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From The Wit and Humor of America, edited by Marshall P. Wilder, Volume III, New York and London: Funk and Wagnalls and Company, 1911; p. 418.




“ ’Scurious-like,” said the tree-toad,

“I’ve twittered fer rain all day;

And I got up soon,

And I 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 give in;

And then, thinks I, ef hit don’t rain now,

There ’re nothing’ in singin’, anyhow!

“Once in awhile some farmer

Would come a-drivin’ 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 th’oat

Would bust right open at ever’ note!

“But I fetched her! O I fetched her! —

’Cause a 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!’ ”

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