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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416793" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Hired Man And Floretty</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before,<br>In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door<br>And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was<br>Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause<br>His dextrous knife was balancing a bit<br>Of fried mush near the port awaiting it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the glad children's advent--gladder still<br>To find _him_ there--'Jest tickled fit to kill<br>To see ye all!' he said, with unctious cheer.--<br>'I'm tryin'-like to he'p Floretty here<br>To git things cleared away and give ye room<br>Accordin' to yer stren'th. But I p'sume<br>It's a pore boarder, as the poet says,<br>That quarrels with his victuals, so I guess<br>I'll take another wedge o' that-air cake,<br>Florett', that you're a-_learnin_' how to bake.'<br>He winked and feigned to swallow painfully.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Jest 'fore ye all come in, Floretty she<br>Was boastin' 'bout her _biscuits_--and they _air_<br>As good--sometimes--as you'll find anywhere.--<br>But, women gits to braggin' on their _bread_,<br>I'm s'picious 'bout their _pie_--as Danty said.'<br>This raillery Floretty strangely seemed<br>To take as compliment, and fairly beamed<br>With pleasure at it all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">--'Speakin' o' _bread_--<br>When she come here to live,' The Hired Man said,--<br>'Never ben out o' _Freeport_ 'fore she come<br>Up here,--of course she needed '_sperience_ some.--<br>So, one day, when yer Ma was goin' to set<br>The risin' fer some bread, she sent Florett<br>To borry _leaven_, 'crost at Ryans'--So,<br>She went and asked fer _twelve_.--She didn't _know_,<br>But thought, _whatever_ 'twuz, that she could keep<br>_One_ fer _herse'f_, she said. O she wuz deep!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some little evidence of favor hailed<br>The Hired Man's humor; but it wholly failed<br>To touch the serious Susan Loehr, whose air<br>And thought rebuked them all to listening there<br>To her brief history of the _city_-man<br>And his pale wife--'A sweeter woman than<br>_She_ ever saw!'--So Susan testified,--<br>And so attested all the Loehrs beside.--<br>So entertaining was the history, that<br>The Hired Man, in the corner where he sat<br>In quiet sequestration, shelling corn,<br>Ceased wholly, listening, with a face forlorn<br>As Sorrow's own, while Susan, John and Jake<br>Told of these strangers who had come to make<br>Some weeks' stay in the town, in hopes to gain<br>Once more the health the wife had sought in vain:<br>Their doctor, in the city, used to know<br>The Loehrs--Dan and Rachel--years ago,--<br>And so had sent a letter and request<br>For them to take a kindly interest<br>In favoring the couple all they could--<br>To find some home-place for them, if they would,<br>Among their friends in town. He ended by<br>A dozen further lines, explaining why<br>His patient must have change of scene and air--<br>New faces, and the simple friendships there<br>With _them_, which might, in time, make her forget<br>A grief that kept her ever brooding yet<br>And wholly melancholy and depressed,--<br>Nor yet could she find sleep by night nor rest<br>By day, for thinking--thinking--thinking still Upon a grief beyond the doctor's skill,--<br>The death of her one little girl.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Pore thing!'<br>Floretty sighed, and with the turkey-wing<br>Brushed off the stove-hearth softly, and peered in<br>The kettle of molasses, with her thin<br>Voice wandering into song unconsciously--<br>In purest, if most witless, sympathy.--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Then sleep no more:<br>Around thy heart<br>Some ten-der dream may i-dlee play.<br>But mid-night song,<br>With mad-jick art,<br>Will chase that dree muh-way!''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'That-air besetment of Floretty's,' said<br>The Hired Man,--'_singin_--she _inhairited_,--<br>Her _father_ wuz addicted--same as her--<br>To singin'--yes, and played the dulcimer!<br>But--gittin' back,--I s'pose yer talkin' 'bout<br>Them _Hammondses_. Well, Hammond he gits out<br>_Pattents_ on things--inventions-like, I'm told--<br>And's got more money'n a house could hold!<br>And yit he can't git up no pattent-right<br>To do away with _dyin'_.--And he might<br>Be worth a _million_, but he couldn't find<br>Nobody sellin' _health_ of any kind!...<br>But they's no thing onhandier fer _me_<br>To use than other people's misery.--<br>Floretty, hand me that-air skillet there<br>And lem me git 'er het up, so's them-air<br>Childern kin have their popcorn.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was good<br>To hear him now, and so the children stood<br>Closer about him, waiting.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Things to _eat_,'<br>The Hired Man went on, ''s mighty hard to beat!<br>Now, when _I_ wuz a boy, we was so pore,<br>My parunts couldn't 'ford popcorn no more<br>To pamper _me_ with;--so, I hat to go<br>_Without_ popcorn--sometimes a _year_ er so!--<br>And _suffer'n' saints!_ how hungry I would git<br>Fer jest one other chance--like this--at it!<br>Many and many a time I've _dreamp_', at night,<br>About popcorn,--all busted open white,<br>And hot, you know--and jest enough o' salt<br>And butter on it fer to find no fault--<br>_Oomh!_--Well! as I was goin' on to say,--<br>After a-_dreamin_' of it thataway,<br>_Then_ havin' to wake up and find it's all<br>A _dream_, and hain't got no popcorn at-tall,<br>Ner haint _had_ none--I'd think, '_Well, where's the use!_'<br>And jest lay back and sob the plaster'n' loose!<br>And I have _prayed_, what_ever_ happened, it<br>'Ud eether be popcorn er death!.... And yit<br>I've noticed--more'n likely so have you--<br>That things don't happen when you _want_ 'em to.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus he ran on artlessly, with speech<br>And work in equal exercise, till each<br>Tureen and bowl brimmed white. And then he greased<br>The saucers ready for the wax, and seized<br>The fragrant-steaming kettle, at a sign<br>Made by Floretty; and, each child in line,<br>He led out to the pump--where, in the dim<br>New coolness of the night, quite near to him<br>He felt Floretty's presence, fresh and sweet<br>As ... dewy night-air after kitchen-heat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There, still, with loud delight of laugh and jest,<br>They plied their subtle alchemy with zest--<br>Till, sudden, high above their tumult, welled<br>Out of the sitting-room a song which held<br>Them stilled in some strange rapture, listening<br>To the sweet blur of voices chorusing:--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''When twilight approaches the season<br>That ever is sacred to song,<br>Does some one repeat my name over,<br>And sigh that I tarry so long?<br>And is there a chord in the music<br>That's missed when my voice is away?--<br>And a chord in each heart that awakens<br>Regret at my wearisome stay-ay--<br>Regret at my wearisome stay.''</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All to himself, The Hired Man thought--'Of course<br>_They'll_ sing _Floretty_ homesick!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">... O strange source<br>Of ecstasy! O mystery of Song!--<br>To hear the dear old utterance flow along:--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Do they set me a chair near the table<br>When evening's home-pleasures are nigh?--<br>When the candles are lit in the parlor.<br>And the stars in the calm azure sky.''...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just then the moonlight sliced the porch slantwise,<br>And flashed in misty spangles in the eyes<br>Floretty clenched--while through the dark--'I jing!'<br>A voice asked, 'Where's that song '_you'd_ learn to sing<br>Ef I sent you the _ballat_?'--which I done<br>Last I was home at Freeport.--S'pose you run<br>And git it--and we'll all go in to where<br>They'll know the notes and sing it fer ye there.'<br>And up the darkness of the old stairway<br>Floretty fled, without a word to say--<br>Save to herself some whisper muffled by<br>Her apron, as she wiped her lashes dry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Returning, with a letter, which she laid<br>Upon the kitchen-table while she made<br>A hasty crock of 'float,'--poured thence into<br>A deep glass dish of iridescent hue<br>And glint and sparkle, with an overflow<br>Of froth to crown it, foaming white as snow.--<br>And then--poundcake, and jelly-cake as rare,<br>For its delicious complement,--with air<br>Of Hebe mortalized, she led her van<br>Of votaries, rounded by The Hired Man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Whitcomb+Riley">James Whitcomb Riley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416793" data-title="The Hired Man And Floretty de James Whitcomb Riley" data-description="The Hired Man's supper, which he sat before,
In near reach of the wood-box, the stove-door
And one leaf of the kitchen-table, was
Somewhat belated, and in lifted pause
His dextrous knife was balancing a bit
Of fried mush near the port awaiting it...."></div>
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