  He’s jes a great, big, awk’ard, hulkin’ Feller,—humped, and sorto’ sulkin’- Like, and ruther still-appearin’— Kind-as-ef he wuzn’t keerin’ Whether school helt out er not— That’s my Henry, to a dot! Allus kindo’ liked him—whether Childern, er growed-up together! Fifteen year’ ago and better, ’Fore he ever knowed a letter, Run acrosst the little fool In my Primer-class at school. When the Teacher wuzn’t lookin’, He’d be th’owin’ wads; er crookin’ Pins; er sprinklin’ pepper, more’n Likely, on the stove; er borin’ Gimlet-holes up thue his desk— Nothin’ that boy wouldn’t resk! But, somehow, as I was goin’ On to say, he seemed so knowin’, Other ways, and cute and cunnin’— Allus wuz a notion runnin’ Thue my giddy, fool-head he Jes had be’n cut out fer me! Don’t go much on prophesyin’, But last night whilse I wuz fryin’ Supper, with that man a-pitchin’ Little Marthy round the kitchen, Think-says-I, “Them baby’s eyes |
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