I got to _thinkin'_ of her, as I say,--and more and more I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- Her parunts both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone And married off, and her a-livin' thare alone with John-- You might say jest a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enugh to git hisse'f a wife-- 'Less some one married _Evaline_ and packed her off some day!-- So I got to _thinkin'_ of her--and--It happened _thataway_. A DOS'T O' BLUES I' got no patience with blues at all! And I ust to kindo' talk Aginst 'em, and claim, tel along last Fall, They wuz none in the fambly stock; But a nephew of mine, from Eelinoy, That visitud us last year, He kindo' convinct me differunt Whilse he wuz a-stayin' here. From ev'ry-which-way that blues is from, They'd pester him _ev'ry_-ways; They'd come to him in the night, and come On Sundys, and rainy days; They'd tackle him in corn-plantin' time, And in harvest, and airly Fall,-- But a dos't o' blues in the _Winter_time, He 'lowed, wuz the worst of all! Said "All diseases that ever _he_ had-- The mumps, er the rhumatiz-- Er ev'ry-other-day-aigger--bad As ever the blame thing is!-- Er a cyarbuncle, say, on the back of his neck, Er a felon on his thumb,-- But you keep _the blues_ away from him, And all o' the rest could come!" And he'd moan, "They's nary a leaf below! Ner a spear o' grass in sight! And the whole woodpile's clean under snow! And the days is dark as night! You can't go out--ner you can't stay in-- Lay down--stand up--ner set!" And a tetch o' regular tyfoid-blues Would double him jest clean shet! I writ his parunts a postal-kyard He could stay tel Springtime come; And Aprile--_first_, as I rickollect-- Wuz the day we shipped him home! Most o' his _relatives_, sence then, Has eether give up, er quit, Er jest died off; but I understand _He's_ the same old color yit! THE OLD HOME BY THE MILL This is "The old Home by the Mill"--fer we still call it so, Although the _old mill_, roof and sill, is all gone long ago. The old home, though, and the old folks--the old spring, and a few Old cattails, weeds and hartychokes, is left to welcome you! Here, Marg'et!--fetch the man a _tin_ to drink out of! Our spring Keeps kindo'-sorto' cavin' in, but don't "_taste_" anything! She's kindo' _age_in', Marg'et is--"the _old_ process"--like me, All ham-stringed up with rhumatiz, and on in seventy-three.