RUTH AND LOT. 247
So when I stop at the blue lake s bound, The wave comes up like a stranger hound, And touches me with its tawny foot, Where still I stand on the pebbles mute,
Looking across at the line of blue That lies, dear home, nearer me than you, Then runs aside, while the ripples say, " She waits her shadowy ship to-day."
��RUTH AND LOT.
" f\R, that s the old maid. Are they talkin of
I s pose I am one, fur I m nigh forty-three, And I seem like a hundred, I s pose, to the girls, With my sober brown suit and these little gray curls. But I kinder forgit till I hear it. It s true, And I am an old maid. I git kinder blue ; Only sent fur to fun rals, an quiltin s, and teas; Settin up with sick creeturs to watch if they sneeze, An nobody thinkin how lonesome I am. There s the motherless children, be sure, and there s
The prince of good brothers ; but sometimes I guess They could live on without me. Old cat, I confess I ve a poor foolish streak in my heart don t you
tell An I wish I d made up, after pouting a spell,