The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-07-14
oREr aRAN'F'THER.
BY MRS. LAURA E. RICHARDS

hx 4ROs AAAN hA n. RN~3xAADo- what, take Gret Gran'fther's musket, Thet he kerried at Bunker Hill. An go a-gannin' for spArrerS with solomon Judd and Bill? Ton let that musket alone. DanI, An git down from thet air stool. You've jest tune enough to hold this yarn Afore ye so oT to school Thar don't ye wriggle and twist, sonnyi The yarns for yer own new socks. It's safer to hold than muskets, With their triggers and riggers and locks A musket, to shoot at sparrersl We'll, boys is up to sech tricksi And that old one, too, that ein't been touched Sence Seventeen Seventy-Sixi But set more store by its rusty stock
 Than the finest money can buy And If you'll stan stiddy. Danr, I'll tell ye the reason why. Ye never see Gret Gran'fther,
 But you've seed his pictur, boy, With the suiilin' mouth, an the big brown eyes Jes' brimmin' with life an joy. Well. he warn't like that when I seed him,
 But his sperrit war lively still. For all his white hair an empty sleeve,
 As it war at Bunker Hill An many's the time he told me,
 Settin' here in this very cheer, Of the fust time he shOuidered that musket, In the Continental rear. How out in the field a-mowin',
 He seed the bay nets glance, An ran for his gun with lighter heart
 Than ever he went to dance. Jest as he war-in his shirt sleeves,
 For the weather war warm an bright An no hat-but shouldn't his musket, Gret Granfther went to the fight. An thar on Bunker hillside,
 Whar the smoke hung thick an gray, He went a-gunnin' for redcOats
 As you'd go for sparrers today. Heyi but the balls were whistlin'
 An the flashes kem thick and fast, But whos'ever musket had fust word,
 Gret Gran'fther's had the last. Then a gunner was shot beside him.
 That handled a siX-pound gun; An they called for man to tend her,
 An Granf'ther said he war one. "I ain't never fired a gun," saysh he,
 "But I'll do my proudful besti An if all you want is man. colonel,
 I'm mebbe as good as the rest" An reckon he war, fer he stood thar,
 An fired that six pound gun, Until every redcoat within his range
 Had either dropped or run. Then, all of student, there come flash, A crack. an a twinge, an thrill, An Granf'ther's right arm dropped by his An hung thar limp an still. Jes' for a minute, I've heerd him say,
 The hull world seemed to reel, An a hummin' sound war in his ears,
 Like Grant 'm'thers spinnin' wheel. But he hadn't no time fer faintin',
 Nor he hadn't no time fer pain. "It's well I'm left -handed!' says Granfther, An he fired the gun again. Bimeby, when the colonel found him,
 Arter the fight war done, He war lyin' all black like nigger,
 An senseless, along by the gun. Then the boys made a kind O stretcher
 An jest as they laid him atop, He whispered, Thar warn't no balls, colonel, So was obleeged ter stop" Yesi that war the way Gret Gran'fther fit,
 An the way he lost his arm; But he shot with his left till the land war free, An then he come back to the farm. An he laid his musket across them hooks,
 An thar it's laid to this day. An spite O you an the sparrers, Danl,
 Thar's whar it's goin' to stay. The school bell run. now Sonny boyl
 An thank ye fer standin' still. Whats that? ay! "Hurrah for Gret Gram
 fther"
 -Youth's Companion.