An' all that Jim could say was "Woof!" An' give a grunt that went like "Soof!" An' Pa says when his grunt went off It sounded jus' like Grandpa's cough, Or like our Jerry when he's mad An' growls at peddler men that's bad. While grown-ups were afraid of Jim, Kids could do anything with him. One day a little boy like me That had a sister Marjorie, Was walking through the woods, an' they Heard something "woofing" down that way, An' they was scared an' stood stock still An' wished they had a gun to kill Whatever 'twas, but little boys Don't have no guns that make a noise. An' soon the "woofing" closer grew, An' then a bear came into view, The biggest bear you ever saw-- Ma's muff was smaller than his paw. He saw the children an' he said: "I ain't a-goin' to kill you dead; You needn't turn away an' run; I'm only scarin' you for fun." An' then he stood up just like those Big bears in circuses an' shows, An' danced a jig, an' rolled about An' said "Woof! Woof!" which meant "Look out!" An' turned a somersault as slick As any boy can do the trick. Those children had been told of Jim An' they decided it was him. They stroked his nose when they got brave, An' followed him into his cave, An' Jim asked them if they liked honey, They said they did. Said Jim: "That's funny. I've asked a thousand boys or so That question, an' not one's said no." What happened then I cannot say 'Cause next I knew 'twas light as day. {136} AUTUMN AT THE ORCHARD The sumac's flaming scarlet on the edges o' the lake, An' the pear trees are invitin' everyone t' come an' shake. Now the gorgeous tints of autumn are appearin' everywhere Till it seems that you can almost see the Master Painter there. There's a solemn sort o' stillness that's pervadin' every thing, Save the farewell songs to summer that the feathered tenors sing, An' you quite forget the city where disgruntled folks are kickin' Off yonder with the Pelletiers, when spies are ripe for pickin'. The Holsteins are a-posin' in a clearin' near a wood, Very dignified an' stately, just as though they understood That they're lending to life's pictures just the touch the Master needs, An' they're preachin' more refinement than a lot o' printed creeds. The orchard's fairly groanin' with the gifts o' God to man, Just as though they meant to shame us who have doubted once His plan. Oh, there's somethin' most inspirin' to a soul in need o' prickin' Off yonder with the Pelletiers when spies are ripe fer pickin'.