Class _ P5353S_ 
 
 Book .Oi^fe 
 
 Copyright N° 
 
 COPYRFGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
JOE'S PLACE 
 
Copyright, 1902, •— p ^^ 
 
 By George W. Jacobs & Co. / c> O O 3 ^J 
 
 O 
 
 Entered at Stationers' Hall, London 
 
 Published November, 1902 
 
 .L 
 
 
 THE LIBRAftV OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 Tffo Ct*»tc£ ftbcatvE!:, 
 
 ^COPVRKJMT ENTRY 
 
 CLASeP^XXc No. 
 OOP»Y S. 
 
 A'V: ''\:-'l •'''*'''* ' 
 
 Press of Allen, Lane & Scott 
 Philadelphia 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I 
 His Mother's Own 
 
 II 
 
 Our Christmases 
 
 III 
 For Fortune an' a Wife 
 
 IV 
 
 Blackness an' Trouble 
 
 V 
 
 How Others Fare 
 
 VI 
 Three Comforters 
 
 VII 
 No Joe in Sight 
 
 VIII 
 The Church of the Parabler 
 
 IX 
 
 A Sad Surprise 
 
 X 
 
 We Reap Our Sowin' 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 XI 
 
 Annie's Quest 
 
 XII 
 
 FOREGLEAMS 
 XIII 
 
 Here Was Joe ! 
 
 XIV 
 
 A "Moulder" 
 
 XV 
 His Last Wrassle 
 
 XVI 
 Brighter Days Ahead 
 
 XVII 
 What To Do 
 
 XVIII 
 Wedding Bells — and Tolling 
 
 XIX 
 A Sweetly Memorable Day 
 
 XX 
 
 Remember 
 
 XXI 
 
 I'm Full Content ! 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 By the Author 
 
 FULL-PAGE ENGRAVINGS 
 
 Until the sob would reach her throat 
 
 An' end her song Frontispiece • 
 
 Filled his poor head with millions !— See ? 
 
 He shall be rich as Gould 32 '^ 
 
 "This thing yo'rn?" 40 
 
 His sperit was a show to see, — 
 
 Riz up an down along with me 56 
 
 Out from his pew an' down the aisle 
 
 He comes ! these other men meanwhile 
 
 Just dumb surprised 78 
 
 She's calm an' sweet an' sperited, 
 
 An' neither cried nor worrited 98 
 
 Asts will Perfessor an' his wife 
 
 Stand by him, while he tries again 
 
 To get in line with decent men 114 
 
8 ILLUSTRATIO NS 
 
 FULL PAGE 
 
 "Once /was like some here today 
 
 Down in the deeps 136 
 
 She calls in time to see we're trim 
 
 Brushed an' spruced up ; for me an' him 
 
 Was none too scrumptious 152 
 
 There, cased in glass, vi'lin an* bow 
 
 Hangs mute an' still forever now 180 
 
 y 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT 
 
 Cute-st little chap 15 
 
 Joe's grasshopper 18 
 
 Up in his lonely study room 28 
 
 Her grave was consecrated ground 47 
 
 How often have I scanned that line 59 
 
 We reap our sowin' 84 
 
 Now bless that woman ! 96 
 
IL LUSTRA TIO NS 9 
 
 Poor Tom ! 103 
 
 Justice will be meted out 116 
 
 Courtly gracious 143 
 
 Forecasts the way 
 
 That lies before us 150 
 
 The good old message i6g 
 
 Satisfied 186 
 
Let each man wheel with steady sway 
 
 Round the task that rules the day. 
 
 And do his best ! 
 
 —Goethe. 
 
 Moveover, what has been wro't out 
 By past experiences, no doubt— 
 Howsoever different these may be 
 From what you'd figured out to see- 
 Fits every man to fill to-day 
 Some worthy place, in worthy way. 
 An' in that place he'll surely find 
 For work its wages— peace of mind, 
 Contentment, happiness ;— what more 
 Could come with power an' wealth galore? 
 
 —Dad (p. 175). 
 
/(5 lyX.^^ JQ(^y 
 
JOE'S PLACE 
 
 HIS MOTHER'S OWN 
 
 ? Yes, if you'll set down right here, 
 I'll tell you all you care to hear 
 Concernin' Joe. Time an' again 
 I tell it all, — sometimes to men 
 That's been away off track awhile, 
 Sometimes to men of wealth an' style 
 An' learnin' (them indulgin' me 
 My lack of schoolin', — seemin'ly 
 Content to hear it all first hand, 
 Told plain an' simple, understand). 
 
 Joe, he was all the world to me 
 From knickerbocker days, when we 
 Poor helpless creatures was bereft 
 Of her that made Hfe sweet, — him left 
 Here motherless — a widower me. 
 For both 'twas bad as bad could be. 
 'Thout Joe, I'd had no use for life, 
 
14 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 No sperit, sence I'd lost my wife. 
 He was almost too young to know 
 The awful meanin' of the blow, 
 But not too young, of course, to feel; 
 His tender heart was slow to heal. 
 Took all my time to chirp him up 
 An' plan for him. 
 
 My bitter cup 
 (An' bitter 't was!) was meller'd some 
 By workin' for the days to come, — 
 Workin' for him. 
 
 His mother'd had 
 Such great ambitions for the lad! 
 An' at the last her one request 
 Was, that I'd do my level best. 
 To give him all the chance I could, 
 An' teach him to be clean an' good. 
 He'd find his place, she'd use to say, 
 That he was meant to fill, someday. 
 ''A large place" she was sure 'twould be, 
 (So posatif!) — ''you'll see, you'll see!" 
 Say, if you Hke, ''a mother's pride," 
 It comforted her when she died. 
 
 Just risin' seven he was, when he 
 Clum for the first time on my knee. 
 
HIS MOTHER'S OWN 15 
 
 After we'd been an' put away 
 The lovely, silent, precious clay. 
 He'd question me, an' sob, an' cry. 
 An', childlike, wish that he could die. 
 Childlike! — he wa'n't nigh half so bad 
 In that partic'lar as his dad. 
 (For so he always called me — 'Dad,' 
 Sence he was quite a tiny lad.) 
 But I contrived to wear a smile, 
 An' he got lightsome in a while. 
 
 Cute'st little chap! I see him now, 
 Purty an' healthy, curls on's brow. 
 Lissome an' merry, an' his eyes 
 His mother's, — O my heart, such eyest 
 An' we was playmates: me and him 
 Would walk together, fish an' swim, 
 Play ball, an' what not. If my Joe 
 Was glad, 'twas all I cared to know. 
 
l6 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 It little mattered bein' poor; 
 I never seemed to wish for more 
 Till Joe was gettin' quite a lad. 
 He threatened to outstrip his dad 
 In no time, — ^growin' in a night 
 Surprisin' tall; an' smart an' bright. 
 You never see his equal. Sure 
 He 'as not intended to be poor! 
 
 O, often, often, in the night 
 I've got me up an' made a light, 
 An' went to where he laid in bed. 
 An' pushed the curls back on his head, 
 Just Hke I'd seen his mother do 
 So frequent, seekin' somethin' new, — 
 Some kind of sign mark in his face — 
 To help me guide him to ''his place." 
 'T was foolish, mebbe, mebbe weak. 
 But sobs, an' tearmarks on his cheek, 
 An' little cries when he's in bed. 
 An', in his sleep, odd things he said. 
 Would often bring me up to see 
 Was he in trouble, needin' me. 
 Sometimes just bothered with his sums. 
 Like other lads, an' other some 
 The tellin' of his broken dream 
 
HIS MOTHER'S OWN 17 
 
 Would hint of what they was in him; 
 An' I would ast myself if Joe 
 Will prove a genus, don't you know. 
 
 Genus he had, for he could see 
 Things that would not appear to me. 
 In fish, or bird, or growin' thing. 
 He'd note the action of a wing, — 
 Tell you just how a bird can fly, — 
 Show how its tackle works, an' why; 
 Explain on paper. He could draw 
 When he'd the chubbiest baby paw. 
 
 Books got between us some, 'cause he 
 Was more incHned that way than me. 
 Quite young he showed he's liter'y taste, 
 An' read a heap, — no time to waste. 
 (Me, when I was but eight or nine. 
 Was sent to work, in rain or shine. 
 Ten hours a day. Thank God, my Joe 
 Di'nt have to buckle to it so.) 
 But genus did not spoil the lad; 
 Always he'd squarely mind his dad. 
 An' when I could not help him thru 
 With lessons (Grik to me), he knew 
 My heart was in it, 'n he'd let on 
 
i8 
 
 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 To've seen before I could have done. 
 Consid'rate other ways, as well, 
 Was Joe. 
 
 It does me good to tell 
 Of first machine he rigged for me, 
 To do in one day work for three. 
 
 -'Til'' 
 
 — Joe's grasshopper, I named the thing,- 
 Engeniousest clip an' spring! 
 Joe said the insec showed him how! 
 He'd take an idee from a cow. 
 "Work," do you ast? — just this much use 
 Three-doubled what I could perduce. 
 
 Things had been draggin'. I was ill 
 With worry (work don't often kill),— 
 
HIS MOTHER'S OWN 19 
 
 Mostly on Joe's account, you mind, 
 It went right hard to be behind. 
 An* gettin' worse an' worse, you see. 
 But Joe had sense to care for me. 
 "Dad, you aint strong; I'll take a hand. 
 An' study nights." — You understand? 
 What seems his duty he wont shirk : 
 He'll waive his plans an' get to work. 
 Tho both of us had set our hearts 
 On college right away, he starts 
 With hearty will an' buckles down 
 To work all day with me in town. 
 
 Times had been bad, — seemed all was wrong; 
 An' me, as Joe said, I wa'n't strong, — 
 An' broodin'. Well but, here was Joe 
 Determined yet we'll have our show! 
 That new contraption paid his way 
 An' made mine easier day by day. 
 
 Less 'n a year an' he was in 
 
 His Versity. Just bound to win! 
 
II 
 
 OUR CHRISTMASES 
 
 Time flies, an' changes comes along. 
 Things went some easier; I grew strong; 
 An' Lord knows I was proud when Joe 
 Clum up and made our dream a go, 
 Made me quite young again with vim, 
 'S if / was twenty-one, Hke him! 
 
 Christmas was Hke no other time 
 For me an' Joe, — the only time 
 We'd surely be together some. 
 I always loved to see it come! 
 Summer vacations he would work 
 As tutor, farmer's hand, or clerk. 
 Just as chance offered. That way he 
 Inched his road through the Versity. 
 
OUR CHRISTMASES 21 
 
 That way he'd get a change of air 
 An' scene an' so forth, to prepare 
 His body an' his active brain 
 To face his study work again. 
 
 But Christmas he would surely come 
 To spend the days with me at home, 
 An', till he was a boy no more, 
 He'd go, just like he'd used before 
 His mother died, to Sunday School, 
 An' play some part there, as a rule. 
 As merry as the youngest one, — 
 Made it a time of royal fun. 
 
 Now, that was all of church we had 
 Sence he was quite a little lad. 
 Then, we had used to go, us three. 
 Quite reg'lar, — wife an' Joe an' me. 
 (Sung like a bird, she did, an' knew 
 Hymn book an' bible thru and thru.) 
 Sence then, it's all come back to me 
 As plain as anythin' could be : 
 One of the 'messages' she'd heard 
 An' clinched there, was her fav'rite word 
 About the great good place she knew 
 Her little son was makin' to. 
 
22 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Well do I mind, now, how we'd thought 
 To name him Jabez — as we'd ought. 
 
 Read, if you care to see why Joe 
 Should been, an' why was not, named so. 
 — But here, I'm ramblin'. 
 
 Soon I quit 
 Goin' to where we'd used to sit. 
 An' dropped off, seemly unbeknown 
 To folks or preacher; Joe alone 
 Went to his school, as I have said; 
 But churchtime we would go instead, 
 Quite often, to the spot where she 
 Seemed she's expectin' Joe an' me. 
 Felt 's if the solemn quiet there 
 Was tex an' sermon, hymn an' prayer. 
 Seemed like her sperit stayed to see 
 Was Joe quite well an' safe with me. 
 Seemed Hke at last she said "I know 
 My child will find his way; I'll go 
 An' wait in peace for him an' you. 
 God keep you all the journey thru!" 
 
 Sweet benadiction! O my heart, 
 The weariness an' bitter smart 
 That was to come! 
 
OUR CHRISTMASES 23 
 
 Fault me who may, 
 I've meant to lead her boy aright, 
 As if we're always in her sight. 
 But missed some things I'd ought have done. 
 Done some I'd best have left undone, 
 As bible has it. —Yes, oh yes, 
 We'd ought have kep to church, I guess. 
 
 Mebbe I was a lot to blame,— 
 All my excuses weak an' lame, — 
 But— well, I might as well be free 
 An' frank : it always seemed to me 
 That, if you wa'n't just up to style 
 Nobody felt it worth their while 
 To say ''how do?" An' then the talk 
 Was mostly 'way above my chalk. 
 I faulted nob'dy— 't was my loss, 
 My ignorance,— mebbe my 'cross.' 
 
 O well, I kep my cross at home, 
 An', as a rule, when Sunday come, 
 I'd call around at Ida Wills', 
 An' always down by Cowpen Mills 
 Where sister Ellen lived, an' Tom, 
 Her son, an' Harry Penninton 
 (Blind Harry); so it come to be 
 
24 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 They'd fear they's somethin' wrong with me 
 If I should happen not to pay 
 My usial visit on that day. 
 
 Sister, she's sure to need my help 
 Or some advice, for that young whelp 
 My nefify, he'd be in a scrape 
 More or less bad, in some new shape, 
 'Most every time; an' sister, she 
 Would cry, an' tell it all to me. 
 An' I would have to fix things up 
 (Place of a father). Why, the pup 
 'Most wore me out, — his impidence. 
 An' want of ordinary sense. 
 My namesake too! — his mother blind 
 To his worst failins, — always kind 
 An' easy with him. I was glad 
 My own was noway such a lad! 
 
 Whoever'd thought I'd see the day 
 My neffy Tom would preach an' pray! 
 
 Blind Harry was a lift to me, — 
 So cheery always; for you see 
 He was a Chrisht'n thru an' thru. 
 Odd, simple, made no big ado. 
 
OUR CHRISTMASES 25 
 
 But somehow seemed 's if what he said 
 Got in an' filtered thru my head 
 Into my heart an' did me good. 
 Things that I had not understood, 
 Or that was troubHn' me, we'll say, 
 He'd see thru, 'n clear my fogs away. 
 
 Chums ever sence we both was young, 
 I'd known him when he 'as blithe an' strong, 
 With perfect sight an' hmb, — even then 
 The cheeriest an' best of men 
 An' best of friends; but subsequent. 
 It seemed as if his loss was meant 
 T' enrich him! for you never knew 
 One more contented thru an' thru. 
 (Poor lad! — his loco jumped the track. 
 An' threw him — driver — on his back 
 Maimed, blinded; but I'm proud to say 
 Showed up a hero, every way.) 
 
 So, Sunday come an' Sunday go, 
 I must look in on him, you know. 
 
 Then Willses, — 'twould not do at all 
 For me to happen not to call. 
 Say, two three Sundays of an end. 
 
26 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 They reckoned me their nearest friend. 
 Anyway, sence my old friend John 
 Was dead, an' me the only one 
 His widow looked to for advice, 
 I did my best. An' they was nice 
 To my lone little one, — her four. 
 (Oldest was nine or little more 
 When John Wills died.) So I felt bound 
 As well as glad, to drop around. 
 
 Weekdays was full with work ; an' then 
 They's one or other of the men 
 To see sometimes on Sunday too. 
 (Tried to keep track of them, an' do 
 The square thing, sick an' well.) 
 
 An' so 
 Sundays and weekdays come an' go — 
 Till here it's Christmas time once more, 
 As welcome as in years before. 
 An' here's my boy again, an' me 
 Tellin' him things, him tellin' me, 
 Experiences we both had had 
 Since last we met. 
 
 An' now my lad 
 Talks some of mother (she had died 
 Just at that hour of Christmas tide). 
 
OUR CHRISTMASES 27 
 
 He fancied he had seen her face 
 In this an' that an' t'other place, 
 When he was lonesome, or poplext, 
 Or hurt, or wantin' heart, or vexed, — 
 An' how her glance would settle him. 
 An' brighten up what had been dim. 
 This was but fancy, or a dream; 
 Such things is never what they seem. 
 / see her when I see his face, 
 'S if she was settin' in his place. 
 
 Next day or two sees Joe in town. 
 Coat off an' sleeves up, buckled down 
 As if he never'd left the place; — 
 Hands black, an' sweaty, grimy face; 
 Now rule an' pencil, — now unfixin' 
 This an' that tackle, tryin', mixin,' — 
 Same old Joe! — a bran new notion, 
 Changin' power an' scope an' motion. 
 "It works. Dad, — see!" My eyes was wet. 
 His notion did work — does work yet! 
 
 'Twas quite a while before I knew 
 How long 't had took to put that thru. 
 While other lads was playin' ball 
 Or idlin' other ways, or all 
 
28 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Snug in their beds, he'd dremp an' writ, 
 Measured an' reckoned, plannin' it, 
 Up in his lonely study room. 
 'Twas almost done when he come home. 
 
 His genus served the Versity, 
 
 An' helped him farther on his way: 
 
 Some micascope, I understand, 
 
 Fixed for a livin' speciman. 
 
 / can't explain; but I was told 
 
 That thing was worth its weight in gold. 
 
 So said Perfessors; an' my Joe 
 
 Was treated han'some — that I know. 
 
 Genus Hke he had, seems to me, 
 Told plainly what his place should be. 
 
Ill 
 
 FOR FORTUNE AN' A WIFE 
 
 In little while I kind of see 
 
 Some change in Joe that puzzled me. 
 
 Not pride exactly, but I — Well, 
 
 Different, in ways I could not tell. 
 
 Just seemed to me hke somethin' said : 
 
 'The boy .you once had — Joe — he's dead." 
 
 That's just the way it felt, you see. 
 
 An' yet, the lad was kind to me. 
 
 He never tripped a word I said, 
 
 Nor laughed at me; but my dum head 
 
 Fair spHt with sense of ignorance. 
 
 You see / never 'd half a chance. 
 
 An' Joe, — his words, his voice, his face. 
 
 They all showed up a scholar's grace; 
 
 Not Hke a rough mechanic's lad; 
 
 While me — I blushed to own his dad! 
 
30 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Poor fool I was! I'd ought have known 
 My Joe was now a man full grown, 
 An' filled with plans an' hopes an' things 
 As fitted to him just like wings. 
 Joe he was made to rise and soar! 
 Me, — I was made for small an' poor. 
 
 That summer Joe spent quite a time 
 'Way with a college chum named Lyme, 
 Up New York State, — a rich man's son. 
 He writ of times with rod an' gun, 
 Horses an' dogs, an' lots of sport 
 Of quite aristocratic sort. 
 Stirred my vain heart a bit to know 
 My son could take his pleasures so; 
 Tho I 'as a little hurt, you guess, 
 To feel the old ties growin' less. 
 But he'd his "place" to find, you know. 
 Seemed wrong to grudge to see him go. 
 
 That Christmas passed without my lad! 
 I never'd missed him half so bad; 
 'N his letters did not make quite plain 
 The obsticle, nor ease my pain. 
 Uneasy — not, I'd have you know, 
 Because of any doubts of Joe. 
 
FOR FORTUNE AN' A WIFE 31 
 
 But never 'd felt so lost before 
 In fourteen fifteen years or more; 
 Had never yearned so for the lad; 
 Yet his few letters made me glad. 
 His mother would have scorned my tears 
 An' rediculed me for my fears. 
 
 But Christmas next we sits alone — 
 Just me an' Joe, — an' one by one 
 The old fermiliar things was said. 
 We grudged to quit an' get to bed. 
 
 I ast him did he ever see 
 His mother's face now. "Yes," said he, 
 "An', Dad, I hope I always will. 
 She come," said he, "when I was ill." 
 "When you was i//f" I says, "why, lad, 
 You ill, an' did not send for dad? 
 Tell me!" An' then he told me all 
 About his illness, year last Fall. 
 
 O, I could understand it, now; 
 'Twas worry broke him, — I know how. 
 Worry it was! — say menengeetis 
 Or what-on-earth its doctor name is, — 
 Worry! — all sintoms plain to see; 
 
32 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 I know just how it is with me. 
 
 Not work nor study. When he won 
 
 His A an' B (or whatsomever 
 
 'Nitials used to stand for clever) 
 
 He kep his grip. 'Twas different now; 
 
 He 'as worried mad, not wore out, now. 
 
 That was a tryin' time, 'cause he 
 
 Planned soon to leave the Versity, 
 
 An' what to do an' where to go 
 
 When that time comes, was puzzlin' Joe. 
 
 So, castin' out for future plans 
 
 When study would be off his hands, — 
 
 When he's the bustlin' world to face, 
 
 An must begin to seek his place, — 
 
 His old perclivities was shown. 
 
 An', in the night, when he's alone. 
 
 Some new contraption filled his head. 
 
 With money in it, — as Lyme said. 
 
 — For Joe, he's bound to tell his chum 
 
 The whole thing, when he should been mum. 
 
 An' Charlie — model of his dad! — 
 
 Just takes possession of my lad. 
 
 Totes him that summer up New York. 
 
 Thru holidays he's hard at work 
 
 About as usial, most the time. 
 
FOR FORTUNE AN' A WIFE 33 
 
 'Cause it just suited old man Lyme 
 To work Joe's enginuity 
 For his own benefit, you see. 
 Drives him to town to see his mills; 
 Dines him at club, with wine an' frills; 
 Fills his poor head with millions, — see? 
 He should be rich as Gould if he 
 Could work clean out the scheme he said 
 Was takin' shape now in his head. 
 Talked fair an' fine enough, of course, 
 An' — makin' matters ten times worse — 
 Lets on to favor all the time 
 Joe's makin' up to Annie Lyme. 
 So he, as trustful as a child, 
 Was worked an' easily beguiled. 
 Into the effort of his life 
 For fortune, — fortune an' a wife! 
 
 O yes, the wrong stands out quite plain; 
 Her father played the girl for gain! 
 
 But mark you, genwine love was there, 
 Right from first meetin' of the pair. 
 An' love, I make no doubt, inspired 
 The dream with which his soul was fired. 
 Key'd up to fix that dream, an' bent 
 
34 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 On winnin' Annie, — too intent 
 On that to think of rest or play — 
 He works continious, — usial way. 
 
 All this come to me afterwards, 
 Patched out of various acts an' words, 
 An' this an' that, as plain to me 
 As if I had been by to see. 
 
 I wisht he'd talked with me, poor lad; 
 His secrets would been safe with dad. 
 But — ^^there you are! my dunder head 
 Could not respond to what he'd said: 
 An' so a smarter man than me, 
 Who'd make pertense of sympathy 
 Could draw him out an' plum his head, 
 An' mint out every word he said! 
 / could not talk of influence 
 Nor lay down cash to meet expense 
 Of demonstratin', patentin', 
 Incorporatin', marketin', 
 An' so forth. 
 
 But mebbe I could 
 Have warned an' counselled for his good, 
 If only I'd been made aware 
 Of how they lived while he's up there. 
 
FOR FORTUNE AN' A WIFE 35 
 
 O weary heart! Who'd dremp to see 
 Such troubles come to Joe and me! 
 
 Back to his books, wore out, instead 
 Of brown and brawny, his poor head 
 Full of the work he'd yet to do 
 To put that Lyme contraption thru. 
 Now in his study room he struck 
 At last what should have been his luck! — 
 What was good luck to Richard Lyme, — 
 Three-folds his wealth in two years' time. 
 Specifacations was complete, 
 All paten' drawins fixed up neat, 
 His lessons — everythin' was done! 
 That one night's rest was surely won, 
 When Joe went, glad an' proud, to bed. 
 — Next day at noon he's off his head! 
 
 'Tis but a simple tale to tell 
 How Joe was ruined, — how he fell. 
 
 Ah Joe, my lad! The years be long. 
 But still that memory rises strong; — 
 The cruelty, the wrong, the shame! 
 Were 't not for her, I'd curse the name! 
 — ^Forgive me, no! I lay no curse. 
 
36 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 He wronged you; my wrong would be worse. 
 When Richard Lyme has had his day 
 / don't apportion him his pay. 
 
 Joe tried to think 't was all a dream, — 
 Apiece with his dilerium, — 
 Drawins an' writins; — anyway, 
 They all had vanished that dark day; 
 An' not a soul but Charlie Lyme 
 Knew Joe's employments at the time. 
 
 We'll say no evil of the dead; 
 Mostly such things is best unsaid. 
 
 The whole affair was plain to me : 
 
 My lad was deep in love, you see, 
 
 An' Charlie, on that fatal day 
 
 (True, he's in liquor), dared to say 
 
 The old man's favor was a blind; 
 
 His daughter was for no such kind! 
 
 He sort of paternized, an' said 
 
 He'd hate to see Joe lose his head; 
 
 He'd best not take too serously 
 
 What might have passed 'tween her an' he. 
 
 In fact she was to marry, soon. 
 
 One of their own set, George Calhoun. 
 
FOR FORTUNE AN' A WIFE 37 
 
 This double blow, I make no doubt, 
 Crushed an' completely knocked him out. 
 Proud, sensatif,— his mother's own! 
 Manly an' honest to the bone. 
 Wretches an' fools! they'd ought to know 
 He 'as worth a miUion Lymes, was Joe ! 
 
 An' Cha But that is best unsaid. 
 
 We'll say no evil of the dead. 
 
IV 
 
 BLACKNESS AN' TROUBLE 
 
 Oh, if the trouble'd ended there! — 
 My Joe once more in his old chair, 
 Talkin' with all his old-time vim 
 To me — me proud to look at him! 
 Just work, an' hope, an' daily bread, 
 An' humble notions in his head; 
 Just inchin' t'wards a compatence, 
 An' readin' some -an' gainin' sense, — 
 That would have been enough for me. 
 In way of riches, don't you see? 
 No Versity, no rich folks schemin'. 
 To poison all his happy dreamin', 
 No taste for liquor! — 
 
 O my lad. 
 My lad, my lost an' ruined lad! 
 They aint a price I would not pay 
 
BLACKNESS AN' TROUBLE 39 
 
 To wash some memories away. 
 I've ast myself a thousand times 
 If I was more to blame than Lymes. 
 Joe never 's seen me worse for drink, 
 Nor enter a saloon, I think. 
 But neither did I warn the lad, 
 To save him, as behooved his dad. 
 Sometimes I've wondered did the crime 
 Lay upon me as much as Lyme! 
 
 Blame be as may, my pride was gone. 
 
 My hopes, my plans an' dreams was done. 
 
 Blackness and trouble fronted me; 
 
 No gleam of comfort could I see. 
 
 His mother — she would have been brave. 
 
 But me, — I envied her her grave! 
 
 Thinkin' of her, I've wondered some 
 
 If ever nowadays she come 
 
 To seek our boy, — to show her face. 
 
 An' help him in a tryin' place. 
 
 Like she had used (or so he thought), — 
 
 If she was near by when I sought 
 
 In loathsome dens an' bars an' slums, 
 
 Among the drunks an' beats an' bums. 
 
 O mercy heaven! how foul an' low 
 
40 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 The devil drink had made our Joe! 
 For tho I'd aged five years for one 
 He looked too old to be my son. 
 He 'as scarred an' battered, thin an' weak,. 
 Deep-eyed, with seamed an' sunken cheek. 
 
 What would a mother's eyes have read 
 In that drawn face, in which, instead 
 Of the old grace — ? Ah yes, I know: 
 She would have seen just only Joe! 
 
 So I would brace me up again. 
 
 An' try to smother down the pain. 
 
 Do my day's work as best I could 
 
 (My business now was none too good). 
 
 An' then, if Joe was not in sight, 
 
 I'd make my rounds an' pa:s the night 
 
 In quest of him. 
 
 An' now an' then 
 He'd seem he was a man a£*"ain. 
 Would wrassle hard to beat his foe, 
 But always, always lost his throw. 
 
 Such times he'd come an' work with me^ 
 Down to the shop, an' I would be 
 Almost at peace, — as if old Lyme 
 
BLACKNESS AN' TROUBLE 41 
 
 An' all that black and weary time 
 Had been a dream. But such relief 
 Always forecasted deeper grief. 
 Always, when my poor heart was high, 
 The same old tale — my bird would fly! 
 One mornin' when I reached the shop 
 The door stood open, an' a cop, — 
 Big brutal dog ! — ast "This thing yo'rn ?" 
 Holdin' by 's waistband somethin' shorn 
 Of every semblance of a man. 
 'Twas Joe! — imagine, if you can. 
 'This thing f — the hardest, meanest yet. 
 Long as I live I can't forget. 
 Shop stripped of almost every tool; 
 They called my lad a thief, — a fool ! 
 
 Day after he was called a 'thing' 
 An' worse, again my bird took wing. 
 No, — yes, — we'll let the figure be : 
 Bird or what else you will; — to me 
 He wa'n't so vile as you might think. 
 As good as gold when not in drink. 
 I've often laid him on my bed 
 Thinkin' (an' almost wished) him dead; 
 But now, as days an' weeks crep on, 
 I yearned for my poor wayward one, 
 
42 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Nights I would shake with awful dread 
 Till I 'as too weak to leave my bed. 
 Almost I craved the smell of rum 
 To tell me that my lad was come. 
 
 Days run to weeks an' months, an' still 
 No Joe! — me goin' fast downhill; 
 Sick, famished, nought but skin an' bone; 
 More yet to suffer than I'd known, 
 Or could have dreamed. 
 
 But now I see 
 Why all this trouble come to me! 
 I see it now, as plain as day: 
 Our schoolin' had to come that way: 
 That way we had to seek his place 
 For Joe, — thru pain and black disgrace! 
 
HOW OTHERS FARE 
 
 When I was huntin' here and yon 
 For traces of my wanderin' one, 
 My road, I found, crossed many a track 
 As devious, — cases quite as black. 
 How true it is: we don't half know 
 How one another lives. No no, — 
 Nor how they die, you well might say. 
 Some toil an' moil from day to day 
 For just enough to crawl on, 'n then 
 Spend weary nights in haunts where men 
 Turn into brutes or worse, in quest 
 Of them they care for more than rest; 
 Seekin' where they most dread to find, 
 In holes unlike for human kind, 
 
44 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Only to die unblest! — unknown 
 Their martyrdom, unheard their groan, 
 Untold their griefs, as down they sink 
 Into their graves. O \ do think 
 It would be better did we care 
 To see an' feel how others fare, — 
 To be at greater pains to know 
 Each other truer someways, so 
 As when they's trouble, accident. 
 An' what not, all our good intent 
 (Of which we've most of us a share) 
 Could bring its exercise to bear. 
 
 Did seem to me, when I 'as around 
 In dens of vice like underground, 
 As if the very loathsome reek 
 Was meant, in its own way, to speak! 
 Seem 's if 'twere cryin' out again 
 The question that was put to Cain, — 
 As if 'twere bound to make you know 
 How near to hell your kin does go. 
 An' what a raft of people bear 
 Great loads like yours of gnawin' care. 
 
 My Sunday afternoons was come 
 To see me trip from home to home 
 
HOW OTHERS FARE 45 
 
 Of Stricken souls I'd come to know 
 In places where I looked for Joe. 
 Men loaded down like me, — at times 
 Like me uplifted too, — at times 
 Fain to believe their troubles o'er, — • 
 Their lads returned to stray no more; 
 An' then, like me, in deeper gloom; 
 No release from their awful doom. 
 An' mothers, sisters, wives — O heart! 
 That this should be a woman's part! 
 
 Why do I harp on this? Because, 
 When awful death had set its claws 
 In me, an' I was almost gone 
 I owed my life to such a one. 
 Owed all to her that mine an' me 
 Has been permitted sence to see : 
 A woman I had come to know 
 That had a lad to seek like Joe. 
 (Like Joe he seemed to her, mebbe; 
 He seemed a wastrel cur to me; 
 No head like Joe's — but still her own.) 
 I owed my life to her alone. 
 
 Stricken (my memory fails) somehow. 
 An' lyin' there among the low, — 
 
46 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Among the lowest! — every breath 
 More labored than my last, an' death 
 Close by; my mind on Potter's field; 
 One prayer for Joe before I'd yield; 
 An' then — an' then this woman's voice 
 Bids my old heart revive, rejoice! 
 (Not just in words, — that's what she meant). 
 She was an angel God had sent! 
 
 * 
 She slipped away, sometime ago. 
 From all her weary hopeless woe, 
 Unsatisfied, — but comforted 
 By what a sim'lar sufferer said. 
 In homely fashion, simple speech, — 
 Some things he knew (been hard to teach) 
 About the good Lord's will an' way. 
 That He'll make plain an' clear, some day, — 
 About His promise of release 
 From care an' pain, — of perfect peace. 
 An' t'wards the end she brightened so 
 'Twas plain she felt content to go. 
 Joy shone where they'd been signs of pain. 
 As if she'd found her boy again. 
 
 All unbeknown to church for years, 
 She'd been babtized in floods of tears. 
 
HOIV OTHERS FARE 
 
 47 
 
 Her grave was consecrated ground, 
 No matter where it may be found. 
 
 I like to think the good Lord knows 
 An' writes an epitaft that shows 
 Just how He classes her, up there, 
 An' what He thinks of such as her. 
 
VI 
 
 THREE COMFORTERS 
 
 Now strangers come to wait on me, 
 An' prove how Chrisht'n they could be. 
 No sham nor cant in what they said. 
 An' I was tended, housed an' fed — 
 By Providence! That's all I knew 
 Till I was fairly pullin' thru. 
 
 Memory was dull. I rested me, 
 Unknowin' where I chanced to be, 
 Nor carin' — till I thought of Joe. 
 Then, all my weary whirl of woe 
 Come surgin' in! I would have lep 
 From bed, but fell back limp, an' wep! 
 
THREE COMFORTERS 49 
 
 Too weak to fairly raise my head; 
 Too sore to turn myself in bed. 
 
 Soft hands and gentle bathed my face; 
 Peacefullest quiet filled the place; 
 White walls, with scripture tex an' things; 
 Music sometimes, — when angels wings 
 Would seem to beat the sunlit air 
 (Almost I'd see them, bright an' fair); 
 'Twas heaven — until I thought of Joe. 
 Then, I must up an' off, you know. 
 
 Poor me! my trampin' days was done. 
 
 But other eyes would seek my son, 
 
 An' livelier wit an' suppler limb 
 
 Would go about in quest of him. 
 
 'Twas all arranged by Providence! 
 
 I've never quailed nor doubted sence. 
 
 So wonderful! — up from the slum 
 
 (I 'as goin' to say to Kindom-come) 
 
 From where I'd almost quit my clay, 
 
 This woman had me borne away 
 
 To hospital. Here who'd I see 
 
 But nefify Tom! — him easin' me. 
 
 (Bruised, don't you know — an' awful wreck!) 
 
 My neffy's arm about my neck! 
 
50 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 His voice I knew, his noble brow, 
 My sister's lad — a reverend now! 
 
 Tom's mother, she was gone, you see. 
 
 Tom said he'd no one now but me; — 
 
 Me! — that had always wigged him so! — 
 
 Always contrastin' him with Joe! 
 
 Give me the duty of a son, — 
 
 All that my own boy should have done. 
 
 Thanked me (I see him now), 
 
 When I was lyin' dreadful low 
 
 An' all expectin' me to die. 
 
 Dear me, but how the man did cry! 
 
 — Thanked me : I'd made him all he was 
 
 (Redic'lous!) — I was all the cause 
 
 Of whatsoever good he'd done 
 
 An' whatsoever fights he'd won, 
 
 An' so forth. — All sencere enough, 
 
 But really only foolish stuff. 
 
 Anyway, he was come to be 
 
 From that time on, a son to me. 
 
 My friend bHnd Harry Penninton 
 Come, when he had a chance, for one. 
 'Twas his vi'lin brought angels round; 
 When sense revived I knew the sound — 
 
THREE COMFORTERS 51 
 
 Knew what had swished the angel's wing. 
 'Twas his vi'Hn that used to sing! 
 
 But gentler than his magic bow 
 His whispered comfort, soft an' low. 
 Strange knack he had of quotin' tex 
 To simplify what might poplex; 
 To soothe, to sta}^, to clear your sight, 
 An' help you read experience right. 
 At times quite merry, — ap to say 
 'T see, I see!" — his playful way. 
 An' droll. He would diagonize 
 A body's trouble, lookin' wise. 
 As **worryalgy," an' perscribe 
 With humor I can ill describe. 
 Diagonized all right, for sure. 
 An' did his best to work my cure. 
 
 "Worry is woeful waste; it drains 
 Your strenth, an' aggrevates your pains 
 In brain an' body. When you're done 
 You've made a loss — they's nothin' won. 
 If this old book (he'd say) is true, 
 It's full of good for me an' you. 
 They prize it an' they prove it best 
 That use it like a medicine chest. 
 
52 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Equipped to heal, to soothe your pain, 
 To strenthen, stimilate, sustain. 
 An' so forth, — not to parrot out 
 In churches, merely, — not to spout 
 In high-falutin' sing-song way, 
 Just when you meet to sing an' pray; 
 But 'specially when you're worried — then 
 It helps. I've tried it time again." 
 
 Seemed loss of sight enlarged his view; 
 Old things for him was changed to new. 
 No preacher could have lived like one 
 More true than Harry Penninton. 
 
 One other — welcome as the day, — 
 
 A fair young thing — would come an' stay 
 
 An' read for me; an' once, I know, 
 
 She prayed the Lord to send back Joe, 
 
 "Clothed an' restored, in heart an' mind. 
 
 Send home his son — Lord be so kind!" 
 
 — Like that, you know. Her words took wing! 
 
 They had the genwine honest ring! 
 
 I liked to touch her purty head. 
 
 Her face brought back to me my dead. 
 
 Seemed like she knew what heartache was, 
 
THREE COMFORTERS 53 
 
 An' knew of mine, an' knew the cause. 
 I growed to love the ground she trod. 
 She learnt me how to rest in God. 
 
 I shall not soon forget the time 
 She told me she was Annie Lyme! 
 
VII 
 
 NO JOE IN SIGHT 
 
 Soon I was moved to my old home. 
 I wished it so, lest Joe should come, 
 An', missin' me, be gone for good 
 (As come at last I felt he would), 
 For all the while my heart kep sore, — 
 Yearned for my own lad more an' more. 
 
 Deft hands an' kindly set my bed 
 Right in the parlor, so's my head 
 Could easy turn to watch the street. 
 An' so's my ears could tell the feet 
 I waited for, if he should come. 
 They furnished up the parlor some, 
 (My neffy and Miss Annie Lyme 
 Seemed they was fixin' all the time) 
 
NO JOE IN SIGHT 55 
 
 Till I 'as almost afraid if Joe 
 
 Did happen in, he'd hardly know 
 
 'Twas our old home. — An' then they quit. 
 
 Indeed, they changed it back a bit; — 
 
 Anxious, like me, to see the lad. 
 
 An' awful mindful of his dad! 
 
 Them an' blind Harry tended me, 
 One an' another constantly, — 
 Doctor an' nurse as well. Did seem 
 Sometimes as if 'twas all a dream! 
 Sometimes I'd drift like, heedin' nought 
 That happened near me, — all my thought 
 An' fancy far an' far away. 
 As if I never'd known a day 
 Of care an' trouble, — like if me 
 An' Joe was boys again, you see. 
 
 Harry, he made his home here now 
 (Widowed, Hke me); it seemed somehow 
 The naturallest fittest plan, — 
 He 'as such a brother sort of man. 
 His sperit was a show to see: 
 Riz up an' down along with me; 
 Me better, he'd look bright an' fine; 
 Me down again, he'd fret an' pine. 
 
56 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 When he's allowed, he'd sing an' play- 
 Flute or vi'Hn; another day 
 He'd mope round, silent, list'nin' out. 
 Sharp ears he had, without a doubt. 
 I happened more than once to see 
 A queer look in his face when he 
 Was list'nin' out. Before 'twas day 
 One morn I heard him softly say 
 ''Joe! — is that you, boy?" You may know 
 I 'as up an' peerin' out for Joe 
 In no time ! — Harry sore put out 
 T' have waked me up, — to hear me shout 
 What he'd spoke soft: "Is that my lad?" 
 — Lights up! No Joe in sight! Poor dad! 
 
 He 'as awful troubled, Harry was 
 An' told the doctor he's the cause 
 Of all my setbacks; — vowed he'd be 
 More careful not to startle me 
 With idle fancies in the night ; 
 Pleads for excuse his want of sight. 
 As well might pled his love for me! 
 Not blameable at all, you see. 
 
 That same thing happened once again, 
 Exceptin' that, to spare him pain, 
 
NO JOE IN SIGHT 57 
 
 I held my silly tongue; but — sweat! 
 I feel the smothered anguish yet! 
 
 Once more a false alarm! He showed 
 His pain, but did not guess I knowed. 
 / fancied they's a smell of rum. — 
 This time was sure my boy had come! 
 Could not explain; I dare not speak; 
 Fretted again till fevered, weak; 
 Anxious an' puzzled some; — of course 
 Such troubles bound to make me worse. 
 Day long, I'd strain my eyes to see 
 'Way down the street, perchance they'd be 
 Some sign of Joe, — nights list'nin' out 
 Like Harry, — sure the lad 's about. 
 
 But days run into weeks again. 
 An' me, now quite relieved of pain, 
 I start once more to cast about 
 An' plan for gettin' up an' out. 
 Felt like an old one now, but still 
 Eager to check my run downhill; 
 BeUevin' yet Fd see the day 
 For which Fd learnt to hope an' pray. 
 — Believin', tho' I had not heard 
 For months of Joe a single word. 
 
58 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 — Hoped on, an' prayed that by the grace 
 Of Heaven my lad would reach his place. 
 
 Queer tho' it seem, I come to think 
 He'd gained the upper hand of drink, 
 An' would be heard of, some fine day. 
 Just as this girl of ours would pray; 
 "Clothed an' restored in heart an' mind;'^ 
 I thought the Lord would ''be so kind." 
 
 My reverend nefify Tom kep on 
 The lookout for my wanderin' one. 
 In likely an' unUkely place. 
 He longed, like me, to see his face. 
 
 Last time he'd seen him, all was well. 
 
 Tom, he'd a pleasant tale to tell. 
 
 An' cheery messages for me 
 
 When he come home. He'd chanced to be 
 
 One of a set of men that goes 
 
 To represent his school at Joe's, 
 
 In some contention. Anyway, 
 
 He'd spent up there a pleasant day 
 
 There — with my lad an' Annie Lyme 
 
 An' CharHe, — 'd bad a pleasant time. 
 
 My lad was lightsome as could be, 
 
NO JOE IN SIGHT 59 
 
 Full of the happy times that he 
 An' Annie hoped so soon to share; 
 No shade of fear, no trace of care ! 
 
 Now, we must seek him high an' low 
 As sayin' is — but mostly low. 
 An' Sundays we would go where men 
 Like Joe is helped to rise again, — 
 Where they's a show of human care 
 For common needs, as well as prayer. 
 
 I 1 ■ 1 ^ 
 
 Raw Sunday mornins, on the street 
 You'll see a line of men, — some neat, 
 Some otherwise, all down at heel. 
 An' some that evidently feel 
 Ashamed to be in such a strait — 
 All waitin' for an iron gate 
 To open to a buildin' where 
 They's rest and warmth an' simple fare. 
 (How often have I scanned that line 
 In vain quest of this lad of mine!) 
 
6o JOE'S PLACE 
 
 I reckon that's the Master's way, 
 For Sundays or for any day, — 
 While lookin' t'wards the speritual 
 To mind Hke men the physical. 
 
 An' what if they is waste? You know 
 The Lord of nature works just so; 
 He scatters seed an' sends His rain 
 Where He don't look to reap a grain. 
 So we had better (seems to me) 
 Use just such prodigality 
 Than fail of service where they's one 
 Among these men that may be won. 
 For one may mean a family spared 
 Untold distress; one's gain is shared 
 Sometimes by hosts in after years; 
 One saved means dryin' many's tears. 
 An' if that one be yours — oh, then 
 'Twere cheap to feed a thousand men. 
 Yours won from vicious errin' ways 
 To good? — you can't compute! It pays. 
 
 One such a place come soon to be 
 Of special interest to me. 
 
VIII 
 
 THE CHURCH OF THE PARABLER 
 
 Just figure out an old time church; 
 Pews, gallery, — regular big old church — 
 Filled end to side with seedy men. 
 Some lately loosed from prison pen, 
 Some fresh from hospital, where they 
 Have laid and suffered many a day 
 Thru their own fault, we'll say, an' some 
 More numerous than you'd think, that's come 
 To trouble thru another's sin, — 
 Flung off now, like an orange skin. 
 (That other mebbe clum to wealth 
 An' "name" an' "honor," by his stealth, — 
 God knows!) 
 
 — Scarred faces, weak an' strong, 
 
62 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Old men an' middle-aged an' young; 
 
 Good faces, intellectial, sad; 
 
 Not all nor nearly all is bad; 
 
 But seedy, pitiful an' poor. 
 
 Humbugs an' frauds among 'em, sure; 
 
 Hard cases, wicked, vicious, mean, — 
 
 As various as you ever've seen; 
 
 With here an' there, could you but know, 
 
 A lad almost as rare as Joe, — 
 
 Talented, schooled, an' meant to grace 
 
 Good homes, an' happy useful place. 
 
 They's every nationality; 
 
 Some that was once fine quality, — 
 
 Four-hundred style — high steppin' men; 
 
 Some hopin' yet to rise again. 
 
 Some zvill, in fact (God pity these!) 
 
 Get back to lives of vicious ease. 
 
 One here an' there will be restored 
 
 To them whose blindin' tears has poured. 
 
 Thru weary waitin' nights an' days, 
 
 While he was treadin' devious ways 
 
 Too vile to tell of. 
 
 Here they'll come. 
 These weepin' ones — from palace home. 
 Rich folks an' high, as well as plain, — 
 Anxious to find their lost again; 
 
THE CHURCH OF THE PARABLER 63 
 
 An' peerin' o'er this brown-hued throng, 
 They'll seek the face for which they long. 
 Strange tales you'll hear, how now an' then 
 These find their lost among the men; 
 But oftener these have tasks to learn, 
 As well as them for whom they yearn. 
 
 One gentle mother, sable-clad, 
 Gracious, refined, an' awful sad. 
 Come here upon the usial quest 
 One Sunday night, when, sore distrest, 
 She starts to see — no! not her son: 
 Some other mother's wanderin' one. 
 Sinks back, despairin' an' distraught, 
 'Cause here was not the lad she sought. 
 An' then her mother heart would rise. 
 An' tears fill up her sunken eyes; — 
 *'Not mine, but whose? — God pity her I 
 My lot is hers — God pity her!" 
 So — she'd have learnt her lesson! — See? 
 When next she sought her boy, mebbe 
 She'd find him, such a one as this. 
 Dirty an' ragged, but fit to kiss! 
 
 Poor mother! likely her an' me 
 Was needin' discipline, you see. 
 
64 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 First time I looked upon this host 
 Of broken men, I 'as crushed, almost, 
 An' bHndin' tears obscured my sight. 
 I could not sleep a wink that night. 
 
 My lad was all the world to me; 
 But here before me, don't you see, 
 Was hundreds — hundreds — wobegone ! 
 How could I think of only one? 
 All this intensified my woe; 
 I prayed for these, an' looked for Joe. 
 What could I do beside? 
 
 Tom here 
 Could offer words of help an' cheer, 
 An' counsel them; — a preacher's part; 
 But me — altho' it's in my heart 
 To spend myself for them an' Joe — 
 I'm powerless, 'n it hurt me so! 
 They's call for special gift indeed 
 To meet an' serve such various need. 
 
 Tom, he's affective, 'cause he knew 
 An' felt his message, thru an' thru, 
 Account of Joe. An' I was glad 
 To think our troubles made the lad 
 A better preacher everyway. 
 
THE CHURCH OF THE PAR ABLER 65 
 
 I loved to hear him preach an' pray! 
 He plainly felt the thing he said; 
 They's heart-stuff in it — more than head. 
 
 Here in my corner, unobserved, 
 Sometime back, while the food was served, 
 I questioned Mr. (whatchercall — 
 The Super'ntendent) if these all 
 Had come to want because of drink? 
 "Not all," he said: ''you'd hardly think 
 How many here is temp'rate men. 
 Indeed we find one now an' then 
 That never's known the taste of drink. 
 Some worthier fellows than you'd think, 
 Is only temporary down, — 
 Spent up, an' not a friend in town 
 To turn to. One right there has sent 
 With cheery words his last red cent 
 To wife an' children home, — his fight 
 An' pinch nigh over, — work in sight. 
 
 Some doubtless has done wrong, some way, 
 
 An' will be sadly missed to-day 
 
 In darkened homes — now home no more, — 
 
 Their refuge mebbe never more! 
 
 Hearts sore an' heavy; easy prey 
 
66 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 To crim'nal makers, we may say, 
 
 Or liquor men. A friend indeed. 
 
 In this their time of desprit need, 
 
 May find these willin' to be led 
 
 Back to an upward road, instead 
 
 Of goin' on an' on downhill. 
 
 Just now they feel they've had their fill 
 
 Of heartache, sin, defeat, disgrace. 
 
 Crime not yet graven in their face. 
 
 Nor heart grown callous. Lost their grip 
 
 An' made somehow one awful slip. 
 
 Scale now will turn for up or down, — 
 
 For good or bad, for land or — drown! — 
 
 Accordin' as they're wrought upon 
 
 By vicious or by goodly one. 
 
 Tough cases we've a plenty too, 
 
 That sneers at what we say an' do. 
 
 Some that was nicely kep in youth 
 
 An' learned in decent homes the truth 
 
 They spurn now. Thread would held them then 
 
 Now, ropes won't draw them back again. 
 
 But mostly drink is cause; not all 
 Excuseless, neither. Many a fall 
 Dates from a time when business strain 
 
THE CHURCH OF THE PAR ABLER 67 
 
 Led to the druggin' of a brain 
 
 That needed only rest, we'll say, 
 
 But had to drive on, anyway. 
 
 An' what the doctor would perscribe 
 
 For special use, they would imbibe 
 
 For frequent similar use, until 
 
 They've lost fair names an' run downhill 
 
 By quick or slow degrees to this. 
 
 These have not meant to do amiss 
 
 To family, self, or fellow men. 
 
 An' only see their error when 
 
 It was too late. Now here they sit. 
 
 Just wrecks of men. By bit an' bit 
 
 All that life held for them — fair fame 
 
 An' self respect an' honored name, 
 
 Good hopes, — all's gone; nought left to hold 
 
 Their interest; now they're too old 
 
 In wear if not in years, to rise; 
 
 An' by an' by they'll close their eyes 
 
 Among unknowin' strangers, known 
 
 For what they was, to Heaven alone. 
 
 Most sad among the tales we hear 
 From self-accusin' men in here. 
 Is of domestic discontent, 
 
68 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 That's ended in a fearful rent 
 Of marriage lines, — quite often due 
 To what is, in the common view, 
 Their failure, — unsuccess in life. 
 Home blighted with domestic strife. 
 Vain struggle, endin' in dispair, 
 With drink to drown it. Here an' there 
 Is one success has ruined, — shorn 
 Of manhood, home-love, overborne 
 With pride an' greed, until at last 
 Tide turns an' leaves him wreck, outcast. 
 
 Tell me, what is success in Hfe? 
 
 Down there's a man I know, whose wife 
 Had plodded by her husband's side 
 An' shared his lot for years with pride, 
 Till she a-sudden come to see 
 A neighbor, that she'd used to be 
 On quite fermiliar terms with, now 
 Bestows a condescendin' bow, — 
 Whose husband's clum to wealth an' state, 
 While her man goes the same old gait. 
 Her man to blame, we'll say; but still 
 They'd better kep their way downhill 
 In peace together, fair content 
 
THE CHURCH OF THE PAR ABLER 69 
 
 With what of fortune God had sent, 
 
 Instead, she grew morose, an' nagged. 
 
 An' 'stead of quicker gait, he lagged. 
 
 — Not built for social style, not he. 
 
 An' like as not, no more was she! 
 
 New schemes agreed on, all went wrong; 
 
 Mishaps an' losses come along; 
 
 Then they's recrimination, her 
 
 Accusin' him, him blamin' her; 
 
 No peace, no give, as once they could. 
 
 Now, happiness aint in the wood 
 
 When she's as firm an' sot as he. 
 
 An' him as obstinit as she. 
 
 They used to be a happy pair. 
 
 But now, — well, see him now, down there! 
 
 Bad tho her husband's failure is. 
 
 Wife makes one quite as bad as his, 
 
 When, castin' wifely grace, you mind. 
 
 She grows unlovely, money-blind. 
 
 They's quite a many cases where 
 The double yoke's been hard to bear. 
 But far away most frequent case. 
 He's clum to some important place 
 Or struck a splendid show of ile 
 Only to lose again, — meanwhile 
 
70 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Has lost his head, his moral grip, 
 An' let both love an' mem'ry slip. 
 
 This mammon fever, I should say, 
 
 i Is second deadhest ill to-day. 
 
 i All classes tainted — rich an' poor; 
 
 ! Even richest craves a million more. 
 An' puts their soul in balance. Oh 
 The folly ! an' the price in woe ! 
 
 I might run on an' on to show 
 That here's a perfect sea of woe. 
 Drink? Yes; but often back of drink 
 They's causes to be found, I think. 
 
 Here often you may find a case 
 Of one that's come from lofty place 
 In church. Mebbe base metal they, — 
 Or still in crucible, we'll say. 
 Here's one — dear soul! — that used to be 
 A 'pillar' in his church, when he 
 Was in his prime an' well-to-do, — 
 Trustee an' what not; had his pew 
 Nigh midways of the middle aisle, 
 Among the choicest, — cost a pile 
 (Plan in church vestible will show 
 
THE CHURCH OF THE PAR ABLER 71 
 
 ' The figures, if you care to know). 
 Then, he's deferred to with respect. 
 But ruin comes — an' then neglect. 
 Pew had to slide; he could not face 
 His old associates in the place. 
 An' then, when he was let to go 
 So coldly, he was wounded so 
 His old attachments turned to hate. 
 Hopes gone, he fell in desprit strait. 
 "Now — come it how it may — he'll own 
 He's happier as "a rough-hewn stone" 
 He'll tell you, servin' here, than where 
 He stood a pillar cold an' fair. 
 Once more in church he bears a part 
 With chassened sperit; but his heart 
 Is wrap up in this work down here. — 
 Faithful an' patient an' sencere. 
 
 This man's a type. Time an' again 
 We find here edicated men 
 That has not wholly lost the air 
 Of former eminence. 
 
 One there — 
 Man leanin' sideways, end of pew — 
 Was once a banker; pillar, too. 
 In church an' philanthrofic schemes. 
 
72 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Let go his grip on all, it seems, 
 When wealth took wing; grew cynical; 
 Thinks all men hypocritical. 
 Bit fond of m^usic, — face will light 
 At that, as you may see tonight. 
 Looks wore an' sad; has failed, I think, 
 These few weeks. Yes sir, case of drink; 
 Case almost hopeless, 'count of years 
 An' broken health. I have my fears. 
 
 They's many here whose heart's plowed deep 
 
 With sorrow an' remorse, that keep 
 
 Tryin' to catch a hold again 
 
 An' walk in step with decent men; 
 
 Some hearts that's fallow now for seed. 
 
 If only you could know their need, — 
 
 If only you've the knack to say 
 
 The word that's born to win its way. 
 
 Some you would find is sick at heart 
 
 An' fain would play a manlier part, 
 
 But sees no future, — past all black; 
 
 Sees lions front an' lions back 
 
 An' lions every way they turn. 
 
 Folks that once honored them would spurn 
 
 An' crush them now ; some they once knew 
 
THE CHURCH OF THE PAR ABLER 73 
 
 An' honored has been proved untrue. 
 
 Their faith in humankind is gone; 
 
 Of hope in heaven they've simply none. 
 
 Age has crep over some, ill-health 
 
 An' so forth; dreams of love and wealth 
 
 Gone with the years; gloom's settled low; 
 
 They yearn for home, yet cannot go! 
 
 That httle year or two they'd planned 
 
 To spend in winnin' back the stand 
 
 They'd ought have kep in the old home, 
 
 Has multiplied, an' still they roam. 
 
 Forgot, or sore misjudged an' blamed 
 
 (They know) they're desprit now, an' shamed. 
 
 Some almost prays to be forgot, 
 
 An' dum'ly bends them to their lot. — 
 
 Some that was built for lofty place. 
 
 Some's hardly merited disgrace. 
 
 No need to tell how many come 
 To grief with less excuse thru rum. 
 
 But you would be surprised to know 
 How many, that was once as low 
 As you could figure — soaks an' beats 
 Too vile to touch, low, downright cheats — 
 Has been redeemed an' stand to-day 
 
74 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 As clean in heart an' hand, we'll say, 
 As is the Judge here. 
 I See that man 
 
 I In northside aisle with coffee can? 
 I They aint a happier Christ'n lives! 
 I Sundays and weeknights here he gives 
 '' His service gladly. Yes sir, he 
 I Was vile as any you now see; — 
 Reckless, rum-soaked, disowned, outcast; 
 Got so offensive t'ward the last, 
 We're urged to shove him out that door 
 An' bid him show his face no more! 
 
 Such men will help in various ways : 
 Will watch sometimes for days an' days 
 O'er desprit strugglin' wrecks of men 
 They meet with here, an' time again 
 Their faithful watchin' sees men thru. 
 An' gets them started off anew. 
 
 Of course they's many here that just 
 Fills you with loathin' an' disgust, — 
 That lives without the least excuse, — 
 Aimless, an' not a mite of use 
 So far's we see. But who can know? 
 This one an' that, once looked just so I" 
 
THE CHURCH OF THE PARABLER 75 
 
 — But — they's no hint of such a case 
 
 As Joe's, — of one that's missed the place 
 
 Rare gifts befits him for, — of one 
 
 At heart as good as gold, that's gone 
 
 To bad thru others' wrongs. No no, 
 
 They aint another case like Joe ! 
 
 — Got thinkin' this way while he spoke, 
 
 An' most forgot him! but was woke 
 
 With sudden flash of fire in him. 
 
 He faces me an' asts with vim : 
 
 "Waste? What's a man in trade do, now?- 
 Turns waste an' scrap to wealth, somehow, — 
 Wastes nothin' ! Some of these here men 
 Is meant to be worked up again. 
 God don't waste, neither. Let me say 
 These men aint all mere castaway." 
 
 Lord bless the man! 'Twas not in me 
 To hint of waste. He 'as moved, you see, 
 By flippant speech too often heard, 
 An' quotes to me the Master's word 
 Anent the precious ointment, 'n then 
 Makes out a reference to these men, — 
 How "inasmuch," an' so forth. Oh 
 I'as sure he'd help me find our Joe. 
 
M$^^ inimnfe h^d ill ihot men hmm ikmsete 
 
 Kkespeare 
 
 IX 
 
 A SAD SURPRISE 
 
 You ast why talk of these, this way? 
 It goes with what I want to say 
 Concernin' Joe. 
 
 This raft of men 
 Here gathered time an' time again, 
 Is drawn or driv in here for food, — 
 Few of them seekin' other good; 
 While effort's made by word an' song 
 To win them out of ways all wrong 
 An' vicious. Neffy Tom would plead 
 With them (with Joe in mind) 'n then lead 
 Dear Annie to the front to sing. 
 If Joe's in reach 'twould surely bring 
 The poor lad home ! — her voice would thrill 
 A calloused heart! I hear her still, 
 
A SAD SURPRISE 77 
 
 Lingerin' upon a tender note 
 Until the sob would reach her throat 
 An' end her song. It happened so 
 One night blind Harry chanced to go 
 Along with us, — proud to chip in 
 Once in a while with his vi'Hn. 
 
 That night dear Annie's at her best, 
 
 Fair Hfted us Hke all possest! 
 
 Had a new song, whose sweet refrain 
 
 Begs wanderin' ones turn home again. 
 
 O how it touched the men! — how still 
 
 An' quite they kep, while her sweet trill 
 
 Died off away away o'erhead. 
 
 Seemed almost like her soul had fled 
 
 When that was done. Last plaintif strain 
 
 Of her "Come back, come home again!" — 
 
 With th' old air ''Home, Sweet Home" wove in 
 
 By Harry on his rare vi'lin, — 
 
 Soft-blended with the usial air 
 
 Of the refrain (just fitted there) — 
 
 That kind of music you don't hear 
 
 Once, I should say, in twenty year! 
 
 — Broke Annie up! — surprised, you know. 
 By that old ''Home" tune run in so. 
 
78 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Brought up, no doubt, the home she'd left,- 
 Heart-broke her, Uke she's new bereft. 
 Been overstrainin,' don't you know, 
 An' weary our long wait for Joe. 
 How little these she's singin' to 
 Would dream of what she's passin' thru! 
 They'd little guess the grief an' pain 
 An' longin' poured in that refrain. 
 
 But one they was, back near the door 
 (Here was six hundred men or more). 
 Her sudden grief took hold of one, — 
 Not him we sought for — not my son. 
 
 Grimy an' scarred, yet someways trim. 
 With bearin' that distinguished him. 
 An' spite of grime an' scar, a trace 
 Of what you call refinement, — grace; 
 Thin, wore, with starin' eyes that told 
 Of youth by vice an' sin made old. 
 He sees what we was quick to hide, — 
 Sees Tom an' me at Annie's side, 
 Anxious an' sore poplext, v^hile she 
 Swooned, an' could neither hear nor see. 
 
 Out from his pew an' down the aisle 
 
A SAD SURPRISE 79 
 
 He comes! these other men meanwhile 
 Just dumb surprised. Some thinks, no doubt, 
 That here's a bad case breakin' out. 
 Smiles here an' there, — expectant, some, 
 An' speculatin' what's to come. 
 
 He brushed aside what's in his way 
 An' speakin' no one yea or nay. 
 He mounts the steps an' follows where 
 We bore her for a breath of air. 
 
 I never shall forget his cry, 
 ''Annie! — dear Annie!" till I die. ' 
 
Ri/fieflRC>BiJta)Dwiiifie(/e[i i 
 
 X 
 
 WE REAP OUR SOWIN' 
 
 That Sunday night they gathered in 
 A host of men, — sung out of sin, 
 I make no doubt, by Annie's song; 
 Some that had wandered far an' long, 
 An' almost ceased to feel like men. 
 Set out to try for home again! 
 An' me, of course I'm truly glad 
 But — where, I wondered, was my lad? 
 He never showed his face in there, 
 In reach of talk or song or prayer. 
 
 While we was seekin' day by day 
 For him, my lad was far away! 
 An' here was one we'd never sought 
 In all our seekin' — never'd thought 
 
IV£ REAP OUR SOW IN' 8i 
 
 Of lookin' out for Charlie Lyme! 
 Him Annie reckoned all the time 
 Was living home his aimless life, 
 With gay young butterfly for wife. 
 She ha'nt seen Charlie's face for long. 
 How comes he now to hear her song? 
 Moreover, how's it come that so 
 We'd get upon the track of Joe? 
 All mystery far too deep to see. 
 You can't explain it all to me. 
 
 Lay it to Providence! — He knows 
 We're ap to reckon all our woes 
 As due to Him, an' ap to say 
 Much that we'd ought not, anyway. 
 About His leadins; 'spose we own 
 His doins when they's favors shown. 
 
 My store of grace was sorely tried. 
 
 My feelins someways hard to hide, 
 
 When I discovered who this was; — 
 
 Of all men, Charlie Lyme! — the cause 
 
 Of all our weary woeful lot, — 
 
 Now down at heel himself, a sot! 
 
 — Been drugged an' robbed an' mauled, he said; 
 
 Two nights he had not seen a bed, — 
 
82 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Had borne the 'banner' as they say, — 
 An* could not guess until to-day - 
 The name of his hotel, nor yet 
 Quite figure how he come to get 
 In here, with all this crowd of men, 
 When Annie called him home again. 
 This curous thing we learnt: he'd come 
 To find and fetch his sister home! — 
 Had vainly sought her all one day, 
 An' then fell in a gambler's way. 
 
 Coincidents, or what you will, 
 'Twas Providence, I reckon, still! 
 
 I found that what was hard for me 
 Was harder for the girl, for she 
 Just dropped away. 
 
 When she come to, 
 An' see her brother there, an' knew 
 Her song had found an' fetched him up, 
 It seemed as if her bitter cup, 
 Already full, was overflowed. 
 But grace was presently bestowed 
 To help her see the other side, — 
 To see how, when she'd fairly tried 
 To help up other fallen men 
 
JV£ REAP OUR SOW IN' 83 
 
 She'd called her brother home again! 
 Marvelled to see how strange a way 
 Comes answer when we reely pray. 
 
 Now, Charlie's not a lad like Joe, — 
 No moral fibre, don't you know, — 
 No good at bottom. — Well, but hold! 
 All this had best be left untold. 
 His race is run. 
 
 'Twas plain to see 
 He 'as near his end that night when he 
 Skeer'd Annie so; — ^just like a ghost; — 
 As grewsome an' as thin, almost. 
 An' coughed an' coughed! — O it was plain 
 He'll soon be carried home again. 
 
 Took him to th' hospital, where I 
 Was fain myself so long to lie. 
 He'd rather die just there, he said. 
 With Annie by him; when he's dead 
 It's time enough to tell his wife 
 She's free to live the sort of life 
 She's fond of; as for him, you know, 
 He's gone the pace; — his game's up now! 
 That's what he said, "I've gone the pace. 
 An' sinned away my day of grace." 
 
84 
 
 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 They was no hope; he shook his head, 
 An' smiled at what his sister said. 
 
 So here awhile he laid, this lad, 
 Until speech left him. Good or bad, 
 We reap our sowin'! — Soul an' day 
 Seemed they could hardly break away 
 But by degrees, like, an' with pain. 
 I hope I'll never see again 
 An' end like his. — Bewailed his sin; 
 An' Annie's sure God took him in. 
 
 ^5«y^-^-.-./- 
 
 How strange that when this lad's about 
 To slip his cable an' sail out 
 On his last voy'ge, his sister's near, 
 To comfort him an' quell his fear! 
 
IVB REAP OUR SOW IN' 85 
 
 If ever angel could do so, 
 
 She'd make it easy-like to go; 
 
 An' she's the likest one to be 
 
 Unbosom'd to — on earth, — for he 
 
 Had awful loads upon his mind 
 
 An' conscience! — so you see how kind 
 
 Was Providence, — how merciful 
 
 An' infinitely pitiful. 
 
 Even to him! 
 
 Poor Annie said 
 (The while she stroked his clammy head) 
 That this was proof he's full forgiven. 
 An' they would meet for sure in heaven. 
 
 She knows he slipped away in peace. 
 An' death, undreaded, sweet release. 
 
XI 
 
 ANNIE'S QUEST 
 
 Well, bit by bit we'd got to know 
 
 All Charlie had. to tell of Joe, 
 
 While he could speak. He wished, poor lad, 
 
 To do some good for all his bad. 
 
 An' tho 'twas clear he'd more to say, — 
 
 An' tried to, — when he slipped away 
 
 We seemed almost in touch with Joe, — 
 
 Light streamin' thru our clouds of woe. 
 
 My hopes riz high, an' plans was made. 
 I blush to own, I'm half afraid 
 That weary wreck could see my joy, 
 I pitied him, — but oh, my boy! 
 
 I had to pity Annie, tho' 
 
 For, now she's freed, she fretted so. 
 
ANNIE'S QUEST 87 
 
 Her load had been too great to bear, 
 Seemed 's if the Lord would call for her. 
 Now, when poor Charlie's crep away. 
 She sinks an' fades 'tween day an' day. 
 Until you'd hardly reco'nized 
 The face my Joe so dearly prized. 
 — Not Joe alone: to Tom an' me, 
 An' Harry (tho' he could not see). 
 Her face an' voice an' soul was dear; 
 An' we was filled with awful fear. 
 
 Back now she goes to her old home, 
 Bearin' the wanderer that's to roam 
 On earth no more, — at least his clay; 
 An' there I feared the girl might stay. 
 For Joe, that's pledged his love to her, 
 Seems gone for good — we know not where. 
 He's quite as brother Charlie, now. 
 Forfeit all right to claim her vow. 
 'Most broke my heart, for she had grown 
 To feel to me so like my own. 
 
 I borrowed trouble, don't you see! 
 That's always been a fault with me. 
 Just when they's every sign of day 
 My faith an' hope was givin' way! 
 
88 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 I need not try to tell you how 
 
 That brave young thing got busied now, — 
 
 Followed the hints her brother'd dropped, 
 
 In quest of Joe, nor never stopped 
 
 Till she had made some inquiries 
 
 That's bound to find out where he is, 
 
 An' started wheels to run till we 
 
 Are righted, — ^Joe an' her an' me. 
 
 No matter who was hurt or crossed, 
 
 Joe's to regain the rights he'd lost. 
 
 She visited the Versity, 
 
 An' sees Perfessor Verity. 
 
 He proves to know enough about 
 
 The fax to clear up any doubt 
 
 Of how her father'd wronged my lad. 
 
 Her trouble now was pretty bad! — 
 'Twas awful bad ; — to have to go 
 To her own father, burdened so. 
 With definit knowledge of the wrong 
 She'd more than half suspected long. 
 
 Been bad enough before, to know 
 His scurvy treatment of my Joe. 
 After the lad had won her love 
 
ANNIE'S QUEST 89 
 
 An' months an' months been hand an' glove 
 
 With them, as equals every way, 
 
 Like an' odd glove, he's cast away! 
 
 That had been bad enough, — too bad. 
 
 Once only had she seen my lad 
 
 Sence then, an' then, with gentle speech 
 
 He'd half explained to her the breach, 
 
 But made no reference an' no claims 
 
 To his invention, — called no names. 
 
 Far more a gentleman than he 
 
 That spurned him showed himself to be. 
 
 Poof child! an awful time she 'd had, 
 
 Twixt her own father an' my lad 
 
 Her 'fianced husband. Tried to do 
 
 Confliction duty; holdin' true 
 
 To Joe, but good an' daughter-like 
 
 An' patient, till she's forced to strike 
 
 Against that father's will, an' choose 
 
 'Twixt him an' Joe, — an' to refuse 
 
 For husband one he picked for her. 
 
 Then, him or CharHe'd cast a slur 
 
 On Joe, an' told her how my lad 
 
 Had long been goin' to the bad. 
 
 ''That's why he come no more ! — that's how 
 
 His low-bred sort regards their vow!" 
 
90 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 — O'ershot their mark here, for she knew 
 That if this awful tale was true 
 They was not blameless. 
 
 Instantly 
 Her good heart told her it must be 
 Her task to save him! 
 
 Most bereft 
 Of power to think or plan, she'd left 
 At once her childhood's home, an' gone 
 To Tom, my nefify, — likest one 
 To help her in her search for Joe; 
 An' then — why, all the rest you know. 
 
 Old man, he's obstinit! — denied 
 The whole thing! — said that Charlie'd lied. 
 Broke in that way the slender thread 
 That held his daughter; for the dead 
 Had spent almost his latest breath 
 In tellin* her; — had said that death 
 Would come the easier now she knew 
 That all 'twas claimed for Joe was true. 
 
 At last she's back! for here, she said 
 She felt her place was. She'd been led 
 So strangely into useful ways. 
 Seen glad as well as woeful days. 
 
ANNIE'S QUEST 91 
 
 Been guided providentially, 
 
 Kep an' sustained so constantly, 
 
 An' so forth. O, I'd ought have known 
 
 How true she was! I'd ought have known. 
 
 One dedicate to such a life 
 
 Was fit to be a preacher's wife. 
 
 O yes, I know! — an' this young thing 
 
 Could soothe an' comfort, teach an' sing. 
 
 Like Tom an' me, she'd got to know 
 
 An underworld while seekin' Joe. 
 
 An', prematurely sad an' grave 
 
 An' wise, an' most uncommon brave. 
 
 She'd set to make her life atone 
 
 For wrongs we know of — not her own. 
 
 But oh, my own lad! — she could grace 
 His home, and yet have filled her place. 
 That word of her's: — it touched me so! 
 "Her place" — remindin me of Joe. 
 But where was he, an' where his home? 
 Had he, like Charlie, ceased to roam? 
 
 While Annie's pickin' up again. 
 Me, I was feelin' the old pain 
 An' weariness; faith limpin' weak; 
 Tears often stealin' down my cheek. 
 
92 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Three lives so blighted! — Joe an' me 
 I'd tell myself, was bad, but she. 
 She showed herself so good, you know, 
 Contrastin' awfully with Joe. 
 Fit wife for better man than he 
 Had long time proved himself to be. 
 An' yet, who'd thought to learn one day, 
 That Tom had driv my lad away! 
 
XII 
 
 FOREGLEAMS 
 
 The Willses that we used to know 
 An* call on every week or so, 
 Moved west some years back, an' I quite 
 Lost track of them in time. To write 
 Was always laborsome, an' then 
 For one unhandy with your pen 
 It's hard to talk like. So you see 
 Of course they'd seldom write to me. 
 An' now, her young ones all well grown 
 Out there, with interests of their own, 
 Why, Ida, she as like as not 
 Has lots of friends, an' I'm forgot ! 
 
 — Or so at least it seemed until 
 I got — yes, here it is. — Until 
 
94 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 I got this letter: 
 
 "Idyho 
 Dear Tom, 
 
 Mebbe you'll like to know 
 That I an' mine are still afloat 
 As we hope you are. You've not wrote 
 A line sence — " (this I can't make out 
 Jim somethin'— never mind!) ''about 
 Our great surprise to see your son 
 Out here, — the most unlikely one 
 We ever'd thought of. All were glad 
 To give a welcome to the lad! 
 (Like you at his age. Will's hke John. 
 You an' I must be gettin' on!) 
 — Well, he come home one night with Jim, 
 An', howso changed, I knew 'twas him. 
 Soon as I sees him; — worn, it's true, 
 An' sick, but just the cut of you! 
 Has needed mother's care, — 's been down 
 With somethin' bad, — 's just pullin' round. 
 Ast me would I befriend him now! 
 (What was he thinkin', anyhow?) — 
 But then, he was too young, you see. 
 To know how you befriended me 
 When — (so forth). So he tells me all 
 About his troubles an' his fall. 
 
FOREGLEAMS 95 
 
 Poor lad! he'd borne a heavy load, 
 An' travelled o'er a weary road. 
 My heart fair ached for him an' you; — 
 Broke, almost, when he's nearly thru, — 
 When he described you lyin' there 
 Sick, in the parlor; in a chair 
 Close by. you Harry Penninton, 
 An' him, your own poor outcast son 
 Takin' by stealth a goodbye look. 
 Sobbed as he told me this, an' shook 
 With grief 't was pitiful to see. 
 — Felt easier after tellin' me. 
 
 When you were well an' up he crep 
 
 Away again, an' hardly slep 
 
 Until he'd put a thousand mile 
 
 Between you. — Told himself the while 
 
 You're best without him, anyway; 
 
 An' there was Tom — 'They's Tom," he'd say, 
 
 ''Worth fifty hopeless wrecks like me; 
 
 An' then they's her that's goin' to be 
 
 Tom's wife — " Here Joe breaks down, you see„ 
 
 An', in a fiasht, it comes to me! 
 
 I've not forebore to counsel him 
 To get his courage up, an' vim 
 
96 
 
 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 To claim an' take his own again, 
 An' lift his head Hke other men. 
 (That head of his!) I tell him this: 
 Best kind of men have done amiss 
 Someways, at sometime, an' that most — 
 If truth be told — can hardly boast 
 Of havin' always kep right on; — 
 They 've lost in fights, as well as won. 
 I tell him this, — an' this is true, — 
 I've seen it often, — haven't you? — 
 How many men have found their breakin', 
 Hard tho it zvas to bear, their makin'-" 
 
 (Now bless that woman! — how come Joe 
 To get to her, in Idyho?) 
 
FOREGLEAMS 97 
 
 'Tm writin' this ahead of Joe. 
 He's at it now, but men are slow! 
 He's started twenty — well, I guess 
 A half-a-dozen times, — no less. 
 More'n once I've had to make him quit; 
 Got worked up so he was not fit 
 To use a pen! He's all right now; 
 But I can beat him, anyhow! 
 
 Feels awful guilty t'wards his Mad' ; 
 Been weak an' foolish more than bad; 
 An' now he's started life anew 
 He aims to show respect that's due, 
 An' love an' service, to atone 
 For wrongs especially to his own. 
 Been holdin' back fear lest he'd fall 
 Again, an' have to give up all. 
 But I can tell you /'ve no doubt 
 He's made his final face-about. 
 
 Last illness seems t'have ridded him 
 Of his old en'my's grip; new vim, 
 An' consciousness of his old skill, 
 Are manifest, an' sturdier will. 
 But brighter outlook upon life 
 Brings longin' for his promised wife. 
 
98 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 He questions now if what he heard 
 Is true. (/ don't believe a word!) — 
 That she who's dearer than his Hfe 
 Can't now, or will not, be his wife. 
 
 If she is free yet, let me know 
 
 As quick as you can write, an' so — " 
 
 (So forth) '' — ^When Joe can claim his own 
 
 You*ll see the happiest day you've known!" 
 
 — So forth. Writ just like she would speak. 
 Set tears a-runnin' down my cheek 
 An' sobs a-heavin'! Don't you know, 
 It seemed as if already Joe 
 Was safe at home! 
 
 I lost no time 
 In makin' ofif to Annie Lyme 
 With Ida's letter. (Lived close by.) 
 Sure she would fool like me, an' cry, 
 An' so I broke it gradial; 
 Told her that Joe he's safe an' well. 
 But some ways off; been sober long; 
 'S himself again. 
 
 But I was wrong! 
 She's calm an' sweet an' sperited. 
 An' neither cried nor worrited. 
 
FOREGLEAMS 99 
 
 But shaped for goin' off to Joe, 
 As if he's close at hand, you know. 
 
 Got cryin' later on, when she 
 
 Had writ to Joe for her an' me. 
 
 An' answered Ida Wills. Poor girl, 
 
 Her brain, like mine, was in a whirl. 
 
 My feet scarce seemed to touch the ground, — 
 
 Seemed everythin' was swimmin' round. 
 
 'Twas settled soon she'd have to wait; 
 Not fit to travel, in her state. 
 If he'd been near. 
 
 Work's easier 
 Than waitin'. You learn earlier 
 To 'labor' than to 'wait.' But oh. 
 We've got to learn: 'Be still an' know'! 
 
 Well, darkest hour, they always say 
 Comes just before the peep of day. 
 They's no more harryin' tales to tell 
 Concernin' Joe; — he's safe an' well. 
 I tell you this to ease your mind; 
 Good Lord at last has been 'so kind.' — 
 Kep me up, an' restored my lad, 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
lOO JOE'S PLACE 
 
 An' made my old heart boundin' glad. 
 Joe, he was sure to win at last, — 
 Wrassle until the foe was cast! 
 
 But this is steppin' on apace, — 
 To tell the sequil out of place! 
 
 (Mebbe I've half let on before, 
 
 That Joe come back? — a hint or more?) 
 
 O well, I'm bound to wander out. 
 
 Sideways or back or roundabout. 
 
 Or any ways but right ahead! 
 
 For that's about the way I'm led! 
 
XIII 
 
 HERE WAS JOE 
 
 Annie, she picks up wonderful 
 Next day or two, — more beautiful 
 Than ever, spite of care an' wear, 
 While me, (I'm just too odd to bear) 
 I looked about the worst I'd been, — 
 The drawnest face you ever seen, — 
 From loss of sleep an' appetite. 
 Nervous an' restless, day an' night. 
 Felt quite ashamed in such a case 
 To wear so wobegone a face; 
 For now I'd not the slimmest fear 
 But what my lad would soon be here. 
 Face Hues had gotten fixed, you see. 
 Takes time to meller one like me! 
 
I02 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 We calcylated carefully 
 How soon at soonest Joe could be 
 Prepared to start — supposin' they 
 Was no mishap an' no delay 
 About our letters, an' we thought 
 That in about ten days he'd ought 
 To show his face. So we agreed 
 At any rate they was no need 
 To worrit, Hke; we better rest, 
 So's Joe would find us at our best. 
 (That's Annie's way to meller me; 
 In that agreement she was 'Sve"!) 
 Her tackfulness just kep a smile 
 Upon my face, so's in a while — 
 A day or two — my lookin' glass 
 Tells me my face will fairly pass, 
 An' Joe can come an' find his dad 
 Not lookin' wobegone but glad. 
 Some older, surely, — but O dear. 
 Suppose I'd had no daughter here! 
 
 An' here was Harry, never done 
 Talkin' or singin', — full of fun! 
 An' neffy Tom, that's been away 
 (Prospectin' 1 say, many a day). 
 Here he comes now to smile with us, 
 
HERE WAS JOE 
 
 103 
 
 An' find relief from weariness. 
 — Poor Tom! — somehow got out of gear 
 With church folks, an' has cause to fear 
 That he'll be needin' soon a Call. 
 (Me, I don't understand it all; — 
 Don't hold the money'd sort, they say! 
 I know he's genwine, anyway.) 
 
 Quite blue he was. But now, you see, 
 He thinks of only Joe an' me, — 
 An' Annie! ('Taint so long ago 
 You mind, I thought he'd outdone Joe!) 
 
 One night, the fift from when we wrote 
 To Mrs. Wills, they comes a note 
 
I04 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 From Joe's Perfessor friend, to say 
 He hopes to call on me next day. 
 Well, me an' Tom an' Harry sat 
 Around the fire for old-time chat, — 
 Me talkative past all excuse. 
 Too light for any sort of use. 
 An' when I'm quite, why, Harry'll sing 
 To make our little parlor ring. 
 My lad was comin' home, you see! 
 Our happiest days was soon to be! 
 
 We're in the midst of such a tear, — 
 Laughin', in which we'd all a share, — 
 When they's a creaky sound, an' then 
 Me an' these other noisy men 
 Springs to our feet, — for here was Joe! — 
 Here, comin' f wards me, was my Joe! 
 
 Picture it, — see him, if you can! — 
 No, not the thing, now, but the man! — 
 Not limp an' loathsome, foot to head; 
 That creature, sure enough, he's dead. 
 
 My heart leaps madly, an' my eyes 
 Was scalded blind with glad surprise. 
 I riz my hands, an' then, they say. 
 
HERE WAS JOE I05 
 
 I reeled an' fainted dead away. 
 I wa'nt yet strong; an' when my lad 
 Come smilin' in to greet his dad, 
 They rushed on me a sudden fear 
 That this was not himself that's here, 
 But just his sperit! — for you see 
 We'd figured out so sure that he 
 Could no way reach us yet for days. 
 'Twas bound to fill me with amaze. 
 
 But no whit less was my surprise 
 To see, when I could use my eyes, 
 A face that I'd not seen for years, — 
 A woman's face, all smiles an' tears : 
 Here's Ida Wills of Idyho, 
 Come on a visit east with Joe ! 
 
 I reckon I was almost dumb. 
 
 Now that my longed-for hour was come; — 
 
 Now that my brightest dream's fell true 
 
 What could I say? — what could I do? 
 
 Just dumbly held my lad awhile, 
 
 Till Ida chid me with a smile. 
 
 Did I not think, now, it was time 
 
 To pack him off to Annie Lyme? 
 
 Well, so it was! an' off he goes 
 
io6 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 To fetch the girl, for goodness knows 
 I wanted her to share my joy! — 
 I did want her to see my boy! 
 
 An' here was Ida's daughter Ruth 
 
 Yet to be welcomed! — for in truth 
 
 My scare, my fearin' Joe's a ghost — 
 
 Made me a sorry sort of host! 
 
 'Twas time I put my guests at ease — 
 
 Harry an' neffy Tom with these. 
 
 But they're indulgent, an' indeed 
 
 Ida declared they was no need 
 
 Of fuss an' feathers! — di'n't we know 
 
 That Ruth had played with Tom an' Joe, 
 
 Years back? — An' Harry Penninton 
 
 ("Ha'n't changed a single hair, not one!") 
 
 She'd known him anywheres they'd met. 
 
 He laughed. ''Why no, / don't forget 
 
 One that was once so good to me. 
 
 Same cheery woman still, I see!" 
 
 So, grippin' hands with hearty will. 
 
 We sat around an' talked our fill, — 
 
 Talked till the table had been spread. 
 
 Then cleared, — then talked till time for bed. 
 
 'Twas nigh on midnight when my lad 
 
HERE WAS JOE 107 
 
 Brought Annie in; an' I was glad 
 To see their faces all aglow 
 With joy that humans only know 
 In all its richness once a life, — 
 In new-pledged man an' plighted wife. 
 
 This made a picture in my brain 
 That never can fade out again. 
 
XIV 
 
 MOULDER 
 
 All thru the night my busy brain 
 Run o'er that days events again, 
 An' then at dawn I slep! — the light 
 Been carefully shut out, 'n all quite 
 As midnight, causin' me to lay 
 Till nearly noon the foUowin' day. 
 
 My lad an' Annie 'n Tom an' Ruth 
 Been stirrin' hours an' hours, for youth 
 Don't mind a wakeful night or two 
 So long 's they's pleasant things to do 
 An' talk of; an' you know these four 
 Was full of gladness — runnin' o'er! 
 Even Tom (to tell you now a truth 
 
A ''MOULDER'' 109 
 
 Owned later), he's in love with Ruth. 
 So, while I slep, they're far away, 
 Sightseein', what not, light an' gay. 
 Two couples satisfied an' glad, 
 But no whit happier than old dad! 
 
 While Harry, Mrs. Wills an' me 
 
 Was comfortably drinkin' tea 
 
 That afternoon, Perfessor came 
 
 To see me — ('Fessor what's-his-name? 
 
 Uncommon — often bothers me,) — 
 
 O yes: Perfessor Verity, — 
 
 An' he draws up another chair 
 
 An' chips in, tea an' talk, his share. 
 
 They aint a man I'd rather know. 
 For he's been awful good to Joe 
 An' me. (Yes, he's been here before 
 A time or two — oh, three or four.) 
 Fine head on him ! — not much for looks. 
 But knows 'bout all they is in books. 
 What fetches me, he's practicle, — 
 Not stuck up or finaticle. 
 — No, that aint just the word I mean, 
 But — well, he's straight, that's easy seen. 
 That's my lad's estimate: he's true; 
 
no JOE'S PLACE 
 
 What's right, or what he says, he'll do. 
 In times of stress he proved a friend 
 Full up, on whom you could depend. 
 
 First time he come he's seekin' Joe, 
 Two years back, havin' come to know 
 Somehow about his drinkin' ways. 
 Sought for him high an' low for days. 
 Next time he finds me sick in bed, 
 An' I remember how he said 
 'I've hopes of hearing soon of Joe" — 
 Real sympathetic, — not for show — 
 For he kep up his inquiries, 
 Bent upon knowin' where he is. 
 
 When Joe's ill, him an' Mrs. V. 
 
 Was just as nice as they could be, 
 
 An' won him heart an' soul. 'Twas then 
 
 He proved his skill in mouldin' men. 
 
 — For he's a ''moulder" as he said 
 
 One day to me. 'Taint just the head 
 
 A teacher deals with, if he's true. 
 
 Heart, conscience, — these he works on too. 
 
 So it was pleasant now to see 
 A friend Hke this drop in to tea. 
 
A ''MOULDER'' m 
 
 He chatted half an hour or more, — 
 Chipped in, as I remarked before. 
 Like one of us; no starch or frills 
 In speech or style ; so Mrs. Wills 
 She's perfectly at ease with him, 
 An' talked with all her old-time vim, 
 An' showed up at about her best 
 When 'Fessor drew her on the West, 
 Partic'larly of Idyho. 
 They's little that she does not know. 
 
 I'as some surprised to find he knows 
 That she'd been such a friend of Joe's 
 When he was needin' mother care. 
 Thanked her for nursin' him out there, 
 As if he owed our debt, you see, 
 For kindness showed to mine an' me. 
 
 So they run on about the lad, — 
 
 All on his good points, not his bad, — 
 
 An' me, I got a wonderin' so 
 
 How upon on earth he comes to know 
 
 So perfectly Joe's Hfe out there, 
 
 I lost my tongue, an' could but stare 
 
 An' listen. 
 
 Soon I got to see 
 
112 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Thru some things that had puzzled me, — 
 
 Things I'd set down to Providence, 
 
 An' still do, in a certain sense. 
 
 An' Harry, he's quite too, you see, 
 
 An' plainly questionin', like me; 
 
 Altho' he's all aglow with joy 
 
 At what they say about our boy; 
 
 An', as I found out subsequent. 
 
 He's pretty soon upon the scent 
 
 Of the whole story, — guessed how Joe 
 
 Come to make tracks for Idyho. 
 
 Soon Mrs. Wills begins to see 
 
 Their talk is news to Harry 'n me. 
 
 An' then Perfessor notices 
 
 An' breaks short off just where he is, 
 
 'Midst of a sentence, an' a smile 
 
 Spreads o'er his face, an' for a while 
 
 He looks enquirin'-Hke at me. 
 
 As if to say, 'T guess you see 
 
 What's comin'?" 'n then he says "You know 
 
 I wrote to you I'd news of Joe. 
 
 I've come to share your happiness: 
 
 In three four days now — mebbe less — 
 
 Your son will be at home again! 
 
 Yes, Joe, — he's comin' home again!" 
 
A ''MOULDER'* 113 
 
 — Explain? Before I could begin 
 
 (Mebbe I'm slow) he'd started in 
 
 Quite eagerly to tell me how 
 
 He got this latest news; but now 
 
 The young folks come! — the merriest four 
 
 I'd seen in twenty years or more! — 
 
 An' brings him beamin' to his feet. 
 
 It did me good to see him greet 
 
 My lad — his friend. But when he knew 
 
 The fax, as known to me an' you, 
 
 He 'as just' the most surprizedest man 
 
 That ever was — to find his plan 
 
 Of carefully preparin' me 
 
 x\ day or so too late, you see. 
 

 XV 
 
 HIS LAST WRASSLE 
 
 Well then, by tackin' this an' that 
 Together — fax I've gotten at 
 In odd ways — story runs like this: 
 Joe, knowin' what a man he is — 
 Practicle, genwine everyway. 
 An' western born — went up one day 
 To see Perfessor Verity, 
 Foreminded just to do what he 
 Advised as best; but made it plain 
 He would not seek th' old home again. 
 But be as one that's dead an' gone 
 Until he's fought his foe, an' won. 
 So here he come — braced up a bit. 
 But weary lookin' an' unfit 
 For any but a genwine friend 
 
HIS LAST IVRASSLE 115 
 
 To see. Said he's about to end, 
 One way or other, his sad life; 
 Asts will Perfessor an' his wife 
 Stand by him while he tries again 
 To get in line with decent men? 
 
 He 'as deep in trouble; fears his grip 
 Is clean gone; dreads some awful slip. 
 Twice, three times, he's been sorely prest 
 An' nigh to awful crime, — possest 
 With opp'site passions, love an' hate 
 Drivin' him at an awful rate, 
 With alcohol for fire. 
 
 O Lyme! 
 You little knew how close your time 
 Of reckonin' come! — Joe not to blame; 
 But we'd have suffered just the same. 
 
 I've riz in horror many a night 
 
 Sence then, prespirin', limp with fright, 
 
 At thought of what our peril was. 
 
 (I don't mean Lyme's, but mine an' Joe's.) 
 
 They'd been no two opinions then 
 
 In pop'lar judgments of the men: 
 
 One good an' prom'nent fallen, an' one 
 
 A wretched reperbate! My son 
 
Ii6 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Would found no mercy upon earth. 
 — So much is human justice worth! 
 
 Lord knows how mighty small account 
 Our judgment is! — it don't amount 
 To much at best. But over all 
 Supreme Judge sits, an' great an' small, 
 Is surely squared with, soon or late. 
 
 From highest court in land or state 
 All cases pass to Him, no doubt. 
 An' justice will be meted out. 
 
 Here, we've our laws for guardin' life 
 As best we can, an' vice an' strife 
 An' various ills we check by law — 
 I mean by common human law. 
 
HIS LAST WRASSLE 117 
 
 But they's a crime no calendar 
 
 Of ours takes note of, tho they are 
 
 No end of sample cases known 
 
 To me an' you, that could be shown 
 
 Most deadly vicious. To be plain, 
 
 I mean where men, for pride or gain 
 
 Or deviltry, lays foulin' hand 
 
 On fair young souls, you understand. 
 
 To maim or warp them. Such a crime 
 
 God only gauges! 
 
 Richard Lyme 
 Went sailin' on his prosperous way, 
 While Joe sunk lower day by day. 
 Till now he'd lost his head again. 
 I thank the Lord He kep him then. 
 An' led him kindly off; n' I'm glad 
 That Annie did not see the lad 
 At that time. She'd have clung to Joe; 
 An' it was better he should go 
 As far as he could get away. 
 They's surely danger in delay. 
 
 His idee is of goin' West, 
 Hates now to leave dad, but it's best. 
 Her that he'd ought have married, she 
 Goes now to one more fit than he — 
 
Il8 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 His cousin Tom, that fills the place 
 Himself has lost thru his disgrace. 
 (Felt he was clean cut off, you see, — 
 Tom like a true son now to me.) 
 Yet begs Perfessor keep an eye 
 On dad for him, till by an' by 
 He wins out; but until that day 
 No sign to make, no word to say. 
 
 All this, you'll understand, I've heard 
 Sence then; they never breathed a word 
 Till Joe had made his promise good 
 An' won out, as they knew he would. 
 
 Upshot: he spends a day or so 
 'Fore Verity's would let him go; 
 An' then, spruced up a bit, well fed. 
 An' decent clad, with clearin' head. 
 With risin hope, an' lightened load, 
 He starts upon his Westerin' road. 
 
 His plan was first to make his way 
 T' a farm he knows in loway. 
 Work there awhile (like years before); 
 An' then, from 'Fessor's wife he bore 
 Lines to her folks Nebraska way. 
 
HIS LAST WRASSLE 119 
 
 To use if he's inclined to stay. 
 
 He'd cross Nebraska, anyhow, 
 
 Seein' it was his purpose now 
 
 To make his way to Idyho. 
 
 (Mentioned his friends out there, you know, 
 
 The Willses.) 
 
 So away he went, 
 An' that way all his summer's spent. 
 Worked all the way, you understand; 
 Joe aint a spongin' sort of man; 
 Until near Lincoln, in the Fall, 
 He makes (to please his friends) a call 
 At Mrs. Verity's old home. 
 An' there the lad's embarrassed some, — 
 'Most killed with kindness! 
 
 Worst of all. 
 Right now he makes another fall! 
 
 Just when he's gettin' confidence. 
 An' feelin' some his old-time sense 
 Of power, — of genus / should say — 
 A one time classmate crossed his way 
 That he'd not seen for three four years. 
 An' both was glad enough for tears. 
 
 His genial friend would take no No 
 
I20 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 For answer, but insists that Joe 
 Pack up an' go with him an' stay 
 His guest, some ninety mile away. 
 Here, much to his surprise, he finds 
 Books an' the like to suit such minds 
 As theirs; snug home, an' all serene 
 As Paradise. If 't had not been 
 For just one thing — the serpent, say — 
 'T was just the place for Joe to stay. 
 
 Kindness itself the man was. Oh 
 
 He never dremp of hurtin' Joe. 
 
 Proved it by conduct subsequent. 
 
 When Joe's dilerious, weak an' spent, 
 
 He nursed him like a brother might, 
 
 Unrestin' watchful, day an' night. 
 
 Until he got his grip again, 
 
 An's fit to take his place with men. 
 
 Best of it all (but with an oath). 
 
 He made an end right there, for both, 
 
 Of all the liquor in the place. 
 
 An' vowed thenceforth to set his face 
 
 Against the vile an' treacherous thing: 
 
 — Knew, now, you see, the serpent's sting! 
 
 Poor Joe! he had his fight to make, 
 
HIS LAST WRASSLE 121 
 
 An' awful gallin' chains to break; 
 Cravins that made his life a hell 
 Was roused by sense of sight or smell; 
 An' he was grateful to the friend 
 That helped him so, so near the end 
 Of his last wrassle. 
 
 But one day 
 T'wards Idyho he takes his way, — 
 More sure than ever that 'twas best 
 To get to Willses home an' rest. 
 
 He's give me, sence, a hint or so 
 Of how he come to think he'd go 
 To Willses — that he had not seen 
 Sence he's a lad about thirteen. 
 
 Felt like a child again when he 
 Got thinkin' how 't had used to be 
 When Willses' home was home to him, 
 'Most like it was to Ruth an' Jim ; — 
 How Mrs. Wills's mother love 
 Comforted him (for her above). 
 Thru six or seven most tender years, — 
 Pitied his troubles, dried his tears, — 
 Till now his care-worn heart said "go 
 To her again, with all your woe!" 
 
122 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Smile if you will; tho they's a streak 
 Of woman in him, Joe aint weak 
 Or flabby. Tender, easy moved. 
 Worthy an' yearnin' to be loved, 
 But full a man, you understand. 
 Sturdy as any in the land, 
 But for the drink. An' he was right 
 In thinkin' that, to make his fight. 
 He needed just the help she'd give. 
 Indeed 'twas doubtful would he live 
 To win out, lackin' just the care 
 He knew he would receive from her. 
 
 Ida — God bless her! They's no need 
 To say she proved the friend indeed. 
 
 New grip on life, as Ida said, 
 Starts the machinery in his head, — 
 Keys up the genus cords again, 
 So long time ravelled in his brain. 
 Thoughts of his old home, an' the wife 
 To be re-won, give zest to life. 
 
 Some hint Perfessor'd written, seems 
 T' have started one of his old dreams. 
 An' 'twixt the two (for Verity 
 
HIS LAST WRASSLE 123 
 
 He's int'rested with Joe, you see, — 
 No genus, — unmechanical, 
 But business-like an' practicle), — 
 'Twixt them, I say, the hint an' dream 
 Was soon a payin' patent scheme. 
 
 Joe proved once more a genus rare, 
 An' Hfe once more looked bright an' fair! 
 
XVI 
 
 BRIGHTER DAYS AHEAD 
 
 Well, here's my lad at home at last! — 
 All his dark past forever past; 
 Clothed an' restored, as Annie said,— 
 With heaps of idees in his head, 
 All ready to be worked to scale. 
 They's now no fear that Joe would fail 
 To find at last a worthy place 
 An' fill it with becomin' grace. 
 Been far afield for long, but still 
 Was young enough to mount his hill 
 An' reach his own large place at last. 
 His day of grace was not yet past! 
 
 If he'd his rights from Richard Lyme, 
 His road was levelled, anytime. 
 But Joe, he's notions of his own, — 
 
BRIGHTER DAYS AHEAD 125 
 
 Had, long before he 'as fairly grown, — 
 
 Idees even Annie could not shake, — 
 
 An' right or wrong, he would not take 
 
 One step to make old man do right, 
 
 Much less to go to law an' fight. 
 
 Wheels Annie'd set agoin' stopped; 
 
 La win' an' all that, it was dropped! 
 
 ''What would you have, now?" he would say. 
 
 "I've stole his treasure, any way!" 
 
 An' treasure true she'd proved, for sure, 
 
 Her heart as sound as it was pure. 
 
 They's somethin' to her, don't you know; 
 
 Noways top lofty — daft on show, — 
 
 But trim an' sweet an' tastful craft 
 
 She is. — But here, you'll think I'm daft 
 
 As Joe, 'bout Annie! Well, hard life 
 
 Had fitted her to be his wife. 
 
 Like him, she'd been to school, you see 
 
 An' learned her lines as well as he. 
 
 Now, if you ast me what had been 
 My plans for Joe, in years between 
 His mother's death an' his disgrace, — 
 What station, or what kind of place 
 I'd hope to see him come into, — 
 I'd little more idee than you! 
 
126 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 That's mainly due to ignorance 
 On my part, for 'most ever sence 
 He was a growin' lad, you see, 
 He 'as fitter judge of things than me. 
 Knew g'ography an' 'rithmatic, 
 An' foreign language, French an' Grik, 
 An' Scients, (he was up on that, — 
 Had all his ologies down pat!) 
 Drawin', mechanics (that's his lay, 
 An' has been from an early day). 
 He 'as past my power to shape an' plan 
 Long years before he grew a man. 
 An' then, as 'Fessor Verity 
 Has said to me, your Versity 
 Is just a sort of factory where 
 They fashion men with skill an' care, 
 To bring out every gift an' grace 
 They have, to fit them for the place 
 They'd ought to take and fill in life — 
 Trade, brainwork, or politic strife. 
 
 Perfessor's proud as man can be 
 Of his high callin', you may see! 
 
 But now sometimes I feel 'twas wrong 
 Of me to let Joe run along 
 
BRIGHTER DAYS AHEAD 127 
 
 As I did, interferin' none, 
 Until his mouldin' days was done. 
 Blame sticks! — I own it! — tho my lad 
 Lays no reproaches to his dad. 
 
 If, with my help he'd kep his head. 
 
 An' run his proper track, instead 
 
 Of making that one bad misstep 
 
 Thru Lyme's, he might have riz an' kep 
 
 A-growin' t'ward the prom'nent place 
 
 I'd sort of figured on, 'n his face 
 
 Come to be known thru print as well 
 
 As Edison's, say. Who can tell 
 
 But what (as I believe) his name 
 
 Would figured in your Hall of Fame? 
 
 He 'as gifted in a high degree, 
 
 An' I had hopes I'd live to see 
 
 Some creature of his fertile brain 
 
 Win for him fame an' ample gain; 
 
 Enough of both to suit the place 
 
 Marked for him — had he won his race. 
 
 — I put it that way: if he'd won. 
 
 An' pulled up where he'd ought have done — ! 
 
 Oh, — if he'd won! Well, anyway 
 
 He's home again; an' tho to-day 
 
 They's lost an' wasted years behind, 
 
128 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 They's brighter ones ahead, you mind. 
 
 Good Harry's satisfied. Said he : 
 
 *The lad pulls in all right, you see. 
 
 Did jump his track an' miss his way 
 
 To City of Prosperity. 
 
 But only to be run around 
 
 To his own place, all safe an' sound!" 
 
 Here, anyway he was, an' here 
 
 His nat'ral mate; so 'twould appear 
 
 They's "no just cause, impediment" — 
 
 So forth — why two so plainly meant 
 
 For partners needed longer wait. 
 
 They're ready for the marriage state. 
 
 She 'as faultless in his eyes, you know, 
 
 An' equally to her was Joe. 
 
 I reckoned they was just a pair 
 
 Of well matched twins, was him an' her! 
 
 — This way we bantered them, an' chaffed 
 
 An' teased them; but they only laughed. 
 
 An' made pertense of askin' leave, — 
 
 The usial formial make-believe. 
 
 (Don't have much hand here, parents don't. 
 
 Some tries unduly, — wise men won't.) 
 
 I sighed, an' said that, as for me. 
 
BRIGHTER DAYS AHEAD 129 
 
 I'd try to bear what had to be. 
 Used all the Httle jokes I had, — 
 Fairly intoxicated, — glad 
 Beyond all tellin', don't you know. 
 To look at Annie here, an' Joe, 
 The purtiest picture! Do I dream? 
 Thinks I, so heavenly did it seem! 
 
 So' weddin' day was set. An' then, 
 Between the women an' the men. 
 Another plot was fully hatched : 
 Here's Tom an' Ruth, already matched, 
 They might as well be wedded too, 
 Same time, same way, — no great ado. 
 An' soon that's settled! So you see 
 'Twas quite a stirrin' time for me. 
 After my long long loneHness, — 
 'Twas quite a change, you easy guess. 
 
 'Tween you an' me, I felt as gay 
 An' eager for the weddin' day. 
 As Tom or Joe! God bless my lads! 
 Their weal an' happiness is dad's! 
 
XVII 
 
 WHAT TO DO 
 
 That Sunday night, or Sunday next, 
 Joe, he was restless an' poplext 
 Till somethin' put it in his head, — 
 Some word or other Annie'd said, — 
 To go to that old church where she 
 Had often sung, — where her an' me 
 An' Harry, seekin' Joe, you mind. 
 Went once, not dreamin' we should find 
 Poor Charlie. 
 
 So here's Harry, 'n Joe, 
 Me, an' the women — quite a show! — 
 Set near the organ pew again. 
 Where we can see the host of men 
 From end to side. 
 
WHAT TO DO 131 
 
 Same old brown hue 
 Pervadin'; every sort in view 
 Among the faces — good an' bad 
 An' so forth; but my own dear lad 
 Not now the object of our quest. 
 No face loomed out among the rest 
 Or seemed to, as in days gone by. 
 Our lost was found, our tears was dry! 
 
 Well no, that aint quite acc'rate — no, 
 They's tears enough, tho hid, when Joe 
 Had looked around upon these men 
 An' thought awhile on Now and Then. 
 Too full for speech he was, an' he 
 Would look at Annie, 'n then at me, 
 Just thinkin' of our weary search 
 Time an' again in this old church. 
 
 His face was quite a picture — strained 
 An' questionin', poplext an' pained. 
 Felt (so he told me) great surprise 
 At what was spread before his eyes, — 
 With all the waste an' woe it meant, 
 So varied, an' so vast extent. 
 
 Seemed hke he faced an army there; 
 
132 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Seemed like he's hemmed in everywhere, 
 An* no way out! No, no way out! 
 For one Hke Joe, they's no way out! 
 
 Sees here an' there a face he knew, 
 An' questions what he'd ought to do? 
 They's some he'd met in darksome ways, 
 An' one in earlier happier days. 
 
 That lad I've called a wastrel cur, 
 Whose mother — you remember? — her 
 That found me lyin' in that den 
 An' saved me, he 'as here again. 
 Think of it! Mine safe here, while there 
 Cowers that wretch, seemin' not to care, 
 An' her that had so freely gave 
 Her life for him, lies in her grave. 
 
 I points him out to Joe, an' said 
 
 A word or two about the dead; 
 
 Not the whole story, — keepin' back 
 
 About my appoplex attack. 
 
 Told how she'd hoped when she's above 
 
 She'll see the fruitin' of her love — 
 
 This lad restored. (Poor show, thought I! 
 
 But made it easier to die.) 
 
WHAT TO DO 133 
 
 Old man that's once a banker, he 
 
 Is here again. Looks worse, I see, — 
 
 His sunken eyes unnatural bright. 
 
 I wonder was he here the night 
 
 Poor CharHe come? He's fond, they say. 
 
 Of music. He would hear that day 
 
 Such singin' as you will not hear 
 
 For love or gold in many a year. 
 
 Told Joe his story, while the men 
 Was gettin' served with food; an' then 
 My friend the Super'ntendent come 
 To set by Joe, an' chatted some 
 (Not knowin' who he was) like he 
 Talked once a long time back to me. 
 An' Joe, he's deeply int'rested. 
 An' took in every word he said. 
 
 Shrewd Super'ntendent! did he know 
 The instrument he played in Joe? 
 
 I guess the poor lad hardly heard 
 No more than once a while a word 
 Of preacher's talk. This host of men 
 Was preachin' sermons to him then. 
 
^34 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 No doubt a genwine man, sencere 
 
 An' practical an' plain, can cheer 
 
 An' help these men, — one that has known 
 
 Just what it is to be o'erthrown, — 
 
 That's tasted trouble Hke these men, — 
 
 That's been 'way down an' riz again. 
 
 He's ap to say the word most fit 
 
 An' most affective, feelin' it. 
 
 An' knowin' as no other can 
 
 The heart an' need of such a man. 
 
 But here was six seven hundred men 
 
 For such a one to face ; an' then 
 
 He needs to be prepared, an' know 
 
 His line of argyment. Now Joe, 
 
 As I've remarked, he's diffident, 
 
 An' all his make-up clearly meant 
 
 For more retirin' lines of work. 
 
 But Joe, he's brave; he would not shirk 
 
 A duty, once it's plainly seen; 
 
 So now, right where the preacher'd been. 
 
 There stood my son! quite pale an' tense, — 
 
 Not to orate or make pertense 
 
 Of zeal an' sympathy. — 'Twere crime 
 
 To mouthe an' tone at such a time! 
 
 An' Joe, he could not if he would, 
 
WHA T TO DO 135 
 
 Nor neither would he if he could. 
 
 Tho when he's stirred, he ap to say 
 What's in his heart, in plainest way 
 An' strongest, — privately, you mind, — 
 He's not your poplar speaker kind. 
 But here's a duty, seeminly, 
 Which spells command for such as he. 
 
 Felt — so he told us when its o'er — 
 Bound to confess his sin before 
 This host of expert witnesses. 
 Stood quite a while just where he is, 
 'S if he was dumb or dazed, but then 
 With first few words he took these men 
 An' held them silent as could be, 
 Some seeminly as tense as he 
 Himself was. 
 
 "Fellow men" (he said), 
 In prayer an' preachin' you've been led 
 By one appointed; an' 'twould be 
 Unseemly, anyway, for me. 
 Were I disposed to try to add 
 A word of preachin'; but Fm glad 
 To seize this opportunity 
 Your Super'ntendent offers me. 
 
136 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 With briefest plainest words to say: 
 Once / was like some here to-day, 
 Down in the deeps of sin an' shame. 
 I brought disgrace upon a name 
 I'd ought have honored; got so low 
 They's not much lower left to go. 
 Yes, been where some of you men are. 
 Like you, I'm marked with many a scar, 
 An' shall be till my dyin' day, — 
 With stains I cannot wash away, — 
 With dents and bruises. So I know 
 From hard experiences, the woe 
 An' suflferin' some of you endure. 
 Our preacher's talked about a cure 
 For that most deadly ailment, thirst 
 For liquor, — told you how the worst 
 Of human wrecks has been redeemed 
 — So well (he'll pardon me!) it seemed 
 As if experimentally. 
 Like me, he knew what 'tis to be 
 In thrall to drink. — Sir? 
 
 "So I do," 
 Chips in the preacher, ''So I do. 
 As many here already know." 
 
 Thank you, — that makes it plain (says Joe). 
 
K 
 
WHAT TO DO 137 
 
 This bothered him a bit, I guess; 
 I thought he floundered more or less, 
 But only for a minute, 'n then 
 Starts off again more earnest. 
 
 Men! 
 (Says he) You surely won't decline 
 To take our friend's advice, an' mine. 
 Who've travelled, an' who point the road 
 To freedom, riddance of your load, 
 An' life worth livin' ! 
 
 Wisht / could 
 By word or work of mine, do good 
 To such as you! 
 
 Some here I know. 
 An' if they will, I'd like (says Joe) 
 To see them at this meetin's close, — 
 With any other here that knows 
 Or has known me. 
 
 Some here I'm told 
 Is crime-stained, but not yet so old 
 In crime as to be dead to shame — 
 Still mournin' a dishonored name. 
 Take preacher's counsel! — turn again! 
 Win back your place with honest men. 
 At once, at once! 
 
 O yes, I know 
 
138 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 How hard a thing it is to go 
 That one step back. 'Twere worse to bear 
 The stain, the chain you'll have to wear 
 In after years unless you do. 
 
 You need (what preacher says is true) — 
 All need that truly constant Friend 
 Who knows your life, from end to end. 
 An' wills to lift an' free you. 
 
 Some 
 Has fairly steeped your souls in rum. 
 An' given up all that makes a man. 
 Can't save yourselves; but One who can 
 Needs but the askin', preacher says. 
 Best thing a friend can do for you 
 Is, guide you to a Friend more true. 
 More able, than the best of men. 
 More willin'. Time an' time again, 
 Like good Abe Lincoln said, you know, 
 'T felt I'd nowhere else to go!" 
 — Like him, I've got upon my knees, 
 An' found, like him, how clear one sees 
 When eyes is closed for prayer, — then light 
 Shines for you like the stars at night. 
 
 While you an' me has wandered far 
 
WHAT TO DO 139 
 
 In blackest darkness, they's a star 
 Been shinin' for us had we choose 
 To lift our eyes, while goodness knows 
 We've chased a phosperescent light, 
 An' crawled like creatures of the night. 
 
 World has small pity for the like 
 
 Of most of us, — 's more ap to strike 
 
 Than offer friendly hand, as here 
 
 The pityin' hand is offered. No, 
 
 The world don't greatly mind (says Joe). 
 
 It lauds the Tit' ; the Tit' survives ; 
 
 If one be fit to live, he thrives! 
 
 How often you an' me has said, 
 With sinkin' heart an' burnin' head, 
 They's lure in every form an' shape 
 Hell can devise, an' no escape 
 For men that's down, while Chrisht'n church 
 Just frowns an' leaves us in the lurch.' 
 Yet from the church — His church, I mean, 
 The Parabler's — a hand has been 
 Extended here to you to-day. 
 (Some here will measure what I say). 
 
 Wherever true disciples stand 
 
I40 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 An' offer in His name the hand 
 
 Of uplift, there His church appears, 
 
 An' there He speaks, an' there He hears. 
 
 His church? — who gives it mete an' bound? 
 How shall its height an' depth be found? 
 
 Not men nor buildins, name nor place, 
 Make up His church ; but where His grace 
 Is manifest, an' loyal souls 
 Combine to serve Him, there He holds 
 Communion; there His church lives; there 
 He works an' hears an' answers prayer. 
 We stand in that great edafice! — 
 On basement pavement say it is. 
 Or lower still. The Founder deigns 
 To loosen here your gallin' chains. 
 To open eyes long bhnd with sin. 
 To bid poor wanderin' souls come in! 
 He, as you've heard the preacher say, 
 Has followed us by night an' day 
 More diligent than hell's black host; 
 An' tho we've been in hell almost, 
 He brings us here! Time an' again 
 He's faced an' pled with us; — you men 
 Know this is true! — an' here to-day 
 
WHAT TO DO 141 
 
 We come by many a devious way 
 Once more to face Him, an' to choose, 
 His hand to take, or — to refuse. 
 
 — Shamed? — Yes, I know; too bad to burn! 
 But they's no other place to turn. 
 Like badly battered coin, it's true 
 He'll see His image, even in you; 
 Regrave th' inscription long abuse 
 Has marred, — re-mint you for His use. 
 
 If this be preachin', pardon me! 
 
 My heart was full— you'll pardon me!'* 
 
 — Wisht I could quote him accurate; 
 But that's the gist at any rate. 
 Of what he said. 
 
 — I'd ought have shown 
 How careful, too, he was, to own 
 The helpers planted on his way 
 From childhood up until to-day; — 
 His mother first of all, an' then 
 At various points along, the men 
 That took a hand, includin' me 
 An' Harry, good Perfessor V, 
 An' Mrs. Wills, an' 'fessor's wife 
 
142 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 (These both had saved an' shaped his Hfe, 
 Each in their turn), — an' Annie dear! 
 He named no names, but it was clear 
 To all of us. He seemed to show 
 That we was church, like, don't you know! 
 
 'Taint just the words you use; the way 
 They're backed counts more than what you say. 
 They's understandin' back of Joe's, 
 An' genwine feelin', — that's what goes! 
 
 Talked longer than I'd thought he would; 
 An' Super'ntendent called it good — 
 His talk. "But do you know," said he, 
 "This was a real surprise to me, 
 'Cause all along I thought your son 
 Had died in hospital — the one 
 That give our singer such a fright 
 An' made her swoon, that Sunday night. 
 Well, well! 
 
 — Here Judge (presentin' Joe), 
 Here's one the sort you like to know." 
 Then in a whisper low to me: 
 "Three of a kind there now," says he. 
 Judge? — "Yes sir, he's a gradiate too; 
 Helped many another gradiate thru." 
 
WHAT TO DO 
 
 143 
 
 Now come the tears to my old eyes, 
 For Annie sprung us a surprise ; — 
 Led Harry to the front, an' then 
 Sung as aforetime for these men. 
 While Harry played his rare vi'lin. 
 An' deftly wove that old air in: 
 ''Sweet Home — come wanderer ! — home, 
 
 sweet home !" 
 (Wisht I could whistle it, or hum 
 The way it goes!) 
 
 Old man down there— 
 Once banker — seemed he could not bear 
 Till meetin's over; then he come 
 To speak to Annie. Smelt of rum, 
 But courtly gracious. You could see 
 
144 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 He 'as deeply moved; 'twas plain to me 
 He 'as full sencere. Gives Annie praise, 
 She 'minds him so of happier days. 
 An' then he showed a wish to know 
 My lad — his talk had stirred him so. 
 — In short, th' acquaintance here begun 
 Continied, an' th' old cynic's won 
 To kindher thoughts an' sweeter ways, 
 An' Annie smoothed his last lone days, 
 Erewhile, with her own tenderness. 
 (I might as well state here all this.) 
 
 Joe had his meetin' at the end 
 With men he's anxious to befriend. 
 
XVIII 
 
 WEDDING BELLS — AND TOLLING 
 
 I reckon never ten days past 
 For me so quick; an' here at last 
 The blessed weddin' hour was come, 
 An' joy an' gladness filled my home 
 Past all describin'! — flowers galore 
 Bloomed on the mantel, on the floor 
 No end of plants as tall as me, — 
 Palms, 'zaleas, ferns — nice as could be! 
 Parlor was just a perfect bower, 
 As fit that memorable hour. 
 
 Teased Tom, — my second son, dear lad!- 
 By pointin' out the chance he had 
 To make an' save a weddin' fee. 
 "Quite easy done," says I, — ''You see, 
 
146 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 You Splice this couple usial style, 
 An' Ruth an' you chip in the while 
 With "So say we' or 'So will I' "— 
 Quite giddy I'd become! O my, 
 I never'd hoped for such a day! 
 D' you wonder I was vain an' gay? 
 
 Howbeit we'd to change our plans 
 For weddin' now. They's other hands 
 To take a part sence Tom's to wed : 
 We've all to go to church instead 
 Of standin' in my parlor, now; 
 Tom reckoned he would have to bow 
 To what his people ast ; an' so 
 In rippin' style to church we go! 
 
 Comes back to me that scene, as plain 
 As can be, an' my heart again 
 Gets throbbin' throbbin', when I dwell 
 On its bright mem'ries for a spell. 
 
 'Twas awful sweet an' gorgeous there! 
 They's plants an' flowers set everywhere ; 
 An' scores of people, finely drest. 
 All smilin' in their Sunday best. 
 An' all the while the organ plays, 
 
WEDDING BELLS— AND TOLLING 147 
 
 Now gay, now solemn, — various ways — 
 Till at the end it rung like bells! 
 
 — In mem'ry still it throbs an' swells 
 As if 'twould fill all future time 
 With soothin' melody, an' chime 
 Forever an' forever more 
 In these wed hearts, so's — ''rich or poor 
 Or weal or woe, or sick or well" — 
 They'll always hear that weddin' bell 
 An' smile contented. 
 
 Yes, I know 
 I'm odd; but it did touch me so! 
 
 But sweetest sight an' sound that hour — 
 More sweet than organ strain or flower — 
 Was forms an' voices all so dear 
 'Twas heavenly just to see an' hear. 
 "For rich or poor, for weal or woe," 
 These young wives promised Tom an' Joe 
 To cling till death. 
 
 An' so my lads 
 Was happy! an' their joy was dad's! 
 
 An' now we had a chance to see 
 How dear our Annie'd come to be 
 
148 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 To scores an' scores that gathered there. 
 Church weddin' had been planned for her 
 More than for Tom. 'Twas plain my lad 
 Was some surprised, but proud an' glad. 
 
 Our weddin' feast was scarcely o'er 
 When they's a message at the door 
 For Annie, — telagram been round 
 Two hours or more before she's found. 
 
 Her father, lyin near his end, 
 With no one higher than a friend — 
 No kith or kin — begs now for her 
 To come an' give him lovin' care. 
 
 Poor child! — calm, like herself, you know, 
 But awful pale, just looks at Joe 
 A minute, scarce a word exchanged. 
 Ten minutes later — dresses changed. 
 An' plans too — off they rode away. 
 An' reached home, — on her weddin' day! 
 
 But late, — too late! The heart that turned 
 Pride-broke an' sad, to her he'd spurned, 
 With all her wealth of love, was still, — 
 Poor, shrivelled, barren heart, 'twas still! 
 
WEDDING BELLS— AND TOLLING I49 
 
 Here (good as elsewhere) be it said 
 Few mourners wep around the dead; 
 But in the days an' years to come 
 His moniment will stand, an' some 
 Will innicently bless his name, 
 While you an' me may mark his shame. 
 
 Lyme Institute — equipped, endowed, 
 Housed in a palace — is allowed 
 To prove a blessin' for young men 
 Of talent, as he willed; an' then 
 Temperance, an' other causes, claimed 
 A good man's bounty, an' was named 
 With generous figures. But his child, — 
 His daughter — Well, to draw it mild, 
 He's worse than mean. His town cried shame! 
 Years hence that wrong will cloud his name. 
 
 But they're content — my lad an' her. 
 You never see a happier pair! 
 
 Soon Tom an' Ruth is off, their way. 
 
 An' us that's left we end the day, 
 
 In social comfortable chat; — 
 
 Lyme, future, young folk, this an' that, — 
 
 Until, when it was purty late, 
 
I50 
 
 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Blind Harry, pokin' in the grate 
 
 Gets talkin' just the oddest way, 
 
 As if among the embers lay 
 
 A book for him to read. So free 
 
 His language flowed, did seem to me 
 
 Like he's inspired! — Forecasts the way 
 
 That lies before us from this day 
 
 Of days. 
 
 — Tom in the far Nor-west 
 A 'shepherd,' givin' of his best 
 To guard a human flock, an' lead 
 To pastures yieldin' what they need, — 
 To satisfyin' streams — to plains 
 Bestrewed with rich endurin' gains. 
 
WEDDING BELLS— AND TOLLING 151 
 
 — Ruth, like her namesake, choosin' well, 
 Tom's faithful helpmeet where they dwell. 
 Blest as her namesake was, to be 
 Honored in her posterity. 
 
 — An' Ida Wills is to be blest 
 As she deserves: in east an' west 
 Rich, with the love an' care returned 
 For love an' care — true wealth well earned. 
 
 — An' Verity's (for they was here) — 
 Their future Harry made appear 
 All sunshine! — him the president 
 Of some new institution meant 
 T' eclipse your eastern Versities! 
 (Somewhere in middle west it is) 
 Where he's to prosper, — Mrs. V 
 Sharin' his great prosperity 
 As she deserves, an' loved an' praised 
 Along with him, by men they've raised. 
 
 — Joe, he'll be honored far an' wide. 
 With wife an' children at his side 
 He'll take an' upward widenin' way. 
 An' grow in power from day to day. 
 Now — Gradiate in Adversity 
 
152 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 As well as learnin' — he should be 
 Well kep from evil, an' the hand 
 Of God be with him; he shall stand 
 Contented in his lot; shall know 
 His place in life an' fill it; grow 
 In power with ever widenin' coast; 
 Have benaficiaries a host; 
 Bless an' be blest; each gift an' grace 
 Contributin' to mark his ''place." 
 
 — Me? Well, I'm to be satisfied! 
 That suits me — to be satisfied! 
 
 — An* now our wise blind wizard's thru, 
 We question him: what then for you? 
 Tell us, what shall your future be? 
 He answered, laughin' "We shall see!" 
 
XIX 
 
 A SWEETLY MEMORABLE DAY 
 
 Young folks set up their home near me, 
 
 Modest, but cosy as could be, — 
 
 So's we was seldom long apart. 
 
 An' Annie — bless her gentle heart! — 
 
 First Sunday home insists we go 
 
 To church, — to that where me an' Joe 
 
 An' mother went when he was young. 
 
 An' Harry, 'course he'll go along. 
 
 She calls in time to see we're trim, 
 Brushed an' spruced up; for me an' him 
 Was none too scrumptious, nor was he 
 More blind to fault in dress than me! 
 
154 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Life seemed to take a different air; 
 Seemed like all nature was at prayer 
 That Sunday mornin', when us four 
 Walked to'ards the old fermiliar door. 
 Seemed like heaven's rest an' peace had come 
 To us, — as if we're now at home! 
 All felt it, but especially Joe, — 
 His beamin' face was quite a show. 
 
 Me ? Well, I had my feelins too. 
 
 That moved an' thrilled me thru an' thru. 
 
 Seemed like the voice I'd used to hear 
 
 Riz at my side, as sweet an' clear 
 
 As when my own young wife an' Joe 
 
 Was settin' by me, years ago. 
 
 An' now I'm old an' wore, you see. 
 
 An' Joe sets now, in place of me. 
 
 With his sweet singer. Time rolls on. 
 
 An' soon his Dad, too, will be gone ! 
 
 Sweet hymns, with old fermiHar airs, 
 Nat'ral sencere upliftin' prayers, — 
 These I could follow; an' the preach. 
 For most part come within my reach. 
 Experience, mebbe, 'd cleared for me 
 Some things I would not once have see. 
 
A SWEETLY MEMORABLE DAY 155 
 
 Tex I forget, but this I know: 
 
 The preacher did his best to show 
 
 Just what the church was meant to be 
 
 An' do for men; an' seemed to me 
 
 He had his subjec well in hand, 
 
 An' I could easy understand 
 
 His zeal an' all that. But, d' you know, 
 
 My mind run back to when my Joe 
 
 Was in the deeps, an' me in quest, 
 
 Unknowin' church's peace an' rest. 
 
 An' it was in my heart to say 
 
 'The church aint true to plan to-day, — 
 
 Her hand aint reachin' where it ought, — 
 
 Aint workin' as the Founder taught !" 
 
 But hush, my heart! I must not say 
 
 So harsh a thing on such a day. 
 
 Yet presently the preacher said 
 
 Almost the things that's in my head. 
 
 ''We must be in the world but still 
 
 Not of it; we are to fulfil 
 
 Thru kindly human touch an' word 
 
 The purpose of our common Lord. 
 
 This seems t' have been the Master's plan : 
 
 Himself for all — thru man to man." 
 
 —So forth, — right faithful. 
 
156 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Yet I know 
 (To illustrate), they's men like Joe 
 Within arm's reach of some of these 
 Here listenin,' — neighbors, if you please — 
 That to companion an' uphold 
 Would bring them gain beyond all gold; 
 While, on the other hand, I've seen 
 Some that for years has never been 
 Inside a sacred place, nor known 
 The peace these sing of, but has grown 
 Old in a life like that Vve seen — 
 Sundays more dark than days between; — 
 Unselfish, lovin', kind, an' good. 
 Yes yes, unchurched they are, but good! 
 Nat'ral affection, do you say. 
 Alone has moved them? Anyway, 
 Instead of sayin\ here, *'I go," 
 They make no sign but quitely go 
 An' bear their load. 
 
 The Lord alone 
 Knows how to reco'nize His own. 
 
 This way you see my mind run on, 
 
 Till preachin', singin', all was done. 
 
 An' most before I'm wide awake, 
 
 Comes preacher! — 'n gives my hand a shake 
 
A SWEETLY MEMORABLE DAY 157 
 
 So hearty, I could hardly frame 
 Reply! But when he ast my name, 
 My, old rebellious heart spoke out : 
 "You'll find it somewheres — blotted out — 
 Among your members years ago. 
 (O yes, before your time — that's so.)" 
 But here I bit my tongue, for he 
 Was not to blame that Joe an' me 
 Slipped ofT unheeded ; more to blame 
 
 Was No! I better name no name. 
 
 But here was ten or twelve or more 
 
 That knew us well, — some passed my door, — 
 
 That ought have shown some little care 
 
 To see us two no longer where 
 
 We'd used so regularly to sit 
 
 In mother's time. 
 
 I 'as touched a bit 
 When preacher spoke so kind to Joe 
 An' Annie 'n Harry. Don't you know, 
 They's a tremendis power an' reach 
 In honest-hearted human speech! 
 Preacher just fairly captured Joe; 
 Seemed he could hardly let us go. 
 
 That was a memorable day, 
 Sweet an' delightful every way. 
 
158 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Joe he was fairly full of talk 
 With Harry on our homeward walk, 
 While Annie close behind with me, 
 Harped on the preacher's earnest plea 
 For loyalty to church, an' then 
 Asts me to lead these other men 
 At once to where they'd ought to be. 
 — She lost no time convertin' me! 
 
 She's no skim-milk — she's genwine cream 
 Is Annie ! Good as she may seem, 
 You're safe to count her cent per cent 
 In thought, word, doins or intent, — 
 Just solid Chrisht'n. So when she 
 Gets talkin' earnestly to me, 
 I know she'll win her way, — altho 
 She'll have to argy strong with Joe, 
 An' show up reasons plain an' fair. 
 For he's no easier budged than her. 
 
 Feared Joe's idees might lead him wrong, 
 Tho mostly sound. 
 
 She argied strong 
 For "church organic, militant" 
 (Me hardly graspin' what she meant). 
 Says she **No power, or book, or pen, — 
 
A SWEETLY BIEMORABLE DAY I59 
 
 No well-wro't scheme or work of men — 
 
 Can fill the place of that designed 
 
 By Him to keep us well in mind 
 
 Of our own weakness an' His power; — 
 
 The spoken Word, the place of prayer. 
 
 Ought we (says she) 'cause faithless men,— 
 
 Vain, worldly, weak or blind ones— men 
 
 Who do not know the Master's heart — 
 
 Bear oftentimes in church the part 
 
 Of seemin' pillars, turn away 
 
 From Him an' His own Order? Nay, 
 
 Nay, rather we should seek His face 
 
 Unheedin' theirs, in any place 
 
 Where souls may gather in His name. 
 
 An' try to spread His power an' fame. 
 
 In ways of His appointin'. Joe 
 
 Needs, an' can serve the church, I know." 
 
 O Annie, Annie! how she pled! 
 Wisht I could quote you all she said, 
 So's you could quitely hear an' see 
 The winsome way she talks to me. 
 — Account of Joe, you mind; she pled 
 That now the dear lad might be led 
 To wait in church along with her, — 
 "To serve (says she) The Parabler, 
 
i6o JOE'S PLACE 
 
 As Joe would name Him; to display 
 His gratitude in fittest way. 
 For he's a 'precious stone,' you'll see, 
 In that great edafice (says she). 
 
 Be sure the church's Artchitect 
 Drawed every shade an' line correct. 
 What flaws you find is due to man 
 Misreadin', — noway fault in plan. 
 
 — Yes, most of Joe's idees was right: 
 The Allybaster box, the Mite, 
 The Caesar coin, the Whip of cords, 
 An' various teachins, acts an' words. 
 Church is, as Joe says, awful slow 
 To square itself with. Even so 
 (Says she), when all is done an' said, 
 Our pattern is the church's Head." 
 
 You'll guess I did not breathe a word 
 Of how I'd pecked at what I'd heard, 
 An' faulted members of the church 
 For failin' people in the lurch 
 Just when they'd ought have given a hand 
 In Church's name. — You understand? 
 I'd had to own as well, you see. 
 
A SWEETLY MEMORABLE DAY i6l 
 
 That they's one cap that fitted me I — 
 The miss I'd made in all these years 
 Of heartache, loneliness an' tears. 
 — Told her I'm noways loath to lead. 
 But, bless your heart, they was no need! 
 
 Next Sunday, next, an' next we went 
 With equal pleasure — more content 
 When we'd our own appointed pew 
 (By Joe's contrivin', same old pew 
 We'd occipied long years before) 
 Way back, an' rather near the door. 
 
XX 
 
 REMEMBER 
 
 Then come Communion day, when we 
 All signified our wish to be 
 Enrolled disciples, an' to make 
 Disciples' solemn vows, an' take 
 The broken bread an' wine. 
 
 But oh 
 I never shall forget how Joe 
 Turned his great eyes on me — his face 
 Unearthly pale, — riz in his place, 
 An' then dropt in his seat again 
 With every sign of anguished pain. 
 
 Poor Annie was not slow to see ; 
 She guessed the cause, ahead of me, 
 An' (wisely) she persuaded him. 
 
REMEMBER 163 
 
 Durin' the singin' of a hymn, 
 
 To go right home with her, — 'twere best 
 
 Not to remain an' be distrest 
 
 As she could see he was, in there, 
 
 By the wine-odor-laden air. 
 
 An' so a sudden gloom o'erlay 
 What was t' have been so fair a day. 
 
 Joe could not, dare not, hold his tongue. 
 'Fore next Communion come along 
 He'd talked with preacher an' his men, 
 An' argied, time an' time again, 
 For grapejuice unfermented — ^'wine 
 That answers best the Lord's design." 
 
 They^s one man putty hard to shake; 
 Clung to the Veal thing'; — it would make 
 (He thought) the service void, — 
 Its truth to Scripture'd be destroyed — 
 Were they to take an' use as wine 
 Mere unprepared juice of the vine. 
 
 — Man was sencere enough, you see, 
 But sot in his beliefs, an' he 
 An' one Hke-minded long opposed 
 
i64 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 The change in wine my son proposed. 
 But preacher gladly sides with Joe 
 After he'd pled an' argied so. 
 
 I loved to hear Joe's argyment, — 
 Spoke from his heart, all truly meant, 
 You understand, an' pressed for sake 
 Of men that might come in his wake. 
 
 Parts of that warm discussion stay — 
 Especially Joe's — with me to-day, 
 So clear an' strong that what I heard 
 I could repeat 'most word for word. 
 'Twould range from commonsense to tex, 
 An' scripture words that might poplex 
 They'd each explain to prove his case, 
 Until at last they 'd reach the place 
 Joe started for, — this point of view: 
 What would the Master likely do? 
 Then they would talk about His life. 
 His words, His work; an' so the strife 
 Of these disciples come to be 
 A means of union, don't you see? — 
 All equally intent to know 
 Their Master's wish an' will, for so 
 You'll understand they was, each man. 
 
REMEMBER 165 
 
 I'll give you just as best I can, 
 
 Joe's pleadins. He would first take up 
 
 The whole wine question, 'n then 'the cup' 
 
 Of the memorial feast, an' dwell 
 
 On its deep meanin' for a spell. 
 
 "Men do irreverence when they claim 
 The sanction of the highest Name 
 For use of that which blights an' kills, — 
 The sum an' crown of nameless ills. 
 
 Ferment betokens death (said he) 
 The Cup' should symbol life to me, 
 — Should symbol Hfe an' oneness too: 
 ''You are in me an' I in you." 
 Death an' the grave. He meant to show. 
 Changed none that vital bond (says Joe). 
 
 They is no ferment in the 'wine' 
 
 He figures coursin' thru the vine, 
 
 But life, Hke His — the Vine's — abounds, 
 
 An', like our heart-blood, makes its rounds 
 
 Thru Vine an' branch, thru branch an' Vine, 
 
 Untouched, untainted, livin' wine. 
 
 No influence from the outer air 
 
 Can taint the blood that courses there. 
 
i66 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 The thought is one I can't endure — 
 
 That He, the blameless, perfect, pure, 
 
 Whose every word an' impulse went 
 
 To lift men up, — whose blood was spent 
 
 In war with powers of death an' hell, — 
 
 Would have fermented wine to tell 
 
 Of His unchangin' love an' care. 
 
 No no no no! I cannot bear 
 
 To drag that holy Name so low 
 
 As link it with the ills we know 
 
 That cup to stand for. An' again 
 
 His church ought not commerce with men 
 
 Who trade in deadly liquor. No, 
 
 That surely must be wrong (says Joe). 
 
 I, who have drained that cup (says he). 
 
 Know Him who drained a worse for me. 
 
 Too well to think He wills that I 
 
 Should find it peril to draw nigh 
 
 To His memorial table — there 
 
 To hear his final charge an' prayer. 
 
 The odor fairly rives my brain! 
 
 One taste would lay me low again ! 
 
 O tell me, is He honored more 
 By this than by the juice before 
 It "moves itself aright an' gives 
 
REMEMBER 167 
 
 Its color in the cup"? He lives, 
 An' hears an' answers; ask Him this: 
 "Good Master, shall we do amiss 
 If we reject the wine whereat 
 x\ brother stumbles, choosin' that 
 Which is not yet fermented, an' — 
 With this an' broken bread in hand, — 
 With equal zeal an' reverence, call 
 Thee Master, Lord, our Life, our All?" 
 
 I know the schoolmen's sophistries, 
 N' I know their reverent purpose is 
 To do His will. But here I stand: 
 I cannot, dare not, let this hand 
 Touch or present the cup you bear. 
 I'm sure He would not bid me dare. 
 
 Were men to seek a sign to-day 
 To symbol sorrow, death, decay, 
 Dishonor, shame, — all human woe, — 
 They well might take this cup (says Joe) — 
 This 'real thing' you insist upon. 
 But now, (he asts) is this the one. 
 Is not our 'real thing' His request 
 That we remember? — His behest 
 That in the symbol bread an' wine 
 
i68 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 We'll read '*I am yours an' you are Mine, 
 At one alway. Until I come, 
 Drink, eat, remember — till I come"? 
 
 Joe, he's no theologican, 
 But just a simple honest man 
 That tries to find the truest way 
 An' straightest, rightest, day by day. 
 Speaks out regardless what men think, 
 'Gainst all intoxicatin' drink. 
 Not 'gainst the ord'nance, but the use, 
 There, of what he calls ''devilled juice." 
 Sometimes it seemed to me he's wrong, — 
 His language just a trifle strong, — 
 After I've heard some arguyin'. 
 With Grik an' Heebra words run in; 
 But then a whiff of that old smell 
 Sufficed to send me back to — Well, 
 No language is too strong to be 
 Applied to that stuff, seems to me. 
 
 Well, wine was changed, I'm glad to say. 
 Joe brought these men to see his way. 
 
XXI 
 
 I'M FULL CONTENT 
 
 How time does fly! 
 
 Five years skip o'er, 
 An' now it's Christmas time once more! 
 
 Snow lyin' crisp an' white all round; 
 Up here on Outlook Nob no sound 
 Except the sleighbells. 
 
lyo JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Off rides Joe 
 An' Annie, ceaseless on the go 
 This Christmas eve; for him an' her 
 Has joys to carry everywhere. 
 Their sleighbells, be you sure, will ring 
 The good old message, for they bring 
 Sweet gifts that sing it. 
 
 Over there 
 (See?) 's little Tom an' Jabez, — here 
 Is baby Annie, — n' here is 'i)\el 
 All glad an' happy as can be. 
 Snug in the ingle at my ease. 
 Dog-like an' lazy as you please, 
 An ap to while my time away 
 In mem'ry's picture gallery. 
 Here at the Nob I make my home 
 Until (as Job says) ''my change come." 
 
 Fast changes? — reckon they's a few 
 Has cut their notch in me an' you! 
 But we've been kep an' comforted. 
 An' hitherto have we been led 
 With good Lord's help, as bible says, — 
 Tho we've not understood His ways. 
 
 My 'Ebanezer' means for me 
 
PM FULL CONTENT 171 
 
 A power of gladness, as you see. 
 
 Tho earthly ties be gettin' few, 
 
 These few is precious sweet an' true. 
 
 So, while I'd welcome final rest, 
 
 Life is not yet devoid of zest. 
 
 These young ones makes me young again, 
 
 An' Christmas brings me joy again. 
 
 Great plans afoot, you reco'nize, — 
 Big Christmas-tree to feast your eyes. 
 Big table set in dinin' room. 
 They's twenty thirty folks to come 
 For Christmas. 
 
 — Here I see comes one, — 
 Just now when Joe an' Annie's gone! 
 
 "Set in the ingle. Sir, with me. 
 An' we can while the time, mebbe, 
 Till folks return (says I). Set there 
 An' toast your feet, — pull up your chair ! 
 Now we can talk." 
 
 Just mark my ''we"! 
 I'm garrilous as man can be 
 If once you start me off on Joe! 
 This visitor he found me so. 
 But 's awful int'rested. I guess 
 
172 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 I gabbled on two hours — no less! — 
 Much like I've gabbled here to you, — 
 Him quite, like you are, till I'm thru. 
 
 " — ^An' here (says I) I've never ast 
 So much as what's your name! Time's passed 
 Till now they must be comin' near. 
 When they're within a mile you'll hear 
 The sleighbells; then you'll quickly see 
 The rig. You've younger eyes than me. 
 
 'An officer of Joe's' — ? Now, say! 
 He must have mentioned you to-day. 
 'The Wastrel Cur'! No! — not the son 
 Of — Bless my soul, are you the one? 
 — But you'll forgive me, anyway, 
 Some things I may have chanced to say. 
 
 Shook hands again. O, bless your heart 
 'Twas past relief! He's bright an' smart, 
 An' goodness now fair lights the face 
 That's once so marred — that hopeless case! — 
 Till, as I looked, I seemed to see 
 The face that shone so bright for me 
 In my dark'st hour. 
 
 Four years an' more 
 
I'M FULL CONTENT 173 
 
 He's lived a man's life, — all before 
 Was dog, or worse, he owned with shame. 
 An' now he bears an honored name. 
 An' praises Joe, an' blesses God 
 For her that lies beneath the sod. 
 
 Poor soul! I reckon, now, she see 
 Acrost the years what's hid from me, — 
 This fruitin' of her love, her boy 
 Restored. That would explain her joy. 
 
 We talked (should say / did!) of how 
 
 Joe's life has took its course till now 
 
 'Twould seem he'd ought have found the place 
 
 He's built for — if he's won his race. 
 
 Tho, as for ''place," — what that may be 
 
 In sight of Heaven, we may not see. 
 
 We look for somethin' tangible. 
 
 Some writins plainly legible. 
 
 To certify success; — great fame. 
 
 Great wealth, high office, vaunted name. 
 
 O, mother figured somethin' large! 
 
 An' had she lived, with him in charge, — 
 
 My lot instead of hers to go, — 
 
 Mebbe she'd found his place for Joe 
 
 In time to 'scape the awful snare 
 
174 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 He 'as caught in 'fore I was aware. 
 
 Just makes my old heart ache, sometimes, 
 To think how, if he'd missed the Lymes-^! 
 But there now! what about the wife 
 God give him, dear to him as Hfe, 
 An' not a whit less dear to me? 
 Here's quite a puzzle, don't you see? 
 
 Now, tho my lad has done right well, 
 They's no great story yet to tell 
 Of high achievement, world-wide fame. 
 Nor milHons reckoned to his name. 
 
 — Been five eventful years for Joe; 
 Not free from care an' cross, altho 
 They're full of work an' happiness. 
 An', on the whole, of real success. 
 Yet makes no figure; — no one knows 
 Nor cares how when or where he goes, 
 Like if he'd been a milHonaire 
 With yachts an' houses here an' there. 
 O, if it had not been for drink 
 He'd cut a wider swath, I think ! 
 An' yet — an' yet, it seems to me. 
 You'd better be a man than be 
 
FM FULL CON TEN 7 175 
 
 A multimillionaire. I know 
 They aint a manlier man than Joe. 
 
 Anyway, here we are to-day; 
 No 'count, mebbe; an' yet the way 
 Our folly's took — thru pain, disgrace, 
 May bring up at th' appointed "place." 
 
 Whose is the plan? We only know 
 We thought we'd otherwheres to go! 
 
 Question is not what might have been. 
 Nor what you'd ought have done or seen, 
 Nor what you missed nor what you lost. 
 What snares or snags you've come acrost, 
 Nor yet what will to-morrow bring, 
 But what, to-day, is wisest thing 
 To do — so far as you can see. 
 Thafs our one question, seems to me. 
 
 Moreover, what has been wro't out 
 By past experiences, no doubt, — 
 Hows'ever different these may be 
 From what you'd figured out to see, — 
 Fits every man to fill to-day 
 Some worthy place in worthy way. 
 
176 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 An', be he high or be he low, 
 If genwinely he'll try, like Joe, 
 To fill that place, he'll surely find 
 For work its wages, — peace of mind, 
 Contentment, happiness. What more 
 Could come with power an' wealth galore! 
 
 One's place is where he is, I guess, 
 His stint, his level best — no less. 
 
 My lad he smiles sometimes at me 
 An' my ''confused philosophy"; 
 An' nefify Tom an' him'll joke 
 About my leaky logic, n' poke 
 Fun at my doxy. Ignorance 
 (Says I) aint want of common sense; 
 An' I don't mind if them an' you 
 Smile ever so, — I hold this true: 
 They is no way or scale on earth 
 To tell life's meanin', end, or worth. 
 Someday, I reckon, we may know 
 What has been hid from us below; 
 But here the lamp we have for guide 
 Lights but our feet; 'most all beside 
 Is dark to us; we have to go 
 One step, one task at once, you know. 
 
PM FULL CONTENT 177 
 
 "Best we can do is — just our best," 
 As some'dy says, an' leave the rest 
 To Him that knows, from end to end, 
 Our whence an' whither, aim an' trend. 
 
 I reckon Harry's prophecy 
 
 Must not be took too serously. 
 
 — Tho now you come to think of it, 
 
 His forecast did not dwell a bit 
 
 On wealth for Joe. So there you are! 
 
 He 'as to be honored, near an' far, 
 
 Bless an' be blest, with gifts an' grace 
 
 An' growin' power for growin' place. 
 
 All this I reckon may befall 
 
 An' Joe not come to wealth at all! 
 
 Harry, he'd great idees of Joe! 
 Might been his own, he loved him so. 
 
 "Survival of the flt'st?" (he'd say)— 
 "Who's judge of fitness, any way? 
 Fittest in brawn quite often lack 
 In heft of heart or brain; an' back 
 Of frailest human forms you'll find. 
 Quite frequent, finest types of mind. 
 An' vig'rous will an' generous heart — 
 
178 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Men full-equipped to play a part 
 
 Brawn makes no show in. Look at Joe: 
 
 You'll seldom find the Lord bestow 
 
 Fine brawn along with gifts like his. 
 
 We need not question why it is. 
 
 It aint for men — for you or me — 
 
 To cipher out. Lord's plan may be 
 
 To evolute an' evolute, 
 
 Until he gets a strain to suit, 
 
 / neither know nor care a bit, 
 
 But this is plain : He knows the "fit." 
 
 An' some that, in persumptious pride, 
 
 Thinks tliey know, He may cast aside!" 
 
 We'd use to talk of prom'nent men 
 With fab'lous wealth, an' now an' then 
 He'd make odd comments while I'd read 
 About them, — such as "Run to seed! — 
 Poor vegetable! — sad to see 
 Rank useless growth spread like a tree, 
 Green, gorgeous, unsubstantial, vain, 
 Their golden flower more loss than gain." 
 — Contrastin' Joe: "his soHd sense" 
 He'd say to me, "is fine, immense! 
 He's bearin' fruit an' makin' wood; 
 Sound as an acorn, wise an' good. 
 
PBI FULL CONTENT I79 
 
 He's fairly full of sap, his roots 
 Spread out by riverside, his shoots 
 Green an' abundant, spite of brought; 
 He's one the Lord has planted out!" 
 
 Took that from bible, I should say. 
 For always it was Harry's way 
 To quote some tex. Years back, I know, 
 He spoke like that concernin' Joe — 
 'S if he's a tree (to ease my pain) ; 
 **They's hope a tree will sprout again 
 When it's cut down, as Job says." 
 
 Oh, 
 How true it come in case of Joe! 
 
 Good Harry! — partial, odd, mebbe 
 He was, but dear to mine an' me. 
 
 — Not down on wxalth; oh dear me, no! 
 He would have had no fears for Joe 
 On that score now. Indeed, like me, 
 I know he looked for Joe to be 
 A man of large estate someday. 
 
 Not long before he passed away, 
 Joe bought the Nob, an' Harry's glad; 
 
 *.^' 
 
i8o JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Had known it when he was a lad — 
 From creek to wood, from pike to lane. 
 Fair made him feel he's young again 
 To come up here. Seemed he could see! 
 Knew every turn an' every tree! 
 
 There, cased in glass, vi'lin an' bow 
 Hangs mute an' still forever, now. 
 Played in the old time many a strain 
 Of heartache music; time again 
 In trouble they've uplifted me. 
 An', happier times, sung merrily 
 To make my glad heart gladder yet. 
 (No, Harry, no, we don't forget!) 
 Played their last strain last fall a year, 
 When Joe fetched me an' him up here 
 For Annie's birthday; — me to stay, 
 While Harry took his lonely way 
 On sudden but most welcome call 
 ('Twas as he'd wished; not sick at all — 
 No wearin' wait). Last word to me 
 Was in his playful tone, — 'T see!" 
 
 But now concernin' Joe: he thrives 
 On work, — contented, tho he strives 
 Continially for "larger coast," 
 

 
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FM FULL CONTENT l8l 
 
 Has "benaficiaries a host" 
 
 As Harry prophesied — some known 
 
 To him alone, more unbeknown. 
 
 Works (Uke a horse I nearly said, — 
 
 Say like a dozen men, instead), 
 
 'Twixt business an' (we'll say) his fad — 
 
 His biggest work. Indeed my lad 
 
 'In blessin' " has been ''blest," in this, 
 
 Scarce understandin' how it is, — 
 
 Not knowin' how it comes about, 
 
 Nor carin' — seein' no way out, 
 
 Nor seekin' chance to slight or shirk 
 
 AYhat seems to come in his day's work. 
 
 Down from that Sunday evenin' when 
 He met his bunch of broken men 
 (With vaguest notions what to say 
 Or do for them), he's found some way 
 To give a hand to scores of men, 
 An' help them to their feet again. 
 
 He's practicle, you see, — he knows 
 From hard experience how it goes 
 With men off track; as Harry said 
 "A gradiate — G. A." — heart an' head 
 Instructed. 
 
i82 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Scores of workers know 
 The sturdy friend they have in Joe, 
 To counsel an' to help their plans; 
 So one or other keep his hands 
 Well filled with cases worth his care. 
 
 He'll come acrost one here an' there 
 
 That stirs his soul, — one now an' then 
 
 His own sort: genus-gifted men 
 
 That's been ill wronged. For these he fights 
 
 Tremendously, to gain their rights. 
 
 (For they's a power of genus dreams 
 
 Falls in the way of wicked schemes!) 
 
 — Or now a lad gone wrong, we'll say, 
 
 Some one or other turns his way. 
 
 Joe wins him, new inspirits him, 
 
 An' pleads with them he's wronged, for him 
 
 To be restored. — Or case in court 
 
 We'll say it is; he'll give support 
 
 Where lack of it would mean despair 
 
 An' further strayin'. Everywhere 
 
 Men seem to reco'nize his worth. 
 
 They aint a truer man on earth. 
 
 Nor tackfuller. Once he's begun 
 
 He clings until his point is won. 
 
PM FULL CONTENT 183 
 
 No fault of Joe's if case be lost! — 
 Not easy phazed with work or cost. 
 Works lawyer, merchant, railroad man, 
 As one or other suits his plan; 
 Them glad an' willin', 'cause they know 
 They's no crass foolishness in Joe. 
 
 He's never done contrivin' ways 
 
 Of helpin' men, so far as lays 
 
 In human power. They need (he'll say) 
 
 A lift, — not tell'm' of the way 
 
 They'd ought to go; — a touch of home; 
 
 A sense of human-kinship; sight 
 
 Of 'better things'; a gleam of light 
 
 From heaven, reflected out of men; 
 
 Riddance of rum-soak; fed again, 
 
 An' clad, so's they can fairly start 
 
 To face the world with steady heart 
 
 An' try once more. 
 
 — Or seventy times, 
 As bible says, — ay seventy times! — 
 Not one nor seven. 
 
 So Joe, he leads 
 Like-minded men to match these needs 
 With time an' means, along with his. 
 — To find their happiness in this. 
 
i84 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Public affairs an' church same way, — 
 Full head of steam on, every day! 
 
 Tom calls him 'broad.' I know he's true 
 
 To his convictions, thru an' thru; 
 
 But tol'rant as a man can be 
 
 With men that may not chance to see 
 
 Just eye to eye with him; quite clear 
 
 In doctrine views; but they's no fear 
 
 Of cant or cavil; reckons you 
 
 Have your idees of doctrine too. 
 
 No time for quibbles, — too intent 
 
 On livin' as the Master meant. 
 
 Mebbe a crank, as some would say. 
 
 He tries to turn things, anyway. 
 
 As some 'dy says of cranks; 'n I know 
 
 The church will make a better show 
 
 Of holdin' an' of mouldin' men 
 
 In ways the Master figured, when 
 
 Some crank idees of his prevail. 
 
 Where now she's far too ap to fail. 
 
 That's Joe, then! — all-around useful man, 
 Just workin', helpin', best he can. 
 
 Yet you'll observe he's little known; 
 
PM FULL CONTENT 185 
 
 His haud in things is seldom shown, 
 An' voice more seldom heard. His friends 
 Afar an' near must serve his ends; 
 An' men like 'Wastrel' here is glad 
 An' proud of service with my lad. 
 
 /'d liked have been some help myself 
 
 Before they laid me on the shelf, — 
 
 T' have done some good; but chance, you see, 
 
 Always somehow eluded me. 
 
 Why, ev'n my quest for Joe — it brought 
 
 No fruit; he was not where / sought! 
 
 Joe twits me when I talk like this, — ■ 
 
 Tells me ''one's place is where he is," — 
 
 An' 's how I've always done my best 
 
 — So forth, — an' I must "leave the rest"! . 
 
 An' then he'll say quite serously 
 
 "Your task has been to seek for me 
 
 My place — not me; an' you had done 
 
 Your full day's work when mine begun," 
 
 — An' so forth, kind as he can be. 
 
 An' bound to make life sweet for me 
 
 Joe's path to-day is plain an' bright 
 With wide an' ever-spreadin' light; 
 An' Annie's heart an' soul with him, 
 
i86 JOE'S PLACE 
 
 Fair match in goodness, tack, an' vim. 
 She's proud of him, — he worships her! 
 They're just a team, — the happiest pair! 
 
 O, Annie's perfectly content; 
 
 Quite sure she sees what mother meant. 
 
 An' Joe, he says his mother's face 
 
 Beams frequent now, an' Hghts "his place." 
 
 I'm glad to think 'tis even so. 
 They aint a busier man than Joe 
 Nor yet a happier to be found 
 Outside of heaven! — life full an' round. 
 — This, Annie says, is proof for me 
 That he is where he'd ought to be, — 
 Right in the ''large place" mother meant. 
 
 Like Annie dear, I'm full content! 
 
^