I

ONE OF HIS ANIMAL STORIES


Now, Tudens, you sit on _this_ knee--and 'scuse
It having no side-saddle on;--and, Jeems,
You sit on _this_--and don't you wobble so
And chug my old shins with your coppertoes;--
And, all the rest of you, range round someway,--
Ride on the rockers and hang to the arms
Of our old-time splint-bottom carryall!--
Do anything but _squabble_ for a place,
Or push or shove or scrouge, or breathe _out loud_,
Or chew wet, or knead taffy in my beard!--
Do _any_thing almost--act _any_way,--
Only _keep still_, so I can hear myself
Trying to tell you "just one story more!"

One winter afternoon my father, with
A whistle to our dog, a shout to us--
His two boys--six and eight years old we were,--
Started off to the woods, a half a mile
From home, where he was chopping wood. We raced,
We slipped and slid; reaching, at last, the north
Side of Tharp's corn-field.--There we struck what seemed
To be a coon-track--so we all agreed:
And father, who was not a hunter, to
Our glad surprise, proposed we follow it.
The snow was quite five inches deep; and we,