From Cornfield Philosophy, by C. D. Strode, Illustrated, Chicago: The Blakely Printing Co., 1902; pp. 80-81.
80
BREWSTER JONES’ CHRISTMAS.
_______________
There was once a man named
Brewster Jones
Who lived in a melt of white
oak timber,
A likely man with a giant’s
bones,
And a giant’s strength, stal-
wart and limber.
He farmed some land and
worked like sin,
But the white oak soil was
mighty thin,
And scarce returned what Jones
put in,
And
Jones
became
discouraged.
“It’s mighty hard lines,” said Brewster Jones
“Keepin’ the ends of things together,
Grubbin’ round ’mong stumps and stones
In every kind of wind and weather,
There’s a site for a saw mill over there,
And I’ll buy a saw mill, I declare,
And diamonds and rubies I will wear.”
And
he bought
a mill
on credit.
81
He had a wife and children three,
And thought a great deal of them.
“And when I get a mill,” said he,
“I’m sure I’ll have more time to love them.”
But after Jones had bought his mill
He worked from break of day until
The moon went down, and there was more work
still,
And
Jones
was mad
as thunder.
But there were the notes that must be paid —
Jones was not the man to shirk them.
He had a good many hands but none of them
staid,
Because of the way Jones had to work them.
But Jones was young and Jones was strong,
So he bowed his back and humped along,
Mingling cuss words with his song,
And
at night
he studied
inspection.
This Christmas the last of the notes came due,
And Jones had the money to pay it,
And a little money for Christmas, too —
He ought to be happy, but I can’t say it.
For alas! and alack! and well-a-day!
All the timber is cut away,
And you should hear what he has to say
About
the
saw mill
business.