Say, now, won’t you have some? Only one! Why, look here. There’s lots more where these come from, Ain’t there, Padoy, my dear? You’d like to look at my garden? Oh, yes, it’s right out there; Somehow it doesn’t do well, In spite of all my care. The wind it blew down my bean-vine, My radish it never grew, The bugs they eat up my cabbage, And my turnip and cucumber too. (Padoy, run wash the dishes). I wouldn’t have _her_ know, But I tore up the tomato Trying my bran-new hoe. Ever quarrel? Why, no, I guess not. Sometimes she won’t play fair, And once I got out of patience, And bit her and pulled her hair. But she cried so hard, I tell you I was sorry as could be; And, well, I—I—I kissed her, And we made up, you see. Candy! Oh, my! Padoy, Just look here, will you, then? Going? Well, to-morrow Come and see us again. [Illustration: “I’ll be six years old next summer, And my wife she’s going on four.”—PAGE 236.] SIGS VEEGS OFER. Von’d you puy somedings, laty? I haf not solt dis tay Von shillin’s wort’. I kess maype De folks dey no forshteh. I haf peen sigs veegs ofer, I comes vrom Cherman land, De lankuache of dis konetree I no yed ondherstand. “Pints, neetles, rippones, laces,” All de tings vod I sells, “Pock’t-hankchies, neckdies, shpenders,” I fer mooch careful dells. “Vod prize?” So den I dells dem. Dey shmiles. Dey no forshteh. Dis lankuache ish der drooples;— I haf do durn avay. So habbens I sells noding; De dime koes py und py; Und oop und town I trafels— Of hunker I shall tie. Von’d you puy somedings, laty? Oh, tanks! Der subber? Goot! It ish not since last efening I haf some leetle foot. I bays you noding for it? Vell den, I sells you—cheap? No? Vell, I fer mooch tank you. Goot day. Got sent you sheep![8] [8] God send you a ship; _i. e._, May you prosper. THE CHILD ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. Over the flowery meadow She wanders with careless feet, Chasing butterflies golden, Gathering blossoms sweet. She talks a-while to the roses, She grasps at the sunbeams bright; To pieces she plucks the daisies, And scatters their rays of white. “Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la!” She carols so sweet and clear, Unheeding the two great armies, Gathered in silence near— The two great hostile armies Gathered in battle array, Watching the tiny creature Among the blossoms at play. And never a sword is lifted, And never an order heard, As they list to the silvery accents, Like the trill of a blithesome bird. They listen, the grim old warriors, To the voice so full of glee, Singing, “Tra, la, la, la, la, Tra, la, la, la, la, lee!”