don't pay attention, and what am I comin' to; Tellin' 'bout when she was little, same as old folks always do. Say, I'll bet she didn't like it any better than the rest, Sittin' 'round all stiff and starchy, dressed up in your Sunday best.    "Blessed are the poor"—I tell yer, some day I'll be clearin' out, Leavin' all this dressin' nonsense, 'cause I'm goin' ter be a scout, Same as "Deadwood Dick," a-killin' all the Injuns on the plains:   He do'n't comb his hair, you bet yer; no, nor wash, unless it rains. And bimeby I'll come home, bringin' loads of gold and di'mon' rings; My, won't all the boys be jealous when they see those kind of things!   'N' I'll have a reputation, folks'll call me "Lariat Ben,"   Gran'ma'll think I 'mount ter somethin', maybe, when she sees me then.    "Blessed are the"—There's a blackbird, outside, sittin' on a limb,—   Gosh! I wish it wasn't Sunday, p'raps I wouldn't go for him. Sis says stonin' birds is wicked, but she's got one on her hat,—   S'pose that makes it right and proper, if yer kill 'em just for that. There's that dudey city feller, sittin' in the Deacon's pew. Needn't feel so big now, Smarty, just because your clothes are new; Me and Sam has rigged a hat line; when it's dark to-morrer night We'll just catch your shiny beaver and we'll send it out of sight.    "Blessed are"—There's Mr. Wiggin sound asleep. I wish he'd snore. Cracky! Now he's been and done it, dropped his hymn-book on the floor. See how cross his wife is lookin'. Say, I bet they'll have a row; Pa said that she wore the breeches, but she's got a dress on now. There's Nell Baker with her uncle. Her 'n I don't speak at school,   'Cause she wouldn't help a feller when I clean forgot the rule. Used to be my girl before that—Gee! what was that text about?   "Blessed—blessed—blessed" something. I'll ask Sis when we get out.  

 

     "TAKIN' BOARDERS" 

  We'd never thought of takin' 'em,—'t was Mary Ann's idee,—   Sence she got back from boardin'-school she's called herself "Maree"   An' scattered city notions like a tom-cat sheds his fur. She thought our old melodeon wa'n't good enough fer her, An' them pianners cost so that she said the only way Was ter take in summer boarders till we 'd made enough to pay; So she wrote advertisements out to fetch 'em inter camp, An' now there's boarders thicker here than June bugs round a lamp. Our best front parlor'll jest be sp'iled; they h'ist up every shade An' open all the blinds, by gum! an' let the carpet fade. They're in there week days jest the same as Sunday; I declare, I really think our haircloth set is 

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