"CICELY." 49 Listen! thar's the same music; but her lungs they are stronger now Than the day I packed her and her mother,—I'm derned if I jest know how. But the doctor kem the next minit, and the joke o' the whole thing is That Cis never knew what happened from that very night to this! But Cicely says you're a poet, and maybe you might, some day, Jest sling her a rhyme 'bout a baby that was born in a curious way. And see what he says; and, old fellow, when you speak of the star, don't tell As how 'twas the doctor's lantern,—for maybe 'twon't sound so well. PENELOPE. Thar's his gun on the rack,— And you come a courtin' his widder. can that critter, Sal, be! You'd fill my Jack's place? And a man of your size,— 15 Lord! where With no baird to his face, Nor a snap to his eyes,― And nary Sho! thar! I was foolin', Joe, for sartain, don't rise. Sit down. Law! why, sho! I'm as weak as a gal, Sal! Don't you go, Joe, Or I'll faint, sure, I shall. Sit down,-anywheer, where you like, Joe,-in that cheer, if you choose,-Lord, where's Sal! |