The World’s Wit and Humor: An Encyclopedia in 15 Volumes. 1906.
John Hay (1838–1905)Little Breeches
I
I never ain’t had no show;
But I’ve got a middlin’ tight grip, sir,
On the handful o’ things I know.
I don’t pan out on the prophets
And free-will and that sort of thing—
But I b’lieve in God and the angels,
Ever sence one night last spring.
And my little Gabe come along—
No four-year-old in the county
Could beat him for pretty and strong,
Peart and chipper and sassy,
Always ready to swear and fight—
And I’d larnt him to chaw terbacker
Jest to keep his milk-teeth white.
As I passed by Taggart’s store;
I went in for a jug of molasses
And left the team at the door.
They scared at something and started—
I heard one little squall,
And hell-to-split over the prairie
Went team, Little Breeches and all.
I was almost froze with skeer;
But we rousted up some torches,
And sarched for ’em far and near.
At last we struck horses and wagon,
Snowed under a soft white mound,
Upsot, dead beat—but of little Gabe
Nor hide nor hair was found.
Of my fellow-critter’s aid—
I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,
Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.
By this, the torches was played out,
And me and Isrul Parr
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold
That he said was somewhar thar.
Where they shut up the lambs at night.
We looked in and seen them huddled thar,
So warm and sleepy and white;
And
As peart as ever you see:
“I want a chaw of terbacker,
And that’s what’s the matter of me.”
He could never have walked in that storm;
They jest scooped down and toted him
To whar it was safe and warm.
And I think that saving a little child,
And bringing him to his own,
Is a derned sight better business
Than loafing around The Throne.