like a shot.
Why, didn’t he make me a cradle once that would keep itself
a-rockin’,
And didn’t it pitch the baby out, and wasn’t his head bruised
shockin’?
And there was his “patent peeler,” too, a wonderful thing I’ll say;
But it hed one fault—it never stopped till the apple was peeled away.
As for locks and clocks, and mowin’ machines, and reapers, and all
such trash,
Why, ‘Bijah’s invented heaps of them, but they don’t bring in no cash!
Law! that don’t worry him—not at all; he’s the aggravatinest man—
He’ll set in his little workshop there, and whistle and think and plan,
Inventin’ a Jews harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled powder-horn,
While the children’s goin’ barefoot to school, and the weeds is
chokin’ our corn.
When ‘Bijah and me kep’ company, he wasn’t like this, you know;
Our folks all thought he was dreadful smart—but that was years ago.
He was handsome as any pictur’ then, and he had such a glib,
bright way—
I never thought that a time would come when I’d rue my weddin’-day;
But when I’ve been forced to chop the wood, and tend to the
farm beside,
And look at ‘Bijah a-settin’ there, I’ve jest dropped down and cried.
We lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was inventin’ a gun,
But I counted it one of my marcies when it bust before ‘twas done.
So he turned it into a “burglar alarm.” It ought to give
thieves a fright—
‘Twould scare an honest man out of his wits, ef he sot it
off at night.
Sometimes I wonder ef ‘Bijah’s crazy, he does such curious things.
Have I told you about his bedstead yit? ‘Twas full of wheels
and springs;
It hed a key to wind it up, and a clock-face at the head;
All you did was to turn them hands, and at any hour you said
That bed got up and shook itself, and bounced you on the floor,
And then shet up, jest like a box, so you couldn’t sleep any more.
Wa’al, ‘Bijah he fixed it all complete, and he sot it at
half-past five,
But he hadn’t more ‘n got into it, when—dear me! sakes alive!
Them wheels began to whizz and whirr! I heard a fearful snap,
And there was that bedstead with ‘Bijah inside shet up jest
like a trap!
I screamed, of course, but ‘twant no use. Then I worked that
hull long night
A-tryin’ to open the pesky thing. At last I got in a fright:
I couldn’t hear his voice inside, and I thought he might be dyin’,
So I took a crowbar and smashed it in. There was ‘Bijah
peacefully lyin’,
Inventin’ a way to git out agin. That was all very well to say,
But I don’t believe he’d have found it out if I’d left him in all day.
