THE CORNFLOWER.

    The day she came we were planting corn,
      The west eighty-acre field,--
    These prairie farms are great for size,
      And they're sometimes great for yield.

    "The new school-ma'am is up to the house,"
      The chore-boy called out to me;
    I went in wishing anyone else
      Had been put in chief trustee.

    I was to question that girl, you see,
      Of the things she ought to know;
    As for these same things, I knew right well
      I'd forgot them long ago.

    I hadn't kept track of women's ways,
      'Bout all I knew of the sex
    Was that they were mighty hard to please,
      And easy enough to vex.

    My sister Mary, who ruled my house--
      And me--with an iron hand,
    Was all the woman I knew real well--
      Her I didn't understand.

    But I'd no call to grumble at fate,
      Fifty, well off, and unwed;
    Young as a lad in spite of the dust
      Old Time had thrown on my head.

    I engaged the school-ma'am on the spot,
      And the reason, I surmise,
    Was this, she didn't giggle or blush,
      But looked me fair in the eyes.

    The planting over, why, every lad
      In a space of ten good mile
    Was off for the school with a sudden zeal
      That made all us old folks smile.

    How she took to our wide prairie
      After towns with narrow streets!
    To watch that west eighty-acre field
      Was one of her queer conceits.

    "You planted that corn the day I came,"
      She said, "and I love to go
    And watch the sun-mother kiss and coax
      Each slim green stalk to grow."

    I called her "Cornflower" when she took
      To wearing 'em in her belt.
    The young chaps were all in love with her--
      _And I knew just how they felt_.

    Oh, I tell you that was a summer,
      Such sunshine, such dew, such rain;
    Never saw crops grow so in my life--
      Don't expect I will again.

    To watch that west eighty-acre field,
      When the fall came clear and cold,
    Was something like a sermon to me--
      Made me think of streets of gold.

    But about that time the new school-ma'am
      Had words with the first trustee;
    A scholar had taken the fever
      And she was for blaming _me_.

    That schoolhouse should be raised from the ground--
      Grave reason there for alarm;
    A new coat of plaster be put on
      That the children be kept warm.

    A well--a good one--should take the place
      Of the deathtrap that was there.
    "This should all be done at once," she said.
      Cost five hundred dollars clear!

    I told her I couldn't think of it,
      But, when all my work was through,
    If the taxes came in middling good,
      I would see what I could do.