by James Whitcomb Riley
The merriment that followed was subdued--
As though the story-teller's attitude
Were dual, in a sense, appealing quite
As much to sorrow as to mere delight,
According, haply, to the listener's bent
Either of sad or merry temperament.--
"And of your two appeals I much prefer
The pathos," said "The Noted Traveler,"--
"For should I live to twice my present years,
I know I could not quite forget the tears
That child-eyes bleed, the little palms nailed wide,
And quivering soul and body crucified....
But, bless 'em! there are no such children here
To-night, thank God!--Come here to me, my dear!"
He said to little Alex, in a tone
So winning that the sound of it alone
Had drawn a child more lothful to his knee:--
"And, now-sir, _I'll_ agree if _you'll_ agree,--
_You_ tell us all a story, and then _I_
Will tell one."
"_But I can't._"
"Well, can't you _try?_"
"Yes, Mister: he _kin_ tell _one_. Alex, tell
The one, you know, 'at you made up so well,
About the _Bear_. He allus tells that one,"
Said Bud,--"He gits it mixed some 'bout the _gun_
An' _ax_ the Little Boy had, an' _apples_, too."--
Then Uncle Mart said--"There, now! that'll do!--
Let _Alex_ tell his story his own way!"
And Alex, prompted thus, without delay
Began.
Last updated January 14, 2019