On the Tree Top Part 16

Jumper, the dog, watched all her steps With constant eyes and jealous love; A great cat purred and rubbed her dress; And on her shoulder perched a dove.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes, Ah me, Margery Two-Shoes!

Maybe the days of good Queen Bess Were times of wisdom; nevertheless, Witches (the people said) might be-- And a witch they thought our Margery!

'Twas Nickey Noodle, a simpleton, Who raised the cry, "A witch, a witch!"

Then she was summoned to the court, Amused, or grieved, she scarce knew which.

Plenty of friends, however, proved How false was Justice Shallow's plea That "She _must_ be a witch, because-- Because of the raven, don't you see?"

Sir Edward Lovell, a baronet, Who stood in court and saw her grace Her sweet good sense, her dignity, And the pure beauty of her face,

Sighed heavily in his high-born breast As Mrs. Margery was set free, Saying, "I _know_ she is a witch, For, ah, she so bewitches me!"

He watched her go her quiet ways, And vowed, whatever might betide, If his best love could win her heart And hand, then she should be his bride.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes-- Lady Lovell, if she choose!

Her the n.o.ble lover wooed, Humbly, as a lover should, Eagerly, as lover ought, With entire heart and thought.

What her answer, all may guess, For the old church chime that rung Its next wedding anthem sung With a most delighted tongue:

_"Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes, Wedding day of Two-Shoes!

Barefoot la.s.s but yesterday, Lady Lovell is to-day!

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes, Lovely Lady Two-Shoes!"_

Who is this that rides so fast, With plumed hat and cheek of brown, With golden trappings on his horse, Gallant and gay from London town?

He hears the bells, he strikes his spurs, The flecks of foam are on his rein, The dust of journey whitens him, He leans to see the bridal train!

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes, Lady Goody Two-Shoes!

Tom it is, come home once more!

Even now he's at the door, Rich and grand as any king-- Come to bless the wedding ring!

SAARc.h.i.n.kOLD!

Nose to window, Still as a mouse, Watching grampa "Bank the house."

Out of the barrow he shovels the tan, And he piles and packs it as hard as he can "All about the house's feet,"

Says "Phunny-kind,"

Nose to the window, Eager and sweet.

Now she comes to the entry door: "Grampa--_what are you do that for_?

Are you puttin' stockin's on to the house?"

(Found her tongue, has Still-as-a-Mouse.)

Grandpa twinkles out of his eyes, Straightens his aching back, and tries To look as solemn as Phunny-kind.

But the child says: "Grampa, is it the wind That keeps you a-shakin' an' shakin' so?"

Then the old man, shaking the more, says: "No!

But I'm bankin' the house, Miss Locks-o-gold, To keep out the dreadful-- _Sa-archin' Cold_!"

And away he chuckles, barrow and all: "_'Mazin' thing_," he says, "_to be small_!

Folks says the best things 't ever they do Afore they git old 'nough to know!"

Phunny-kind puzzles her queer, wee brain As slowly she toddles in again: --"Is she a nawful, ugly, old Giant--or what--this 'Sa-arc.h.i.n.kold?'"

She stands by the clock in the corner, now: "I wonder," she says, "does the old clock know?"

But the great clock TICKS!

And the _grim_ clock TOCKS!

Away at the top of his ghostly box; The round Full Moon (in his forehead) smiles; But with all his wisdom, or all his wiles, Though he knows very well, He never will tell Should he tick and tock till a century old What they mean by The Sa-arc.h.i.n.kold!

In the great, square room, by a cheerful flame In the fire-place, bending above her frame, Is grandma, snapping her chalky string Across and across a broad, bright thing.

"Gramma, what you are a-doin' here?"

"I'm a-makin' a 'comfort,' my little dear; For grandpa and I are a-gittin' old.

And we're afeared o' the Sa-archin' Cold."

When the daylight fades, and the shadows fall Flickering down from the fire-dogs tall, Comes Uncle Phil, from his school and his books.

"Uncle Phil, I know by your smile-y looks-- You'll let me--get on your knee--jus' _so_-- An' you'll tell me somefing I want to know: 'Cos, you see, Uncle Phil, I've _got_ to be told _Who she is_--they call her 'The Sa-arc.h.i.n.kold.'"

Uncle Phil looks up; Uncle Phil looks down; And he wags his head; And he tries to frown; But at last he cries In a great surprise: "Why, yes! to be sure! to be sure, I'll tell For I know the old dame, of old, right well:

"Now Jack is a fine old fellow, you see; Spicy, and full of his pranks, is he: Snipping off noses, just for fun, And sticking 'em on again when he is done; A-pinching at pretty, soft ears and cheeks; A-wakin' folks up with his jolly freaks; But a--h! for your life Look sharp for his wife!

"For she comes after, and comes to stay-- Welcome or not--for a month and a day!

She plots, and she plans, she sneaks, and she crawls Till she finds a way through the thickest of walls!"

"ZH----ZH!

Did you ever meet a More dreadful creatur!

She's Jack Frost's wife!

And the plague of his life!

"ZH!--ZH!

I'm all of a s.h.i.+ver, Heart, lungs and liver!

When I think of that old SAARc.h.i.n.kOLD!

"Oh--oo!" cries Phunny-kind, "how does she look?"

"To be sure! I'll picture her just like a book.

--Her nose--is an icicle, sharp and strong, To poke in at every hole and crack; Her eyes gleam frostily all night long-- But who knows whether they're blue or black?

"She brings on her back An astonis.h.i.+ng pack.

Like a blacksmith's bellows, marvellous big; And while she dances a horrible jig, Out of this bellows a doleful tune She skre--eels away, in the dark o' the Moon!

"But if ever she works with a wicked will, 'Tis when she is quiet, and sly, and still.

She pretends that old Jack leaves his work but half done, She '_wishes for once he'd be quit of his fun_!'

So she follows him up with her sour, ugly phiz, And wherever she goes, you may know she means 'biz.

"Look sharp when she peeps through the crack o' the door!

Look sharp when she hides away under the floor!