 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
298
VI. LITTLE POSTERITY
MASTER JOHNNY'S NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR
It was spring the first time that I saw her, for her papa and mamma moved in
Next door, just as skating was over, and marbles about to begin;
For the fence in our back yard was broken, and I saw, as I peeped through the slat,
There were “Johnny-jump-ups” all around her, and I knew it was spring just by that.
Next door, just as skating was over, and marbles about to begin;
For the fence in our back yard was broken, and I saw, as I peeped through the slat,
There were “Johnny-jump-ups” all around her, and I knew it was spring just by that.
I never knew whether she saw me, for she did n't say nothing to me,
But “Ma! here's a slat in the fence broke, and the boy that is next door can see.”
But the next day I climbed on our wood-shed, as you know Mamma says I've a right,
And she calls out, “Well, peekin' is manners!” and I answered her, “Sass is perlite!”
But “Ma! here's a slat in the fence broke, and the boy that is next door can see.”
But the next day I climbed on our wood-shed, as you know Mamma says I've a right,
And she calls out, “Well, peekin' is manners!” and I answered her, “Sass is perlite!”
But I was n't a bit mad, no, Papa, and to prove it, the very next day,
When she ran past our fence in the morning I happened to get in her way,—
For you know I am “chunkèd” and clumsy, as she says are all boys of my size,—
And she nearly upset me, she did, Pa, and laughed till tears came in her eyes.
When she ran past our fence in the morning I happened to get in her way,—
For you know I am “chunkèd” and clumsy, as she says are all boys of my size,—
And she nearly upset me, she did, Pa, and laughed till tears came in her eyes.
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And then we were friends from that moment, for I knew that she told Kitty Sage,—
And she was n't a girl that would flatter—“that she thought I was tall for my age.”
And I gave her four apples that evening, and took her to ride on my sled,
And—“What am I telling you this for?” Why, Papa, my neighbor is dead!
And she was n't a girl that would flatter—“that she thought I was tall for my age.”
And I gave her four apples that evening, and took her to ride on my sled,
And—“What am I telling you this for?” Why, Papa, my neighbor is dead!
You don't hear one half I am saying,—I really do think it's too bad!
Why, you might have seen crape on her door-knob, and noticed to-day I've been sad.
And they've got her a coffin of rosewood, and they say they have dressed her in white,
And I've never once looked through the fence, Pa, since she died—at eleven last night.
Why, you might have seen crape on her door-knob, and noticed to-day I've been sad.
And they've got her a coffin of rosewood, and they say they have dressed her in white,
And I've never once looked through the fence, Pa, since she died—at eleven last night.
And Ma says it's decent and proper, as I was her neighbor and friend,
That I should go there to the funeral, and she thinks that you ought to attend;
But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall be in the way,
And suppose they should speak to me, Papa, I would n't know just what to say.
That I should go there to the funeral, and she thinks that you ought to attend;
But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall be in the way,
And suppose they should speak to me, Papa, I would n't know just what to say.
So I think I will get up quite early,—I know I sleep late, but I know
I'll be sure to wake up if our Bridget pulls the string that I'll tie to my toe;
And I'll crawl through the fence, and I'll gather the “Johnny-jump-ups” as they grew
Round her feet the first day that I saw her, and, Papa, I'll give them to you.
I'll be sure to wake up if our Bridget pulls the string that I'll tie to my toe;
And I'll crawl through the fence, and I'll gather the “Johnny-jump-ups” as they grew
Round her feet the first day that I saw her, and, Papa, I'll give them to you.
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For you're a big man, and, you know, Pa, can come and go just where you choose,
And you'll take the flowers in to her, and surely they'll never refuse;
But, Papa, don't say they're from Johnny; they won't understand, don't you see?
But just lay them down on her bosom, and, Papa, she'll know they're from Me.
And you'll take the flowers in to her, and surely they'll never refuse;
But, Papa, don't say they're from Johnny; they won't understand, don't you see?
But just lay them down on her bosom, and, Papa, she'll know they're from Me.
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MISS EDITH'S MODEST REQUEST
My Papa knows you, and he says you're a man who makes reading for books;
But I never read nothing you wrote, nor did Papa,—I know by his looks.
So I guess you're like me when I talk, and I talk, and I talk all the day,
And they only say, “Do stop that child!” or, “Nurse, take Miss Edith away.”
But I never read nothing you wrote, nor did Papa,—I know by his looks.
So I guess you're like me when I talk, and I talk, and I talk all the day,
And they only say, “Do stop that child!” or, “Nurse, take Miss Edith away.”
But Papa said if I was good I could ask you—alone by myself—
If you would n't write me a book like that little one up on the shelf.
I don't mean the pictures, of course, for to make them you've got to be smart;
But the reading that runs all around them, you know,—just the easiest part.
If you would n't write me a book like that little one up on the shelf.
I don't mean the pictures, of course, for to make them you've got to be smart;
But the reading that runs all around them, you know,—just the easiest part.
You need n't mind what it's about, for no one will see it but me,
And Jane,—that's my nurse,—and John,—he's the coachman,—just only us three.
You're to write of a bad little girl, that was wicked and bold and all that;
And then you're to write, if you please, something good—very good—of a cat!
And Jane,—that's my nurse,—and John,—he's the coachman,—just only us three.
You're to write of a bad little girl, that was wicked and bold and all that;
And then you're to write, if you please, something good—very good—of a cat!
This cat, she was virtuous and meek, and kind to her parents, and mild,
And careful and neat in her ways, though her mistress was such a bad child;
And hours she would sit and would gaze when her mistress—that's me—was so bad,
And blink, just as if she would say, “Oh, Edith! you make my heart sad.”
And careful and neat in her ways, though her mistress was such a bad child;
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And blink, just as if she would say, “Oh, Edith! you make my heart sad.”
And yet, you would scarcely believe it, that beautiful, angelic cat
Was blamed by the servants for stealing whatever, they said, she'd get at.
And when John drank my milk,—don't you tell me! I know just the way it was done,—
They said 't was the cat,—and she sitting and washing her face in the sun!
Was blamed by the servants for stealing whatever, they said, she'd get at.
And when John drank my milk,—don't you tell me! I know just the way it was done,—
They said 't was the cat,—and she sitting and washing her face in the sun!
And then there was Dick, my canary. When I left its cage open one day,
They all made believe that she ate it, though I know that the bird flew away.
And why? Just because she was playing with a feather she found on the floor.
As if cats could n't play with a feather without people thinking 't was more!
They all made believe that she ate it, though I know that the bird flew away.
And why? Just because she was playing with a feather she found on the floor.
As if cats could n't play with a feather without people thinking 't was more!
Why, once we were romping together, when I knocked down a vase from the shelf,
That cat was as grieved and distressed as if she had done it herself;
And she walked away sadly and hid herself, and never came out until tea,—
So they say, for they sent me to bed, and she never came even to me.
That cat was as grieved and distressed as if she had done it herself;
And she walked away sadly and hid herself, and never came out until tea,—
So they say, for they sent me to bed, and she never came even to me.
No matter whatever happened, it was laid at the door of that cat.
Why, once when I tore my apron,—she was wrapped in it, and I called “Rat!”—
Why, they blamed that on her. I shall never—no, not to my dying day—
Forget the pained look that she gave me when they slapped me and took me away.
Why, once when I tore my apron,—she was wrapped in it, and I called “Rat!”—
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Forget the pained look that she gave me when they slapped me and took me away.
Of course, you know just what comes next, when a child is as lovely as that:
She wasted quite slowly away; it was goodness was killing that cat.
I know it was nothing she ate, for her taste was exceedingly nice;
But they said she stole Bobby's ice cream, and caught a bad cold from the ice.
She wasted quite slowly away; it was goodness was killing that cat.
I know it was nothing she ate, for her taste was exceedingly nice;
But they said she stole Bobby's ice cream, and caught a bad cold from the ice.
And you'll promise to make me a book like that little one up on the shelf,
And you'll call her “Naomi,” because it's a name that she just gave herself;
For she'd scratch at my door in the morning, and whenever I'd call out, “Who's there?”
She would answer, “Naomi! Naomi!” like a Christian, I vow and declare.
And you'll call her “Naomi,” because it's a name that she just gave herself;
For she'd scratch at my door in the morning, and whenever I'd call out, “Who's there?”
She would answer, “Naomi! Naomi!” like a Christian, I vow and declare.
And you'll put me and her in a book. And mind, you're to say I was bad;
And I might have been badder than that but for the example I had.
And you'll say that she was a Maltese, and—what's that you asked? “Is she dead?”
Why, please, sir, there ain't any cat! You're to make one up out of your head!
And I might have been badder than that but for the example I had.
And you'll say that she was a Maltese, and—what's that you asked? “Is she dead?”
Why, please, sir, there ain't any cat! You're to make one up out of your head!
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MISS EDITH MAKES IT PLEASANT FOR BROTHER JACK
“Crying!” Of course I am crying, and I guess you would be crying, too,
If people were telling such stories as they tell about me, about you.
Oh yes, you can laugh if you want to, and smoke as you did n't care how,
And get your brains softened like uncle's. Dr. Jones says you're gettin' it now.
If people were telling such stories as they tell about me, about you.
Oh yes, you can laugh if you want to, and smoke as you did n't care how,
And get your brains softened like uncle's. Dr. Jones says you're gettin' it now.
Why don't you say “Stop!” to Miss Ilsey? She cries twice as much as I do,
And she's older and cries just from meanness,—for a ribbon or anything new.
Ma says it's her “sensitive nature.” Oh my! No, I sha'n't stop my talk!
And I don't want no apples nor candy, and I don't want to go take a walk!
And she's older and cries just from meanness,—for a ribbon or anything new.
Ma says it's her “sensitive nature.” Oh my! No, I sha'n't stop my talk!
And I don't want no apples nor candy, and I don't want to go take a walk!
I know why you're mad! Yes, I do, now! You think that Miss Ilsey likes you,
And I've heard her repeatedly call you the bold-facest boy that she knew;
And she'd “like to know where you learnt manners.” Oh yes! Kick the table,—that's right!
Spill the ink on my dress, and go then round telling Ma that I look like a fright!
And I've heard her repeatedly call you the bold-facest boy that she knew;
And she'd “like to know where you learnt manners.” Oh yes! Kick the table,—that's right!
Spill the ink on my dress, and go then round telling Ma that I look like a fright!
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What stories? Pretend you don't know that they're saying I broke off the match
'Twixt old Money-grubber and Mary, by saying she called him “Crosspatch,”
When the only allusion I made him about sister Mary was, she
Cared more for his cash than his temper, and you know, Jack, you said that to me.
'Twixt old Money-grubber and Mary, by saying she called him “Crosspatch,”
When the only allusion I made him about sister Mary was, she
Cared more for his cash than his temper, and you know, Jack, you said that to me.
And it's true! But it's me, and I'm scolded, and Pa says if I keep on I might
By and by get my name in the papers! Who cares? Why, 't was only last night
I was reading how Pa and the sheriff were selling some lots, and it's plain
If it's awful to be in the papers, why, Papa would go and complain.
By and by get my name in the papers! Who cares? Why, 't was only last night
I was reading how Pa and the sheriff were selling some lots, and it's plain
If it's awful to be in the papers, why, Papa would go and complain.
You think it ain't true about Ilsey? Well, I guess I know girls, and I say
There's nothing I see about Ilsey to show she likes you, anyway!
I know what it means when a girl who has called her cat after one boy
Goes and changes its name to another's. And she's done it—and I wish you joy!
There's nothing I see about Ilsey to show she likes you, anyway!
I know what it means when a girl who has called her cat after one boy
Goes and changes its name to another's. And she's done it—and I wish you joy!
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MISS EDITH MAKES ANOTHER FRIEND
Oh, you're the girl lives on the corner? Come in—if you want to—come quick!
There's no one but me in the house, and the cook—but she's only a stick.
Don't try the front way, but come over the fence—through the window—that's how.
Don't mind the big dog—he won't bite you—just see him obey me! there, now!
There's no one but me in the house, and the cook—but she's only a stick.
Don't try the front way, but come over the fence—through the window—that's how.
Don't mind the big dog—he won't bite you—just see him obey me! there, now!
What's your name? Mary Ellen? How funny! Mine's Edith—it's nicer, you see;
But yours does for you, for you're plainer, though maybe you're gooder than me;
For Jack says I'm sometimes a devil, but Jack, of all folks, need n't talk,
For I don't call the seamstress an angel till Ma says the poor thing must “walk.”
But yours does for you, for you're plainer, though maybe you're gooder than me;
For Jack says I'm sometimes a devil, but Jack, of all folks, need n't talk,
For I don't call the seamstress an angel till Ma says the poor thing must “walk.”
Come in! It's quite dark in the parlor, for sister will keep the blinds down,
For you know her complexion is sallow like yours, but she is n't as brown;
Though Jack says that is n't the reason she likes to sit here with Jim Moore.
Do you think that he meant that she kissed him? Would you—if your lips was n't sore?
For you know her complexion is sallow like yours, but she is n't as brown;
Though Jack says that is n't the reason she likes to sit here with Jim Moore.
Do you think that he meant that she kissed him? Would you—if your lips was n't sore?
If you like, you can try our piano. 'T ain't ours. A man left it here
To rent by the month, although Ma says he has n't been paid for a year.
Sister plays—oh, such fine variations!—why, I once heard a gentleman say
That she did n't mind that for the music—in fact, it was just in her way!
To rent by the month, although Ma says he has n't been paid for a year.
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That she did n't mind that for the music—in fact, it was just in her way!
Ain't I funny? And yet it's the queerest of all that, whatever I say,
One half of the folks die a-laughing, and the rest, they all look t'other way.
And some say, “That child!” Do they ever say that to such people as you?
Though maybe you 're naturally silly, and that makes your eyes so askew.
One half of the folks die a-laughing, and the rest, they all look t'other way.
And some say, “That child!” Do they ever say that to such people as you?
Though maybe you 're naturally silly, and that makes your eyes so askew.
Now stop—don't you dare to be crying! Just as sure as you live, if you do,
I'll call in my big dog to bite you, and I'll make my Papa kill you, too!
And then where'll you be? So play pretty. There's my doll, and a nice piece of cake.
You don't want it—you think it is poison! Then I'll eat it, dear, just for your sake!
I'll call in my big dog to bite you, and I'll make my Papa kill you, too!
And then where'll you be? So play pretty. There's my doll, and a nice piece of cake.
You don't want it—you think it is poison! Then I'll eat it, dear, just for your sake!
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WHAT MISS EDITH SAW FROM HER WINDOW
Our window's not much, though it fronts on the street;
There's a fly in the pane that gets nothin' to eat;
But it's curious how people think it's a treat
For me to look out of the window!
There's a fly in the pane that gets nothin' to eat;
But it's curious how people think it's a treat
For me to look out of the window!
Why, when company comes, and they're all speaking low,
With their chairs drawn together, then some one says, “Oh!
Edith dear!—that's a good child—now run, love, and go
And amuse yourself there at the window!”
With their chairs drawn together, then some one says, “Oh!
Edith dear!—that's a good child—now run, love, and go
And amuse yourself there at the window!”
Or Bob—that's my brother—comes in with his chum,
And they whisper and chuckle, the same words will come.
And it's “Edith, look here! Oh, I say! what a rum
Lot of things you can see from that window!”
And they whisper and chuckle, the same words will come.
And it's “Edith, look here! Oh, I say! what a rum
Lot of things you can see from that window!”
And yet, as I told you, there's only that fly
Buzzing round in the pane, and a bit of blue sky,
And the girl in the opposite window, that I
Look at when she looks from her window.
Buzzing round in the pane, and a bit of blue sky,
And the girl in the opposite window, that I
Look at when she looks from her window.
And yet, I've been thinking I'd so like to see
If what goes on behind her, goes on behind me!
And then, goodness gracious! what fun it would be
For us both as we sit by our window!
If what goes on behind her, goes on behind me!
And then, goodness gracious! what fun it would be
For us both as we sit by our window!
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How we'd know when the parcels were hid in a drawer,
Or things taken out that one never sees more;
What people come in and go out of the door,
That we never see from the window!
Or things taken out that one never sees more;
What people come in and go out of the door,
That we never see from the window!
And that night when the stranger came home with our Jane
I might see what I heard then, that sounded so plain—
Like when my wet fingers I rub on the pane
(Which they won't let me do on my window).
I might see what I heard then, that sounded so plain—
Like when my wet fingers I rub on the pane
(Which they won't let me do on my window).
And I'd know why papa shut the door with a slam,
And said something funny that sounded like “jam,”
And then “Edith—where are you?” I said, “Here I am.”
“Ah, that's right, dear, look out of the window!”
And said something funny that sounded like “jam,”
And then “Edith—where are you?” I said, “Here I am.”
“Ah, that's right, dear, look out of the window!”
They say when I'm grown up these things will appear
More plain than they do when I look at them here,
But I think I see some things uncommonly clear,
As I sit and look down from the window.
More plain than they do when I look at them here,
But I think I see some things uncommonly clear,
As I sit and look down from the window.
What things? Oh, the things that I make up, you know,
Out of stories I've read—and they all pass below.
Ali Baba, the Forty Thieves, all in a row,
Go by, as I look from my window.
Out of stories I've read—and they all pass below.
Ali Baba, the Forty Thieves, all in a row,
Go by, as I look from my window.
That's only at church time; other days there's no crowd.
Don't laugh! See that big man who looked up and bowed?
That's our butcher—I call him the Sultan Mahoud
When he nods to me here at the window!
Don't laugh! See that big man who looked up and bowed?
That's our butcher—I call him the Sultan Mahoud
When he nods to me here at the window!
And that man—he's our neighbor—just gone for a ride
Has three wives in the churchyard that lie side by side.
So I call him “Bluebeard” in search of his bride,
While I'm Sister Anne at the window.
Has three wives in the churchyard that lie side by side.
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While I'm Sister Anne at the window.
And what do I call you? Well, here's what I do:
When my sister expects you, she puts me here, too;
But I wait till you enter, to see if it's you,
And then—I just open the window!
When my sister expects you, she puts me here, too;
But I wait till you enter, to see if it's you,
And then—I just open the window!
“Dear child!” Yes, that's me! Oh, you ask what that's for?
Well, Papa says you're “Poverty's self,” and what's more,
I open the window, when you're at the door,
To see Love fly out of the window!”
Well, Papa says you're “Poverty's self,” and what's more,
I open the window, when you're at the door,
To see Love fly out of the window!”
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ON THE LANDING
(AN IDYL OF THE BALUSTERS)
- Bobby, ætat. 3½.
- Johnny, ætat. 4½.
Do you know why they've put us in that back room,
Up in the attic, close against the sky,
And made believe our nursery's a cloak-room?
Do you know why?
JOHNNY
No more I don't, nor why that Sammy's mother,
What Ma thinks horrid, 'cause he bunged my eye,
Eats an ice cream, down there, like any other!
No more don't I!
BOBBY
Do you know why Nurse says it is n't manners
For you and me to ask folks twice for pie,
And no one hits that man with two bananas?
Do you know why?
JOHNNY
No more I don't, nor why that girl, whose dress is
Off of her shoulders, don't catch cold and die,
When you and me gets croup when we undresses!
No more don't I!
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Perhaps she ain't as good as you and I is,
And God don't want her up there in the sky,
And lets her live—to come in just when pie is—
Perhaps that's why!
JOHNNY
Do you know why that man that's got a cropped head
Rubbed it just now as if he felt a fly?
Could it be, Bobby, something that I dropded?
And is that why?
BOBBY
Good boys behaves, and so they don't get scolded.
Nor drop hot milk on folks as they pass by.
JOHNNY
(piously)
Marbles would bounce on Mr. Jones' bald head—
But I sha'n't try!
BOBBY
Do you know why Aunt Jane is always snarling
At you and me because we tells a lie,
And she don't slap that man that called her darling?
Do you know why?
JOHNNY
No more I don't, nor why that man with Mamma
Just kissed her hand.
BOBBY
She hurt it—and that's why:
He made it well, the very way that Mamma
Does do to I.
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I feel so sleepy. ... Was that Papa kissed us?
What made him sigh, and look up to the sky?
BOBBY
We were n't downstairs, and he and God had missed us,
And that was why!
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |