Oh, gee whiz!
I tell you what 'tis!
I jest think it's _awful_--those actions of his.
_I_ won't fall in love, when I'm grown--no sir-ee!
My sister's best feller's a warnin' to me!

* * * * *

"THE WIDDER CLARK"

It's getting on ter winter now, the nights are crisp and chill,
The wind comes down the chimbly with a whistle sharp and shrill,
The dead leaves rasp and rustle in the corner by the shed,
And the branches scratch and rattle on the skylight overhead.
The cracklin' blaze is climbin' up around the old backlog,
As we set by the fireplace here, myself and cat and dog;
And as fer me, I'm thinkin', as the fire burns clear and bright,
That it must be mighty lonesome fer the Widder Clark ter-night.

It's bad enough fer me, b'gosh, a-pokin' round the place,
With jest these two dumb critters here, and nary human face
To make the house a home agin, same as it used ter be
While mother lived, for she was 'bout the hull wide world ter me.
My bein' all the son she had, we loved each other more--
That's why, I guess, I'm what they call a "bach" at forty-four.
It's hard fer _me_ to set alone, but women folks--'t ain't right,
And it must be mighty lonesome fer the Widder Clark ter-night.

I see her t' other mornin', and, I swan, 't wa'n't later 'n six,
And there she was, out in the cold, a-choppin' up the sticks