WHAT CHRIS'MAS FETCHED THE WIGGINSES.

Wintertime, er Summertime,

Of late years I notice I'm,

Kindo’ - like, more subjec’ to

What the weather is. Now, you

Folks‘ at lives in town, I s'pose,

Thinks its bully when it snows;

But the chap‘ at chops and hauls

Yer wood fer ye, and then stalls,

And snapps tuggs and swingletrees,

And then has to walk er freeze,

Haint so much “stuck on” the snow

As stuck in it — Bless ye, no!—

When its packed, and sleighin's good,

And church in the neighborhood,

Them‘ at's got their girls, I guess,

Takes‘ em, likely, more er less,

Tell the plain facts o’ the case,

No men-folks about our place

On'y me and Pap — and he

‘ Lows‘ at young folks’ company

Allus made him sick! So I

Jes do n't want, and jes do n't try!

Chinkypin, the dad-burn town,

‘ S too fur off to loaf aroun’

Either day er night — and no

Law compellin’ me to go!—

‘ Less‘ n some Old-Settlers’ Day,

Er big-doin's thataway —

Then, to tell the p'inted fac’,

I've went more so's to come back

By old Guthrie's‘ still-house, where

Minors has got licker there —

That's pervidin’ we could show‘ em

Old folks sent fer it from home!

Visit roun’ the neighbors some,

When the boys wants me to come.—

Coon-hunt with‘ em; er set traps

Fer mussrats; er jes, perhaps,

Lay in roun’ the stove, you know,

And parch corn, and let her snow!

Mostly, nights like these, you'll be

( Ef you’ got a writ fer me )

Ap’ to skeer me up, I guess,

In about the Wigginses.

Nothin’ roun’ our place to keep

Me at home — with Pap asleep

‘ Fore it's dark; and Mother in

Mango pickles to her chin;

And the girls, all still as death,

Piecin’ quilts.— Sence I drawed breath

Twenty year’ ago, and heerd

Some girls whispern’ so's it‘ peared

Like they had a row o’ pins

In their mouth — right there begins

My first rickollections, built

On that-air blame old piece-quilt!

Summertime, it's jes the same —

‘ Cause I've noticed,— and I claim,

As I said afore, I'm more

Subjec’ to the weather, shore,

‘ Proachin’ my majority,

Than I ever ust to be!

Callin’ back last Summer, say,—

Do n't seem hardly past away —

With night closin’ in, and all

S’ lonesome-like in the dew-fail:

Bats — ad-drat their ugly muggs!—

Flickern’ by; and lightnin’ -bugs

Huckstern’ roun’ the airly night

Little sickly gasps o’ light;—

Whip-poor-wills, like all possessed,

Moanin’ out their mournfullest;—

Frogs and katydids and things

Jes clubs in and sings and sings

Their ding-dangdest!— Stock's all fed,

And Pap's washed his feet fer bed;—

Mother and the girls all down

At the milk-shed, foolin’ roun’ —

No wunder‘ at I git blue,

And lite out — and so would you!

I caint stay aroun’ no place

Whur they haint no livin’ face:—

‘ Crost the fields and thue the gaps

Of the hills they's friends, perhaps,

Waitin’ somers,‘ at kin be

Kindo’ comfertin’ to me!

Neighbors all‘ is plenty good,

Scattered thue this neighberhood;

Yit, of all, I like to jes

Drap in on the Wigginses.—

Old man, and old lady too,

‘ Pear-like, makes so much o’ you —,

Least, they've allus pampered me

Like one of the fambily.—

The boys, too,‘ s all thataway —

Want you jes to come and stay;—

Price, and Chape, and Mandaville,

Poke, Chasteen, and “Catfish Bill” —

Poke's the runt of all the rest,

But he's jes the beatinest

Little schemer, fer fourteen,

Anybody ever seen!—

“Like his namesake,” old man claims,

“Jeems K. Poke, the first o’ names!

Full o’ tricks and jokes — and you

Never know what Poke's go’ do!”

Genius, too, that-air boy is,

With them awk'ard hands o’ his:

Gits this blame pokeberry-juice,

Er some stuff, fer ink — and goose-

Quill pen-p'ints: And then he'll draw

Dogdest pictures yevver saw!

Er make deers and eagles good

As a writin’ - teacher could!

Then they's two twin boys they've riz

Of old Coonrod Wigginses

‘ At's deceast — and glad of it,

‘ Cause his widder's livin’ yit!

Course the boys is mostly jes’

Why I go to Wigginses.— -

Though Melviney, sometimes, she

Gits her slate and algebry

And jes’ sets there ciphern’ thue

Sums old Ray hisse'f caint do!—

Jes’ sets there, and tilts her chair

Forreds tel,‘ pear-like, her hair

Jes’ spills in her lap — and then

She jes’ dips it up again

With her hands, as white, I swan,

As the apern she's got on!

Talk o’ hospitality!—

Go to Wigginses with me —

Overhet, or froze plum thue,

You'll find welcome waitin’ you:—

Th'ow out yer tobacker‘ fore

You set foot acrost that floor,—

“Got to eat whatever's set —

Got to drink whatever's wet!”

Old man's sentimuns — them's his — -

And means jes the best they is!

Then he lights his pipe; and she,

The old lady, presen'ly

She lights her'n; and Chape and Poke.

I haint got none, ner do n't smoke,—

( In the crick afore their door —

Sorto so's‘ at I'd be shore —

Drownded mine one night and says

“I wo n't smoke at Wigginses!” )

Price he's mostly talkin’‘ bout

Politics, and “thieves turned out” —

What he's go’ to be, ef he

Ever “gits there” — and “we'll see!” —

Poke he‘ lows they's blame few men

Go’ to hold their breath tel then!

Then Melviney smiles, as she

Goes on with her algebry,

And the clouds clear, and the room's

Sweeter‘ n crabapple-blooms!

( That Melviney, she’ got some

Most surprisin’ ways, I gum!—

Do n't‘ pear like she ever says

Nothin’, yit you'll listen jes

Like she was a-talkin’, and

Half-way seem to understand,

But not quite,— Poke does, I know,

‘ Cause he good as told me so,—

Poke's her favo-rite; and he —

That is, confidentially —

He's my favo-rite — and I

Got my whurfore and my why! )

I haint never ben no hand

Much at talkin’, understand,

But they's thoughts o’ mine‘ at's jes

Jealous o’ them Wigginses!—

Gift o’ talkin‘ s what they got,

Whether they want to er not —

F'r instunce, start the old man on

Huntin’ - scrapes,‘ fore game was gone,

‘ Way back in the Forties, when

Bears stold pigs right out the pen,

Er went waltzin’‘ crost the farm

With a bee-hive on their arm!—

And — sir, ping! the old man's gun

Has plumped-over many a one,

Firin’ at him from afore

That-air very cabin-door!

Yes — and painters, prowlin’‘ bout,

Allus darkest nights.— Lay out

Clost yer cattle.— Great, big red

Eyes a-blazin’ in their head,

Glittern’‘ long the timber-line —

Shine out some, and then un-shine,

And shine back — Then, stiddy! whizz!

‘ N there yer Mr. Painter is

With a hole bored spang between

Them-air eyes! Er start Chasteen,

Say, on blooded racin’ - stock,

Ef you want to hear him talk;

Er tobacker — how to raise,

Store, and k-yore it, so's she pays:

The old lady — and she'll cote

Scriptur’ tel she'll git yer vote!

Prove to you‘ at wrong is right,

Jes as plain as black is white:

Prove when you're asleep in bed

You're a-standin’ on yer head,

And yer train‘ at's goin’ West,

‘ S goin’ East its level best;

And when bees dies, it's their wings

Wears out — and a thousand things!

And the boys is “chips,” you know;

“Off the old block” — So I go

To the Wigginses,‘ cause — jes

‘ Cause I like the Wigginses —

Even ef Melviney she

Hardly‘ pears to notice me!

Rid to Chinkypin this week —

Yisterd'y.— No snow to speak

Of, and did n't have no sleigh

Anyhow; so, as I say,

I rid in — and froze one ear

And both heels — and I do n't keer!—

“Mother and the girls kin jes

Bother‘ bout their Chris'mases

Next time fer theirse'vs, I jack!”

Thinks-says-I, a-startin’ back,—

Whole durn meal-bag full of things

Wrapped in paper-sacks, and strings

Liable to snap their holt

Jes at any little jolt!

That in front o’ me, and wind

With nicks in it,‘ at jes skinned

Me alive!— I'm here to say

Nine mile’ hossback thataway

Would a-walked my log! But, as

Somepin’ allus comes to pass,

As I topped old Guthrie's hill.

Saw a buggy, front the‘ Still,

P'inted home'ards, and a thin

Little chap jes climbin’ in.

Six more minutes I were there

On the groun's’ — And course it were —

It were little Poke — and he

Nearly fainted to see me!—

“You ben in to Chinky, too?”

“Yes; and go’ ride back with you,”

I-says-I. He he'pped me find

Room fer my things in behind —

Stript my hoss's reins down, and

Put his mitt’ on the right hand

So's to lead — “Pile in!” says he,

“But you‘ ve struck pore company!”

Noticed he was pale — looked sick,

Kindo-like, and had a quick

Way o’ flickin’ them-air eyes

O’ his roun’‘ at did n't size

Up right with his usual style —

I, “You well?” He tried to smile,

But his chin shuck and tears come.—

“I've run‘ Viney‘ way from home!”

Do n't know jes what all occurred

Next ten seconds — Nary word,

But my heart jes drapt, stobbed thue,

And whirlt over and come to.—

Wrenched a big quart bottle from

That fool-boy!— and cut my thumb

On his little fiste-teeth — helt

Him snug in one arm, and felt

That-air little heart o’ his

Churn the blood o’ Wigginses

Into that old bead‘ at spun

Roun’ her, spilt at Lexington!

His k'niptions, like enough,

He'pped us both,— though it was rough —

Rough on him, and rougher on

Me when last his nerve was gone,

And he laid there still, his face

Fishin’ fer some hidin’ -place

Jes a leetle lower down

In my breast than he‘ d yit foun’!

Last I kindo’ soothed him, so's

He could talk.— And what you s'pose

Them-air revelations of

Poke's was?... He'd ben writin’ love-

Letters to Melviney, and

Givin her to understand

They was from “a young man who

Loved her,” and — “the violet's blue

‘ N sugar's sweet” — and Lord knows what!

Tel,‘ peared-like, Melviney got

S’ interested in “the young

Man,” Poke he says,‘ at she brung

A’ answer onc't fer him to take,

Statin’ “she'd die fer his sake,”

And writ fifty xs “fer

Love-kisses fer him from her!”

I was standin’ in the road

By the buggy, all I knowed

When Poke got that fer.— “That's why,”

Poke says, “I‘ fessed up the lie —

Had to —‘ cause I see,” says he,

“‘ Viney was in airnest — she

Cried, too, when I told her.— Then

She swore me, and smiled again,

And got Pap and Mother to

Let me hitch and drive her thue

Into Chinkypin, to be

At Aunt‘ Rindy's Chris'mas-tree —

That's to-night.” Says I, “Poke — durn

Your lyin’ soul!—‘ s that beau o’ hern —

That — she — loves — Does he live in

That hellhole o’ Chinkypin?”

“No,” says Poke, “er‘ Viney would

Went some other neighborhood.”

“Who is the blame whelp?” says I.

“Promised‘ Viney, hope I'd die

Ef I ever told!” says Poke,

Pittiful and jes heart-broke —

“‘ Sides that's why she left the place,—

‘ She caint look him in the face

Now no more on earth!’ she says.—”

And the child broke down and jes

Sobbed! Says I, “Poke, I p'tend

T’ be your friend, and your Pap's friend,

And your Mother's friend, and all

The boys’ friend, little, large and small —

The whole fambily's friend — and you

Know that means Melviney, too.—

Now — you hush yer troublin!’ — I'm

Go’ to he'p friends ever’ time —

On'y in this case, you got

To he'p me — and, like as not

I kin he'p Melviney then,

And we'll have her home again.

And now, Poke, with your consent,

I'm go’ go to that-air gent

She's in love with, and confer

With him on his views o’ her.—

Blast him! give the man some show.—

Who is he?— I'm go’ to know!”

Somepin’ struck the little chap

Funny,‘ peared-like.— Give a slap

On his leg — laughed thue the dew

In his eyes, and says: “It's you!”

Yes, and —‘ cordin’ to the last

Love-letters of ours‘ at passed

Thue his hands — we was to be

Married Chris'mas.— “Gee-mun-nee!

Poke,” says I, “it's suddent — yit

We kin make it! You're to git

Up tomorry, say,‘ bout three —

Tell your folks you're go’ with me:—

We'll hitch up, and jes drive in

‘ N take the town o’ Chinkypin!”