God makes sech nights, all white an'
Fur 'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten.
Zekle crep' up quite
An' peeked in thru' the winder,
An' there sot Huldy all alone,'Ith no one nigh to hender.
A fireplace filled the room's one
With half a cord o' wood in—There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died)To bake ye to a puddin'.
The wa'nut logs shot sparkles
Towards the pootiest, bless her,
An' leetle flames danced all
The chiny on the dresser.
Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung,
An' in amongst 'em
The ole queen's arm thet gran'ther
Fetched back from Concord busted.
The very room, coz she was in,
Seemed warm from floor to ceilin',
An' she looked full ez rosy
Ez the apples she was peelin'.'Twas kin' o' kingdom-come to
On seek a blessed cretur,
A dogrose blushin' to a
Ain't modester nor sweeter.
He was six foot o' man,
A 1,
Clean grit an' human natur';
None couldn't quicker pitch a
Nor dror a furrer straighter.
He'd sparked it with full twenty gals,
He'd squired 'em, danced 'em, druv 'em,
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells—All is, he couldn't love 'em.
But long o' her his veins 'ould
All crinkly like curled maple,
The side she breshed felt full o'
Ez a south slope in Ap'il.
She thought no v'ice hed sech a
Ez hisn in the choir;
My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,
She knowed the Lord was nigher.
An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer,
When her new
Felt somehow thru' its crown a pairO' blue eyes sot upun it.
Thet night,
I tell ye, she looked some!
She seemed to 've gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he'd come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.
She heered a foot, an' knowed it tu;
A-raspin' on the scraper,—All ways to once her feelin's
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.
He kin' o' l'itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o' the sekle,
His heart kep' goin' pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.
An' yit she gin her cheer a
Ez though she wished him furder,
An' on her apples kep' to work,
Parin' away like murder."you want to see my Pa,
I s'pose?""Wal…no…I come dasignin'"—"To see my Ma?
She's sprinklin'
Agin to-morrer's i'nin'."To say why gals acts so or so,
Or don't, 'ould be presumin';
Mebby to mean yes an' say
Comes nateral to women.
He stood a spell on one foot fust,
Then stood a spell on t'other,
An' on which one he felt the
He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.
Says he, "I'd better call agin;"Says she, "Think likely,
Mister;"Thet last word pricked him like a pin,
An'… Wal, he up an' kist her.
When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips,
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the
An' teary roun' the lashes.
For she was jes' the quiet
Whose naturs never vary,
Like streams that keep a summer
Snowhid in Jenooary.
The blood clost roun' her heart felt
Too tight for all expressin',
Tell mother see how metters stood,
And gin 'em both her blessin'.
Then her red come back like the
Down to the Bay o' Fundy,
An' all I know is they was
In meetin' come nex' Sunday.
