Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1873-12-18
LUKE.
(rN THE COLORADO PARK, 1871

I'm THE COLORADO PARK, 1879
WoTs that yeur "a novelY A novel-well
darn my skinI
fou a man grown and bearded. and histinp such
stuff eZ that in
Stuff about gals and their sweetheartsl No won
der you're thin a knife.
Look at mel clar two hundred-and never read
one in nay life.
That's my opinion o. novels. And ez to their lynn
round here,
They. belonged to the Jedge's daughter-the
Jedge who came up last year
On account of his lungs and the mountai s, and
the balsam o. pine and fir;
And his daughter-welI she reads novels, and
that's what's the matter with her.
day and night
Alone in the cabin up yer-tin she grew like a
ghost, all white
She was only a slip of a thing, ez light and ez up
and away
Ez rifle smoke blown through the woods, but she
wasn't my kind-no wayl
Speakin' O. gals, dye mind that house ez you rise
A mile and a half from Whites, and Jist above
You do? Wei now, Mar's gall What, you saw
her? o, come now, thar, quit
She was only DedeVn you boys, for to me she
don't cotton one bit
Now she's what call gel-ez pretty and plump
ez a quail;
Teeth ez white ez a hounds, and they'd 90 through
q temporary nail;
Eyes that kin snap like a cap. So she asked to
know ''whar I was hid?''
She did, O. it's ist like her sass, for she's peart
ez Katy-did.
But what was taIkin' ofS-Ol the Jesge and his
daughter-she read
Novels the whole day long, and reckon she read
them abed,
And sometimes che read them out loud to the
Jedge on the porch where he sat,
And twas how Lord Augustus said this and
how Lady Blanche" she said that,
But the sickest of all that heerd was yarn thet
they read bout chap,
ather-stocking'' by name, and hunter chock
full o the greenest O. sap;
And they asked me to hear, but l says, Miss
Mabel, not any for me;
When likes / kin sling my own lies, and thet
chap and shouldn't agree
Yet somehow-or-other she was always sayin'
brought her to mind
OF folks about whom she had read, or suthin be-
like o. tbet kind,
And thar warn't no end O. the names that she give
me tibet summer up here,
robin Hood, - Misunderstanding, Rob Roy
o. tell you, the critter queer.
And yet eff she hadn't been spilled, she was harm
less enough In her way;
She could jabber in French to her dad, and they
said that she knew how to play,
And she worked me that shot-pouch up thar
which the man doesn't live ez kin use,
And slippers-you see 'em down yer-ez would
cradle an Injin's pappoose.
Yet along o them novels, you see she was wastin'
and mopn away,
Aud then she got shy with her tongue, and at last
had nothin' to say;
And whenever happened around, her face it was
hid by a book,
And it warn until she left that she give me ez
much ez a look.
And this was the way it was. twas night when
m IN IA
To say to 'em all ''good-by,' for reckoned to go
for deer
At sun up the day they left. So shook 'em
all round by the hand,
'Cept Mabel and she was sick, ez they give me to
understand
But jist as passed the house next morning at
dawn, some one,
Like little waver o mist, got up the hill with
the sun;
Miss Mabel it was, alone-all wrapped in a mantle
o. lace
And stood there straight in the road, with touch
o. the sun in her face.
And she looked me right in the eye-I'd seen
suthin like it before,
When hunted wounded doe to the edge o.
Clear Lake shore,
And had my knee on its neck, and jst was raisin'
my knife,
When it gave me a look like that, and-well, it
got off with its life.
''We are going to-day" she said land l thought
would say goOd-by
To you In your own house, Luke-these woods
and the bright blue skyi
You've always been kind to US, Luke, and papa
has found you stlll
AS good as the air he breathes, and wholesome as
Laurel Tree Hill.
And wen always think of you, Luke, as the
thing we could not take away;
The basam tn at dwels in the woods, the rainbow
that lives in the spray.
And you'll sometimes think of me, Luke, you
know you once used to say.
A rifle smoke blown through the woods, amOment,
but never to stay"
And then we shook hands. She turned, but a-sud-
dent she tottered and fell,
And caught her sharp by the waist, and held her
minit-well,
1t was only mint, you know, that ez cold and ez
white she lay
Ez a snowflake here on my breast, and then
WELL she melted away
And was gone And thar are her books;
but | says not any for me,
Good enough may be for some, but them and l
mightn't agree.
They spilled decent gal ez might have made
chap wife,
And look at mel-Clar two hundred-and never
read one in my lifel
-BFSt HGrte, IN ScribHer'S Monthly.