Deely she wrung her pooty hands,
She felt her heart a-turnin'
Es poor es milk when all the cream
Is taken off fur churnin'.
When all to once her eyes fell pat
Upon old Spense's patent vat!
The Agent took no sort ov stock
Thet time in etiquettin;
It would hev made a punkin laugh
Tew see his style of gettin'!
In thet thar empty vat he slid,
An' Deely shet the hefty lid.
Old Spense wus smilin' jest es clar
Es stars in the big "Dipper";
An' Deely made believe tew hum
"Old Hundred" gay an' chipper,
But thinkin' what a tightsome squeeze
The vat wus fur the Agent's knees.
Old Spense he sed, "I guess, my gal,
"Ye've been a sort ov dreamin';
"I see ye haven't set the pans,
"Nor turn'd the mornin's cream in;
"Now ain't ye spry? Now, darn my hat
"Ef the milk's run inter thet thar vat."
Thar's times one's feelin's swell like bread
In summer-time a-risin',
An' Deely's heart swole in a way
Wus mightily surprising
When Spense gripp'd one ov them thar pans
Ov yaller cream in his big han's!
The moon glode underneath a cloud,
The breeze sigh'd loud an' airy;
The pans they faintlike glimmer'd on
The white walls ov the dairy.
Deely she trembl'd like an ash,
An' lean'd agin the old churn dash.
"Tarnation darksome," growl'd old Spense,
Arf liftin' up the cover--
He turn'd the pan ov cream quite spry
On Deely's Agent lover.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82