it had handles to it!"
--But forgive The deviations here so fugitive, And turn again to Little Lizzie, whose High estimate of Noey we shall choose Above all others.--And to her he was Particularly lovable because He laid the woodland's harvest at her feet.-- He brought her wild strawberries, honey-sweet And dewy-cool, in mats of greenest moss And leaves, all woven over and across With tender, biting "tongue-grass," and "sheep-sour," And twin-leaved beach-mast, prankt with bud and flower Of every gypsy-blossom of the wild, Dark, tangled forest, dear to any child.-- All these in season. Nor could barren, drear, White and stark-featured Winter interfere With Noey's rare resources: Still the same He blithely whistled through the snow and came Beneath the window with a Fairy sled; And Little Lizzie, bundled heels-and-head, He took on such excursions of delight As even "Old Santy" with his reindeer might Have envied her! And, later, when the snow Was softening toward Springtime and the glow Of steady sunshine smote upon it,--then Came the magician Noey yet again-- While all the children were away a day Or two at Grandma's!--and behold when they Got home once more;--there, towering taller than The doorway--stood a mighty, old Snow-Man!