Jean Blewett: Verses about Girl

O! He was the boy of the house, you know,
A jolly and rollicking lad;
He never was sick, he never was tired,
And nothing could make him sad.

If he started to play at sunrise,
Not a rest would he take at noon;
No day was so long from beginning to end,
But his bed-time came too soon.

Did someone urge that he make less noise,
He would say, with a saucy grin:
'Why, one boy alone doesn't make much stir-
O sakes! I wish I was a twin.

'There's two of twins, and it must be fun
To go double at everything;
To holler by twos, and whistle by twos,
To stamp by twos, and to sing!'

His laugh was something to make you glad,
So brimful was it of joy;
A conscience he had, perhaps, in his breast,
But it never troubled the boy.

You met him out on the garden path,
The terrier at his heels,
And knew by the shout he hailed you with
How happy a youngster feels.

The maiden auntie was half distraught
With his tricks as the days went by;
'The most mischievous child in all the world!'
She said with a shrug and a sigh.

His father owned that her words were true,
His mother declared each day
He was putting wrinkles into her face,
And turning her brown hair gray.

His grown-up sister referred to him
As 'a trouble,' 'a trial,' 'a grief';
The way he ignored all rules, she said,
Was something beyond belief!

It never troubled the boy of the house,
He revelled in racket and din,
Had only one regret in the world-
He hadn't been born a twin!

* * * * *

There's nobody making a noise to-day,
There's nobody stamping the floor,
'Tis strangely silent upstairs and down-
White ribbons upon the door.

The terrier's whining out in the sun:
'Where's my comrade?' he seems to say.
Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog,
There's no frolic for you to-day.

The freckle-faced girl from the house next door
Is sobbing her young heart out.
Don't cry, little girl, you'll soon forget
The laugh and the merry shout.

The grown-up sister is kissing his face,
And calling him 'angel' and 'sweet,'
And the maiden aunt is nursing the boots
He wore on his restless feet.

So big, so solemn the old house seems-
No uproar, no racket, no din,
No shrill peal of laughter, no voice shrieking out,
'O sakes! I wish I was a twin!'

A man and a woman white with grief
Watch the wearisome moments creep-
Oh! the loneliness touches everything,
The boy of the house is asleep!

Oh, a big broad-shouldered fellow was Ben,
And homely as you would see,
Such an awkward walker and stammering talker,
And as bashful as he could be.

The son of a lone, widowed mother was he,
And right well did he act his part,
A giant at sowing and reaping and mowing-
His farm was the pride of his heart.

His mother depended on his strong arm;
In the cottage so neat and trim
He kept the fires burning, did sweeping and churning-
Oh, the odd jobs saved up for him!

'My Ben's a comfort,' she said every day,
With pride that made his head whirl,
'As handy at sweeping as he is at reaping-
Ben is just as good as a girl!'

'A six-foot fellow to work round the house!
We'll call him 'Miss Ben,'' said the girls;
But Ben, heaven bless him, never let this distress him
Till there came a day when the curls

And blue eyes of Gladys, the prettiest girl,
And the proudest in all the place,
His young heart set beating at every chance meeting-
Though she only laughed in his face.

'I'll have none but a gay and a gallant man'-
Her lips took a scornful curl-
'Your pride is in hearing your mother declaring,
'Ben is just as good as a girl!''

But sweet little Marjory laughed not at Ben;
He was homely, awkward, shy,
But she liked the fellow whose voice was so mellow,
And she smiled as she passed him by.

He went to the front when the war broke out,
And filled his post like a man;
The good-natured giant was bold and defiant
As soon as the battle began.

You'd never have thought of the broom and the churn,
Nor of the nickname 'Miss Ben,'
Had you heard his voice cheering, seen his arm clearing
A path for his own gallant men.

Capt. Benjamin Brooks he came riding home
When the war was over and done,
As homely and backward, as shy and as awkward,
As tender and loyal a son.

Now Gladys gave him her sunniest smile-
On heroes she ever did dote-
And the proud little beauty felt it her duty
To be kind to this young man of note.

But Ben, wise fellow, liked Marjory best;
He knew her lips did not curl
When mother said sweetly, 'Ben does work so neatly-
He is just as good as a girl!'

So he wooed and won this Marjory true,
And made her his loving bride,
While Gladys she fretted, bemoaned and regretted
The goal she had missed by her pride.

To-day Ben is filling a prominent place,
A statesman, honest and bold;
He frees the opprest, and he helps the distrest,
Wins love, which is better than gold.

For the very grandest men you can find
In this great world's busy whirl
Are men like my farmer-no praise need be warmer
Than 'he's just as good as a girl.'

A little crippled figure, two big pathetic eyes,
A face that looked unchildish, so wan it was and wise;
I watched her as the homesick tears came chasing down each cheek.
'I had to come,' she whispered low, 'I was so tired and weak.
My spine, you know! I used to be so strong, and tall, and straight!
I went to school and learned to read and write upon a slate,
And add up figures-such a lot, and play with all my might,
Until I hurt my back-since then I just ache day and night.
'Tis most a year since I could stand, or walk around at all;
All I am good for now, you see, is just to cry and crawl.'
Poor, pale-faced thing! there came to us the laughter gay and sweet
Of little ones let out from school, the sound of flying feet.
She listened for a moment, then turned her to the wall
To hide the tears. 'Oh, me!' she cried, 'I'm tired of it all.
I feel so hurt and useless, why can't I run about
As others do?' 'Some day, please God, you will,' I said, but doubt
Was in the eyes she turned on mine, and doubt was in her tone.
'Perhaps,' she faltered, then the pain grew harsh; the plaintive moan
Smote sharply on my heart. I knew she had but lately come
From mother's care and father's love, and all the joys of home.
'I wished I'd lived on earth,' she sobbed, 'a long, long time ago,
When Jesus came at eventide, because He loved folks so,
And just by stretching out His hand made all the sick folks well.
If it were now, oh, wouldn't I creep close to Him, and tell
All that I wanted Him to do. I'd kneel down low and say:
'It is my back, dear Jesus, please cure it right away.
I'm tired of being weak and sick, I want to jump and run,
And play at games, and laugh out loud, and have such heaps of fun!
Be good to your poor crippled girl,' and He would touch me-so-
And every atom of the pain and crookedness would go.'
I held her close, and kissed her, and soothed her off to rest,
So frail she was, so homesick for the ones she loved the best!

But yesterday I saw her, and would have passed her by
Had I not caught the greeting smile, the glance so bright and shy.
'Can this be you?' I questioned. She laughed, 'O yes, I thought
You'd hardly know me when you came, I've changed, oh, such a lot!
For see how tall and straight I am! My back don't hurt at all,
And I can stand and I can walk-I never have to crawl.
I'll tell you, it's a secret, I raced with nurse last night.
Just think of it! I raced and won,' and then, in sheer delight,
She laughed so loudly and so long the nurse looked in to say,
'Is not this little girl of ours quite boisterous to-day?'
'They are so good to me,' she said, 'I know I'll want to cry
When I start off for home next week, and have to say good-bye.
What if I hadn't come at all?'-the sweet blue eyes grew wet-
'My back would ache and throb and hurt-I'd be a cripple yet.
For folks as poor as my folks are, they haven't much to spare
For nurse's bills, and doctor's bills, and all-but won't they stare
When I go home, red-cheeked and straight, and fat as I can be?
My daddy, he will never take his dear eyes off of me;
My mamma, she will cry some tears, and bend her head and pray,
While all the others kiss and hug; then I can hear her say:
'Give me my girlie, she's been gone so many long months-five,'
And hold me close-oh, I will be the gladdest thing alive!'

McLeod of Dare called his son to him.
McLeod of Dare looked stern and grim,

For he was sending on mission grave
His son, and though he knew him brave

The old man trembled lest he should make
In heedless youth a grave mistake.

'Twas not for the country, nor for the king,
Nay, 'twas a more important thing

Than country, or clan, or feud, or strife,
The young man went to woo a wife.

He listened, did Neil, with scanty grace,
Haughty gloom on his handsome face,

While the old man told him where to go,
And what to say, and what to do.

'The morrow ye'll go for a lang, lang stay
Wi' your rich uncle, Donald Gray.

'He'll gie ye a welcome wairm and true,
And mate his only child wi' you.

'She's weel worth winning, for in her hand
She hauds the deed o' a' his land.

'She's far frae haun'some-a homely lass,
As you will see-but let that pass.'

'Why should I wed a woman that's plain?
You didn't yourself.' McLeod was vain.

He smiled and he smirked, 'Ah, true, Neil, true,
But I was haun'somer nor you.

'Juist coort this cousin, and never mind
Squint or freckle, since luve is blind-

'Or ought tae be in sic case as this-
'Tis no a chance I'd hae ye miss.

'Jane's na sae braw as her cousin Kate,
But 'tis wi' Jane I'd hae ye mate;

'For Kate, poor lassie, she hasna land-
Her face is her fortune, understand.

'Gie her guid day when ye chance tae meet,
But Jane, remember, your fain tae greet

'Wi' warmer words, and a gallant air.
Go, win a wife-and a warld o' care!'

Neil listened closest to what was said
Of Kate, the poor but pretty maid.

And when he reached his good uncle's place
'Twas Kate that in his eyes found grace,

The while Jane simpered with conscious pride,
As if to say: 'Behold your bride!'

In this home he dwelt for many a day,
A favorite, he, of Donald Gray.

They walked together over the hill,
Or through the valleys solemn and still,

And the old man showed him acres wide
That would be Jane's dower as a bride,

Then spoke of the cousin, poor but fair,
Her eyes of blue and her golden hair.

'She'll hae na flocks, and she'll hae na laund,
She'll hae na fortune rich and graund,

'But gin she stood in her scanty dress,
Would man o' mettle luve her less?'

The lad's heart warmed to the logic old.
What worth has land? What worth has gold?

Compared with the light in Katie's eyes,
What worth was aught beneath the skies?

Jane courted briskly day by day,
If he walked out she walked his way.

Did he sit him down to rest awhile,
She looked his way with tender smile.

Did he try to get a word with Kate,
Jane was there like the hand of fate.

One day it chanced, as he rode to mill,
He met with Kate just under the hill.

Would she mount beside him, ride along?
Yes, if he felt 'twould not be wrong.

He helped her up with a trembling arm;
Surely the day is close and warm.

Whoa, mare! steady! there's no need for haste
With two soft arms about his waist.

Neil-shame on him!-pressed Kate's finger-tips,
Then turned about and pressed her lips.

All over the road the blossoms white
Scattered themselves in sheer delight.

A bird flew singing a tender rhyme
Of meadow, mate, and nesting time.

The world looked beautiful in the glow
That heaven flung on the hills below.

Ah me, if that ride could but last a week,
Her gold hair blowing against his cheek!

The road to the mill, says worldly wise-
Nay, nay, the road to Paradise!

Travel it once if you wish to know
Something of heaven here below.

Though your eyes grow dim, and locks grow white,
You'll not forget this journey-quite.

But Neil must go to the old home place,
Meet his stern father face to face.

Altho' his cheek was a trifle pale,
Boldly enough he told his tale.

He would marry Kate-and Kate alone-
He could not love the other one.

Her eyes were crooked, her hair was red,
Freckles over her face were spread,

And the whole world held no lass for him
But Kate. Then laughed the old man grim.

'Your mither, she was a stubborn lass,
Self-willed, handsome-but let that pass.

'In a' oor battles 'twas she who won,
And Neil, you're juist your mither's son.

'But I hae na lived these mony days
Wi'oot walking in wisdom's ways.

'I saw your Kate, and like't her weel-
In luiks she's like your mither, Neil;

'The same blue een, and the same gowd hair-
But no sae fair, Neil, no sae fair.

'I tou'd your uncle to let Kate be
The lassie poor, o' low degree,

'And gie ye at once to understand
'Twas Jane who owned baith flocks and land.

'Why gie mysel' sic a senseless task?
I wunner, lad, ye've hairt tae ask.

'Gin ye was driven ye wouldna' move,
Too stubborn to even fa' in luve!

'Like a' the Campbells, ye'll hae your way-
Your mither has hers every day.

''Tis prood ye should be, upon my word,
Tak' time to yoursel' and thank the Lord

For plans that gat ye a bonny bride-
An' heaps o' wardly gear beside.'

Ah! thankful enough was Neil that day-
Joy flashed in his eager eyes of gray.

'Twas not for the land, not for the gold,
Not for the flocks that slept in fold,

Not for the wealth-the worldly gear-
But something wonderful, sweet and dear.

'Thank heaven,' he cried, with a glow and thrill,
'Thank heaven for the day I rode to mill!'