  Armazindy;—fambily name Ballenger,—you’ll find the same, As her Daddy answered it, In the old War-rickords yit,— And, like him, she’s airnt the good Will o’ all the neighborhood.— Name ain’t down in History,— But, i jucks! it ort to be! Folks is got respec’ fer her— Armazindy Ballenger!— ’Specially the ones ’at knows Fac’s o’ how her story goes From the start:—Her father blowed Up—eternally furloughed— When the old “Sultana” bu’st, And sich men wuz needed wusst.— Armazindy, ’bout fourteen- Year-old then—and thin and lean As a killdee,—but—my la!— Blamedest nerve you ever saw! The girl’s mother’d allus be’n Sickly—wuz consumpted when Word came ’bout her husband.—So Folks perdicted she’d soon go— (Kind o’ grief I understand, Losin’ my companion,—and Still a widower—and still Hinted at, like neighbers will!) So, app’inted, as folks said, Ballenger a-bein’ dead, Widder, ’peared-like, gradjully, Jes grieved after him tel she Died, nex’ Aprile wuz a year,— And in Armazindy’s keer Leavin’ the two twins, as well As her pore old miz’able Old-maid aunty ’at had be’n Struck with palsy, and wuz then Jes a he’pless charge on her— Armazindy Ballenger. Jevver watch a primrose ’bout Minute ’fore it blossoms out— Kindo’ loosen-like, and blow Up its muscles, don’t you know, And, all suddent, bu’st and bloom Out life-size?—Well, I persume ’At’s the only measure I Kin size Armazindy by!— Jes a child, one minute,—nex’, Woman-grown, in all respec’s And intents and purposuz— ’At’s what Armazindy wuz! Jes a child, I tell ye! Yit She made things git up and git Round that little farm o’ hern!— Shouldered all the whole concern;— Feed the stock, and milk the cows— Run the farm and run the house!— Only thing she didn’t do Wuz to plough and harvest too— But the house and childern took Lots o’ keer—and had to look After her old fittified Grandaunt.—Lord! ye could’a’ cried, Seein’ Armazindy smile, ’Peared-like, sweeter all the while! And I’ve heerd her laugh and say:— “Jes afore Pap marched away, He says, ‘I depend on you, Armazindy, come what may— You must be a Soldier, too!’” Neighbers, from the fust, ’ud come— And she’d let ’em help her some,— “Thanky, ma’am!” and “Thanky, sir!” But no charity fer her!— “She could raise the means to pay Fer her farm-hands ever’ day Sich wuz needed!”—And she could— In cash-money jes as good As farm-produc’s ever brung Their perducer, old er young! So folks humored her and smiled, And at last wuz rickonciled Fer to let her have her own Way about it.—But a-goin’ Past to town, they’d stop and see “Armazindy’s fambily,” As they’d allus laugh and say, And look sorry right away, Thinkin’ of her Pap, and how He’d indorse his “Soldier” now! ’Course she couldn’t never be Much in young-folks’ company— Plenty of in-vites to go, But das’t leave the house, you know— ’Less’n Sund’ys sometimes, when Some old Granny’d come and ’ten’ Things, while Armazindy has Got away fer Church er “Class.” Most the youngsters liked her—and ’Twuzn’t hard to understand,— Fer, by time she wuz sixteen, Purtier girl you never seen— ’Ceptin’ she lacked schoolin’, ner Couldn’t rag out stylisher— Like some neighber-girls, ner thumb On their blame’ melodium, Whilse their pore old mothers sloshed Round the old back-porch and washed Their clothes fer ’em—rubbed and scrubbed Fer girls’d ort to jes be’n clubbed! —And jes sich a girl wuz Jule Reddinhouse.—She’d be’n to school At New Thessaly, i gum!— Fool before, but that he’pped some— ’Stablished-like more confidence ’At she never had no sense. But she wuz a cunnin’, sly, Meek and lowly sort o’ lie, ’At men-folks like me and you B’lieves jes ’cause we ortn’t to.— Jes as purty as a snake, And as pizen—mercy sake! Well, about them times it wuz, Young Sol Stephens th’ashed fer us; And we sent him over to |
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