ar me! The child has surely got
A most peculiar mind."

I've ast my pa to go and buy a brother for me, too;
But he jest shakes his head and says that it would never do;
And then he takes a book up quick and reads to me and tries
To make me laugh and talk to him; but sometimes ma, she cries.
But even then I seem to see
The empty house next door
And all those big, dark window-eyes
That stared at me before.

Some time I'm going to run away and find a father-man
Who has whole lots of boys and girls--for I am sure I can--
And when I do, I'm going to ast him please to come and take
The house next door and live in it--and--do it for my sake!
And if he does, oh, won't it be
A happy day for me?
I'll get a lot of brothers, then,
Without _no_ bother--see?

THE LITTLE FELLER'S GONE

Th' little feller's gone! Since he was so big, him an' I
Have been like good old cronies, agreein' on the sly
To skip the years between.
He was jest goin' on five years--an' I am "Grandpa Brown,"
Although he named me "Santa Claus" when fust he come to town--
An' my white beard he seen.
But now it seems to me a'most
As soon as he was born,
Th' little feller's gone.

He won't be standin' by the gate to holler to me, "Hi!
Wait fer me, Santy!" like he done when I went stumpin' by
T' fetch the cows back home.
We'll never sit agin an' argue which way we should go;
Or figger if that bird was jest a blackwing er a crow,
Nor through the meadows roam.
Fer he has found a place up there
Where it is always dawn--
Th' little feller's gone.

He was so full of fun I uster feel my heavy years
Drop from me when I went with him. Sometimes he'd pull my ears
And say, "Hear dat Bob White?
Dat is a quail a-whistlin' in de woods, somewhere--le's go
An' ketch him--we can sprinkle salt upon his tail, you know!"
And then he'd laugh outright;
But now, I don't take int'rust in
A thing that's goin' on--
Th' little feller's gone.

It must be right, but somehow I can't look at it that way--
Why should he go, so young and good, and me--so worn out--stay?
But mebbe up in heaven he will think of me and wait
And holler "Hi!" when he sees me a-limpin' to the Gate,
And mebbe (where is my old han'kerchief a-got to now?)
He'll say to Peter, "Let him in--_I_ like him, anyhow!"

THE FISHERMAN'S SON

When pa comes back home from his trip,
All brown and freckle-faced,
He's fatt