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James Whitcomb Riley - How John Quit The Farm
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Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John,
  Except, of course, the extry he`p when harvest-time come on--
  And then, I want to say to you, we _needed_ he`p about,
  As you`d admit, ef you`d a-seen the way the crops turned out!

  A better quarter-section, ner a richer soil warn`t found
  Than this-here old-home place o` ourn fer fifty miles around!--
  The house was small--but plenty-big we found it from the day
  That John--our only livin` son--packed up and went way.

  You see, we tuck sich pride in John--his mother more `n me--
  That`s natchurul; but _both_ of us was proud as proud could be;
  Fer the boy, from a little chap, was most oncommon bright,
  And seemed in work as well as play to take the same delight.

  He allus went a-whistlin` round the place, as glad at heart
  As robins up at five o`clock to git an airly start;
  And many a time `fore daylight Mother`s waked me up to say--
  "Jest listen, David!--listen!--Johnny`s beat the birds to-day!"

  High-sperited from boyhood, with a most inquirin` turn,--
  He wanted to learn ever`thing on earth they was to learn:
  He`d ast more plaguey questions in a mortal-minute here
  Than his grandpap in Paradise could answer in a year!

  And read! w`y, his own mother learnt him how to read and spell;
  And "The Childern of the Abbey"--w`y, he knowed that book as well
  At fifteen as his parents!--and "The Pilgrim`s Progress," too--
  Jest knuckled down, the shaver did, and read `em through and through!

  At eighteen, Mother `lowed the boy must have a better chance--
  That we ort to educate him, under any circumstance;
  And John he j`ined his mother, and they ding-donged and kep` on,
  Tel I sent him off to school in town, half glad that he was gone.

  But--I missed him--w`y of course I did!--The Fall and Winter through
  I never built the kitchen-fire, er split a stick in two,
  Er fed the stock, er butchered, er swung up a gambrel-pin,
  But what I thought o` John, and wished that he was home agin.

  He`d come, sometimes--on Sund`ys most--and stay the Sund`y out;
  And on Thanksgivin`-Day he `peared to like to be about:
  But a change was workin` on him--he was stiller than before,
  And did n`t joke, ner laugh, ner sing and whistle any more.

  And his talk was all so proper; and I noticed, with a sigh,
  He was tryin` to raise side-whiskers, and had on a striped tie,
  And a standin`-collar, ironed up as stiff and slick as bone;
  And a breast-pin, and a watch and chain and plug-hat of his own.

  But when Spring-weather opened out, and John was to come home
  And he`p me through the season, I was glad to see him come;
  But my happiness, that evening, with the settin` sun went down,
  When he bragged of "a position" that was offered him in town.

  "But," says I, "you`ll not accept it?"  "W`y, of course
         I will," says he.--
  "This drudgin` on a farm," he says, "is not the life fer me;
  I`ve set my stakes up higher," he continued, light and gay,
  "And town`s the place fer me, and I`m a-goin` right away!"

  And go he did!--his mother clingin` to him at the gate,
  A-pleadin` and a-cryin`; but it hadn`t any weight.
  I was tranquiller, and told her `twarn`t no use to worry so,
  And onclasped her arms from round his neck round mine--and let him go!

  I felt a little bitter feelin` foolin` round about
  The aidges of my conscience; but I didn`t let it out;--
  I simply retch out, trimbly-like, and tuck the boy`s hand,
  And though I did n`t say a word, I knowed he`d understand.

  And--well!--sence then the old home here was mighty lonesome, shore!
  With me a-workin` in the field, and Mother at the door,
  Her face ferever to`rds the town, and fadin` more and more---
  Her only son nine miles away, a-clerkin` in a store!

  The weeks and months dragged by us; and sometimes the boy would write
  A letter to his mother, savin` that his work was light,
  And not to feel oneasy about his health a bit--
  Though his business was confinin`, he was gittin` used to it.

  And sometimes he would write and ast how _I_ was gittin` on,
  And ef I had to pay out much fer he`p sence he was gone;
  And how the hogs was doin`, and the balance of the stock,
  And talk on fer a page er two jest like he used to talk.

  And he wrote, along `fore harvest, that he guessed he would git home,
  Fer business would, of course be dull in town.--But _didn`t_ come:--
  We got a postal later, sayin` when they had no trade
  They filled the time "invoicin` goods," and that was why he staid.

  And then he quit a-writin` altogether: Not a word--
  Exceptin` what the neighbors brung who`d been to town and heard
  What store John was clerkin` in, and went round to inquire
  If they could buy their goods there less and sell their produce higher.

  And so the Summer faded out, and Autumn wore away,
  And a keener Winter never fetched around Thanksgivin`-Day!
  The night before that day of thanks I`ll never quite fergit,
  The wind a-howlin` round the house--it makes me creepy yit!

  And there set me and Mother--me a-twistin` at the prongs
  Of a green scrub-ellum forestick with a vicious pair of tongs,
  And Mother sayin`, "_David!  David!_" in a` undertone,
  As though she thought that I was thinkin` bad-words unbeknown.

  "I`ve dressed the turkey, David, fer to-morrow," Mother said,
  A-tryin` to wedge some pleasant subject in my stubborn head,--
  "And the mince-meat I`m a-mixin` is perfection mighty nigh;
  And the pound-cake is delicious-rich--" "Who`ll eat `em?" I-says-I.

  "The cramberries is drippin-sweet," says Mother, runnin` on,
  P`tendin` not to hear me;--"and somehow I thought of John
  All the time they was a-jellin`--fer you know they allus was
  His favour--he likes `em so!"  Says I, "Well, s`pose he does?"

  "Oh, nothin` much!" says Mother, with a quiet sort o` smile--
  "This gentleman behind my cheer may tell you after while!"
  And as I turned and looked around, some one riz up and leant
  And put his arms round Mother`s neck, and laughed in low content.

  "It`s _me_," he says--"your fool-boy John, come back to shake your hand;
  Set down with you, and talk with you, and make you understand
  How dearer yit than all the world is this old home that we
  Will spend Thanksgivin` in fer life--jest Mother, you and me!"

        *      *      *      *      *      *

  Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John,
  Except of course the extry he`p, when harvest-time comes on;
  And then, I want to say to you, we _need_ sich he`p about,
  As you`d admit, ef you could see the way the crops turns out!
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