Boys and Girls The Verses of James W. Foley — Inside the Classic

ildren as though there’s just one!

BILLY PEEBLE’S CHRISTMAS

Billy Peeble, he ain’t got no parents--never had none, ’cause When he’s borned he was an orfunt; an’ he said ’at Santa Claus Never didn’t leave him nothin’, ’cause he was a county charge, An’ the overseer told him that his fambly was too large To remember orfunt children; so I ast Ma couldn’t we Have Bill Peeble up to our house, so’s to see our Christmas tree. An’ she ast me if he’s dirty; an’ I said I guessed he was, But I didn’t think it makes no difference with Santa Claus.

My his clo’es was awful ragged! Ma, she put him in a tub An’ she poured it full of water, an’ she gave him such a scrub ’At he ’ist set there an’ shivered; an’ he told me afterwurds ’At he never washed all over out to Overseer Bird’s! ’En she burned his ragged trousies an’ she gave him some of mine; My! she rubbed him an’ she scrubbed him till she almost made him shine, Nen he ’ist looked all around him like he’s scairt for quite a w’ile, An’ even w’en Ma’d pat his head he wouldn’t hardly smile.

’En after w’ile Ma took some flour-sacks an’ ’en she laid ’Em right down at the fireplace, ’ist ’cause she is afraid Santa Claus ’ll soil the carpet when he comes down there, you know; An’ Billy Peeble watched her, an’ his eyes stuck out--’ist so! ’En Ma said ’at in the mornin’ if we’d look down on the sacks ’At they’d be ’ist full of soot where Santa Claus had made his tracks; Billy Peeble stood there, lookin’! An’ he told me afterwurds He was scairt he’d wake right up an’ be at Overseer Bird’s.

Well, ’en she hung our stockin’s up an’ after w’ile she said: “Now, you an’ Billy Peeble better go right off to bed, An’ if you hear a noise tonight, don’t you boys make a sound, ’Cause Santa Claus don’t never come with little boys around!” So me an’ Billy went to bed, an’ Billy Peeble, he Could hardly go to sleep at all--’ist tossed an’ tossed. You see We had such w’ite sheets on the bed an’ he said afterwurds They never had no sheets at all at Overseer Bird’s.

So we ’ist laid an’ talked an’ talked. An’ Billy ast me who Was Santa Claus. An’ I said I don’t know if it’s all true, But people say he’s some old man who ’ist loves little boys An’ keeps a store at the north pole with heaps an’ heaps of toys W’ich he brings down in a big sleigh, with reindeers for his steeds, An’ comes right down the chimbly flue an’ leaves ’ist what you needs. My! he’s excited w’en I told him that! An’ afterwurds He said they never had no toys at Overseer Bird’s.

I’m fallin’ pretty near asleep w’en Billy Peeble said: “Sh-sh! What’s that noise?” An’ w’en he spoke I set right up in bed Till sure enough I heard it in the parlor down below, An’ Billy Peeble, he set up an’ ’en he said: “Le’s go!” So we got up an’ sneaked down stairs, an’ both of us could see ’At it was surely Santa Claus, ’ist like Ma said he’d be; But he must heard us comin’ down, because he stopped an’ said: “You, Henry Blake an’ William Peeble, go right back to bed!”

My goodness, we was awful scairt! An’ both of us was pale, An’ Billy Peeble said up stairs: “My! Ain’t he ’ist a whale!” We didn’t hardly dare to talk and got back into bed An’ Billy pulled the counterpane clear up above his head, An’ in the mornin’ w’en we looked down on the flour-sacks, W’y sure enough we saw the soot where he had made his tracks, An’ Billy got a suit of clothes, a drum, an’ sled an’ books, Till he ’ist never said a word, but my! how glad he looks!

’En after w’ile it’s dinner time an’ Billy Peeble set Right next to Pa, an’ my! how he ’ist et an’ et an’ et! Till he ’ist puffed an’ had to leave his second piece of pie

Because he couldn’t eat no more. An’ after dinner, w’y, Ma dressed him up in his new clo’es, an Billy Peeble said He’s sorry he’s an orfunt, an’ Ma patted Billy’s head, W’ich made him cry a little bit, an’ he said afterwurds Nobody ever pats his head at Overseer Bird’s.

An’ all day long Pa looked at Ma an’ Ma she looked at him, Because, Pa said ’at Billy looked a little bit like Jim ’At was my baby brother, but he died oncet, years ago, An’ ’at’s w’y Billy Peeble makes my mother like him so. She says ’at Santa brought him as a present, ’ist instead Of little Jim ’at died oncet. So she ’ist put him to bed On Christmas night an’ tucked him in an’ told me afterwurds ’At he ain’t never goin’ back to Overseer Bird’s.

THE WAY HE USED TO DO

Sometimes when I come in at night And take my shoes off at the stair, I hear my Pop turn on the light And holler: “William, are you there?” And then he says: “You go to bed-- I knew that stealthy step was you.” And I asked how and then he said: “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

Sometimes when I come home at six O’clock and hurry up my chores, And get a big armful of sticks Of wood and bring it all indoors, My Pop he comes and feels my head And says: “You’ve been in swimmin’--you!” When I asked how he knew, he said: “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

Sometimes before a circus comes, When I’m as willing as can be To do my chores, and all my chums They all take turns at helping me, My Pop, he pats ’em on the head And says: “You like a circus, too?” When I asked how he knew, he said: “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.” And lots of times when he gets mad Enough to whip me and declares He never saw another lad Like I am--well, at last he spares Me from a whipping and he lays His rawhide down: “I can’t whip you For that, although I should,” he says, “’Cause that’s the way I used to do.”

A BOY’S VACATION TIME

Hail, that long-awaited day When, the school books laid away, All the thoughts of merry youngsters turn from pages back to play! Done with lesson and with rule, Done with teacher and with school, Stray the vagrant hearts of childhood to the tempting wood and pool!

Who will tell in rune and rhyme Of the glory and the grime In the dusty lanes and byways of a boy’s vacation time? Hark, the whistle and the cry That is piping shrill and high From the chorus of glad youngsters trooping riotously by!

Say, did sun e’er brightly shine As when, with his rod and line Tramps the barefoot lad a-fishing, and the water clear and fine? Sweet the murmur of the trees, And what glory now he sees In the chatter of the wild birds and the buzz of bumble-bees!

Hear the green woods cry and call, Through the Summer to the Fall, “We are waiting, waiting, waiting, with a welcome for you all!” Hear the lads take up the cry, With an echo, shrill and high: “We are coming, coming, coming, for vacation time is nigh!”

How the skies are blue and fair, How the clover scents the air With a witchery of fragrance that is delicate and rare! How the blossoms bud and blow, And the great waves flood and flow In the ocean of boy happiness, like billows, to and fro!

Ah, my heart goes back and sighs When the piping calls and cries From the hearts of merry youngsters like a song of triumph rise! And I would that rune and rhyme Might be splendid and sublime In my heart to tell the story of a boy’s vacation time!

I’d ruther take a w’ippin’ ’an a scoldin’ any day, ’Cuz a w’ippin’ makes you tingle, but you go right out an’ play, An’ after w’ile you’re over it an’ ’en at dinner, w’y, Your mother’s awful sorry an’ she brings a piece of pie An’ says she hates to do it, ’cuz it hurts her ’ist as bad As it does anybody w’en she w’ips her little lad.

An’ ’en at night she kisses you an’ puts you into bed An’ tucks the covers in an’ says you’re Mamma’s Turly-head, An’ my! she’s ’ist so lovely! An’ she sits beside of you ’Ist ’cuz she feels so sorry over w’at she had to do. An’ ’en she leaves the candle burn an’ says for you to call If you want anything from her, an’ you ain’t scairt at all!

But w’en you get a scoldin’ she don’t never bring you pie, Becuz you’ll surely break her heart; an’ ’en she starts to cry; An’ my! you feel so sorry, an’ you wisht she wouldn’t, ’cuz It shows you how you’ve grieved her an’ how turble bad you wuz. An’ all day long she never smiles; an’ w’en you go to bed She never leaves the candle burn or calls you Turly-head.

An’ sometimes you see big, w’ite things a-lookin’ at your bed, ’At makes you scairt an’ pull the covers up above your head, An’ ’en you s’pose how would you feel if Mamma wuz to die, An’ biumby you feel so bad ’at you ’ist start to cry. So w’en she looks at you so hurt an’ talks to you ’at way-- I’d ruther take a w’ippin’ ’an a scoldin’ any day!

A DISCOURAGED KINDERGARTNER

’Is mornin’ mamma told me ’At I mus’ be awful dood, ’Tuz I’m startin’ on my schooldays An’ I promised her I would. But I’m awful much ’iscouraged ’Tuz I tried so hard to det All the lessons teacher gave me, But I tant read yet!

My! it’s awful long till dinner, An’ I couldn’t hardly wait Wen I dot done wif my letters An’ I wrote ’em on my slate, An’ I’m ’shamed to tell my mamma ’At I dess she’ll have to let Me go back again tomorrow, ’Tuz I tant read yet.

She’ll be awful disappointed, ’Tuz I’ve been there half a day, An’ she’ll think I didn’t study Or it wouldn’t be that way. But I don’t s’pose I tan help it, An’ it does no dood to fret, ’Tuz I’ve been to school all mornin’ An’ I tant read yet.

I dess our teacher’s stupid, ’Tuz she didn’t seem to care W’en I went right up an’ told her Were she’s sittin’ in her chair, ’At I’m awful much ’iscouraged An’ my Mamma she would fret ’Tuz I’ve been to school all mornin’ An’ I tant read yet.

An’ ’en she started laughin’, It’s as true as I’m alive, An’ ast how old I am, an’ ’en I told her half past five, An’ ’en she tame an’ tissed me, ’Tuz my eyes are dettin’ wet, An’ told me not to worry ’Tuz I tant read yet.

I dess if she had Mother Goose She’d be ’isturbed herself, If she ’ud go an’ det it Down f’m off th’ lib’ry shelf, An’ ’en w’en it is open, I dess she’s apt to fret If she’s been to school all mornin’ An’ she tant read yet!

THE DELUSION OF GHOSTS

Sometimes when I got to do errands at night An’ th’ moon is all dark an’ th’ ain’t any light, An’ th’ wind, when it blows, makes a shivery sound, An’ everything seems awful still all around; Sometimes when a hoot-owl goes “Woo-oo-oo-oo!” My legs feel so funny; I’m all goose-flesh, too. An’ maybe I’m startled when I hear it call, But I ain’t a bit scairt; I’m thes’ nervous, that’s all.

Oncet me an’ Joe Simpson wuz walkin’ one night A’ past th’ old graveyard, an’ saw somethin’ white ’Et looked like a ghost, standin’ right in th’ road, An’ my, Joe wuz scairt! ’Cuz he said ’et he knowed It wuz surely a ghost; an’ I wisseled, becuz When you wissel you scare ’em; an’ all that it wuz Wuz a great, big, white cow; an’ it thes’ walked away, An’ I wuzn’t no more scairt ’n if it wuz day!

’Cuz I don’t b’lieve in ghosts, an’ I’d thes’ as lieve go A’ past any graveyard an’ walk awful slow, An’ wissel, an’ sit on th’ top of th’ fence, ’Cuz th’ ain’t any ghosts if you got any sense. An’ when we saw that big white thing by th’ road ’Et Joe wuz so scairt of, I wuzn’t. I knowed All th’ time it’s no ghost. I wuz nervous becuz I knowed what it wuzn’t, but not what it wuz!

A STORY OF SELF-SACRIFICE

Pop took me to the circus ’cause it disappoints me so To have to stay at home, although he doesn’t care to go; He’s seen it all so many times, the wagons and the tents; The cages of wild animals and herds of elephants; This morning he went down with me to watch the big parade, He was so dreadful busy that he oughtn’t to have stayed, He said he’d seen it all before and all the reason he Went down and watched it coming was because it’s new to me.

Then we walked to the circus grounds and Pop he says: “I guess You want a glass of lemonade, of course,” and I says: “Yes.” And he bought one for each of us, and when he drank his he Told me he drank it only just to keep me company; And then he says, “The sideshow is, I s’pose, the same old sell, But everybody’s goin’ in, so we might just as well.” He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he Went in and saw it was because it was all new to me.

Well, by and by we both came out and went in the big tent, And saw the lions and tigers and the bigges’ elephant With chains on his front corner and an awful funny nose That looks around for peanuts that the crowd of people throws; And Pop, he bought some peanuts and it curled its nose around Until it found most every one that he threw on the ground; He said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he Stayed there and threw ’em was because it was all new to me.

Well, then the band began to play the liveliestest tune, And Pop, he says he guessed the show would open pretty soon; So we went in the other tent, and Pop, he says to me: “I guess we’ll get some reserved seats so you will surely see.” And then some lovely ladies came and stood there on the ground, And jumped up on the horses while the horses ran around; Pop said he’d seen it all before, and all the reason he Looked at the ladies was because it was all new to me.

Well, finally it’s over, but a man came out to say That they’re going to have a concert, and Pop said we’d better stay; He said they’re always just the same and always such a sell, But lots of folks was staying and he guessed we might as well. Then by and by we’re home again, and Mamma wants to know What kind of circus was it, and Pop said, “The same old show,” And said he’d seen it all before and all the reason he Had stayed and seen it all was ’cause it’s all so new to me.

I ’member when they cut my curls not very long ago, Because they looked just like a girl’s, and I’m a boy, you know; I used to wear ’em awful long, and once my Pa, he said, It’s time I had my curls cut off and wore short hair instead; Because I’m big enough for that; and then they took the shears And snipped my curls off one by one right close up to my ears, But every time a curl came off, my Mother, she just hid Her face a little bit and cried. I wonder why she did!

And after while she picked one up and held it in her hand With something shining in her eyes I didn’t understand; She petted it as if it was a little boy or girl, And acted fond of it when it was nothing but a curl. And after while they’re all cut off and down there on the floor, And I looked much more like a boy than I had been before, But there was something in her eyes she tried and tried and tried To brush away, but still it came. I wonder why she cried.

And after while I’m all trimmed off, and then my Pa, he said, I’m not a baby any more, but I’m a boy instead, And he is awful proud of me, and then my Ma, she smiled And said we found a boy that day and lost a little child; So I said I would hunt for him and bring him back but then She said she was afraid that he would not come back again; And picked the curls I had all up from off the floor and hid Them in her bureau drawer and cried. I wonder why she did.

Wunst w’en our girl wuz makin’ pies an’ doughnuts--’ist a lot-- We stood around with great, big eyes, ’cuz we boys like ’em hot; An’ w’en she dropped ’em in the lard they sizzled ’ist like fun. An’ w’en she takes ’em out it’s hard to keep from takin’ one.

An’ ’en she says: “You boys’ll get all spattered up with grease, An’ biumby she says she’ll let us have ’ist one apiece; So I took one for me an’ one for little James McBride, The widow’s only orfunt son ’at’s waitin’ there outside.

An’ Henry, he took one ’ist for himself an’ Nellie Flynn, ’At’s waitin’ at the kitchen door an’ dassent to come in Becuz her mother told her not, an’ Johnny, he took two, ’Cuz Amy Brennan likes ’em hot, ’ist like we chinnern do.

’En Henry happened ’ist to think he didn’t get a one For little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater’s son, Who never gets ’em home becuz he says he ain’t quite sure But thinks perhaps the reason wuz his folkses are too poor.

An’ ’en I give my own away to little Willie Beggs ’At fell way down his stairs one day an’ give him crooked legs, ’Cuz Willie always seems to know w’en our girl’s goin’ to bake, He wouldn’t ast for none-oh, no! But, my! he’s fond of cake.

So I went back an’ ’en I got another one for me Right out the kettle, smokin’ hot an’ brown as it could be, An’ John, he got one, too, becuz he give his own to Clare, An’ w’en our girl, she looked, there wuz ’ist two small doughnuts there!

My! She wuz angry w’en she looked an’ saw ’ist them two there, An’ says she knew ’at she had cooked a crock full an’ to spare, She says it’s awful ’scouragin’ to bake an’ fret an’ fuss, An’ w’en she thinks she’s got ’em in the crock they’re all in us!