And I says, "Doc, you 'pear so spry,
jes write me that recei't
You have fer bein' happy by,—
fer that 'u'd shorely beat
Your medicine!" says I.—And quick
as s'cat! Doc turned and writ
And handed me: "Go he'p the sick,
and putt your heart in it."
LI
And then, "A-talkin' furder 'bout
that line o' thought," says he,
"Ef we'll jes do the work cut out
and give' to you and me,
We'll lack no joy, ner appetite,
ner all we'd ort to eat,
And sleep like childern ever' night—
as puore and ca'm and sweet."
LII
Doc has bin 'cused o' offishness
and lack o' talkin' free
And extry friendly; but he says,
"I'm 'feard o' talk," says he,—
"I've got," he says, "a natchurl turn
fer talkin' fit to kill.—
The best and hardest thing to learn
is trick o' keepin' still."
LIII
Doc kin smoke, and I s'pose he might
drink licker—jes fer fun.
He says, "You smoke, you drink all right;
but I don't—neether one"—
Says, "I like whiskey—'good old rye'—
but like it in its place,
Like that-air warter in your eye,
er nose there on your face."
LIV
Doc's bound to have his joke! The day
he got that off on me
I jes had sold a load o' hay
at "Scofield's Livery,"
And tolled Doc in the shed they kep'
the hears't in, where I'd hid
The stuff 'at got me "out o' step,"
as Sifers said it did.
LV
Doc hain't, to say, no "rollin' stone,"
and yit he hain't no hand
Fer 'cumulatin'.—Home's his own,
and scrap o' farmin'-land—
Enough to keep him out the way
when folks is tuk down sick
The suddentest—'most any day
they want him 'special quick.