Was perched, and prodding rusty leaves
From out the choked and dripping eaves--
And some one, hammering about,
Was taking all the windows out.

Old scraps of shingles fell before
The noisy mansion's open door;
And wrangling children raked the yard,
And labored much, and laughed as hard
And fired the burning trash I smelt
And sniffed again--so good I felt!

[Illustration: A Treat Ode]

"Scurious-like," said the treetoad,
"I've twittered fer rain all day;
And I got up soon,
And hollered till noon--
But the sun hit blazed away,
Till I jest clumb down in a crawfish-hole
Weary at heart, and sick at soul!

"Dozed away fer an hour,
And I tackled the thing agin;
And I sung, and sung,
Till I knowed my lung
Was jest about to give in;
And then, thinks I, ef it don't rain now,
There're nothin' in singin' anyhow.

"Once in a while some farmer
Would come a driven' past
And he'd hear my cry,
And stop and sigh--
Till I jest laid back, at last,
And I hollered rain till I thought my throat
Would bust wide open at ever' note!

"But I _fetched_ her!--O I _fetched_ her!--
'Cause a little while ago,
As I kindo' set
With one eye shet,
And a-singin' soft and low,
A voice drapped down on my fevered brain
Sayin',--'Ef you'll jest hush I'll rain!'"

"Our Wife"

[Illustration]

The story opens in 1877, when, on an April morning, the yellow-haired
"devil" arrived at the office of the Jack Creek _Pizenweed_, at 7
o'clock, and found the editor in. It was so unusual to find the editor
in at that hour that the boy whistled in a low contralto voice, and
passed on into the "news room," leaving the gentlemanly, genial and
urbane editor of the _Pizenweed_ as he had found him, sitting in his
foundered chair, with his head immersed in a pile of exchanges on the
table and his venerable Smith & Wesson near by, acting as a
paper-weight. The gentlemanly, genial and urbane editor of the
_Pizenweed_ presented the appearance of a man engaged in sleeping off a
long and aggravated case of drunk. His hat was on the back of his head,
and his features were entirely obscured by the loose papers in which
they nestled.

Later on, Elijah P. Beckwith, the foreman, came in, and found the
following copy on the hook, mark