And they talked together, an’ agreed God’s word was but a fable, A good, well-written story, indeed, Why I got right up, as I had need, Stand this? I wasn’t able.
I told him he had better take His views where they were needed, Minerva said ’twas a great mistake, Said sometimes her heart did fairly ache To know as much as he did.
Then I got Minerva off alone, Ah, she was dear, the sinner, Said I, if old Satan gets this one It won’t be because I haven’t done All that I could to win her.
So I told her things tender and true, Told her of love undying, Told her of peace that my own soul knew, Till pride died out of her eyes of blue An’ she fell softly crying.
“You were a babe when your mother died, And I stood there beside her, Can you believe that your mother lied When she kissed your face?” I said, an’ cried “The Christ will keep an’ guide her,”
“Will bring my little one home to me, As gates of pearl were lifting.” Your mother was very dear to me. Now on what big mysterious sea Would you have her soul drifting.
Next day there came through the bitter cold Two offers, or what I suppose was. One in an envelope square and bold, The other all perfume, white and gold, Tied up in hot-house roses.
They all went skating that afternoon Down on the frozen river. When I think how they came back so soon, Minerva half-drowned, an’ in a swoon, It always makes me shiver.
’Twas all for the best, that bath so cold, Proved a boon an’ a blessin’, Down went Blaine after her, strong an’ bold, While safe to shore the other one rolled. O ’twas a wholesome lesson!
We sat there a happy crowd that night, Though winter winds were blowin’, Minerva, a little weak and white, Her left hand hid in the preacher’s right, Her eyes all soft an’ glowin’.
Would you believe it, the other came, Full of presumes and supposes, Hoped nobody held he was to blame, I carried him down, though, just the same, His bunch of hot-house roses.
He bowed himself off with such an air, Not a bit overpowered, And Adam said anything was fair, With a man who went around with such hair, And proved himself a coward.
My brother wrote to me yesterday, “How _did_ you cure my daughter, She’s not the same girl that went away.” But when I ask her, she’ll laugh and say, “The cure! O just cold water!”