Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/The Tricksy Tune
THE TRICKSY TUNE
The Hired Man Speaks:
"He never spoke a civil word To her; it was his ruleTo snarl or shout; his best for her Was 'Mooncalf, dolt an' fool!'"
The Story:
The house was built back from the Road; It stood there grim and grayAnd silent, 'mid great aspen trees That quivered night and day.
The Road was narrow; old stone walls Arose on either sideBegrudging from the farm the land The roadbed had to gride.
And she had lived with him and drudged For over twenty years;He drove her on, from harrowing To breaking in the steers.
At first when she was called a fool, A hurt look dulled her eyes,And she would slip off by herself And have her little cries.
But once he caught her; after that She never dared to cry;The days seemed all alike to her That wearily went by.
And often, when he snarled and cursed, She played a little game;She tried to make believe that he Had called her some sweet name.
Then one day came a tricksy tune That hummed within her head;In spite of all that she could do It held the words he said.
She heard the song and shuddered at Its "Fool, dolt, fool, dolt, fool!"The while she gripped her hard, worn hands And drabber looked and cool.
And this kept up for weeks; she worked With hope to still the songBy weariness; it sometimes went away But would not stay for long.
When evening came, he sat about The kitchen while she ridThe sink of dishes, nagging her Through everything she did.
And then he'd go to sleep and snore, Sprawled in the rocking chair;The light shone on his long, gray beard And bristling, grizzly hair.
And so he lolled; she mended, darned, The while she scarce could see;The song beat time within her head That ached unceasingly.
A day came harder than the rest; He snarled at her and raved,And of the nagging words he knew There was no word he saved.
'And night came with the supper; wash Of dishes in the sink;And afterwards his snores; her song; She ceased to try to think.
The Hired Man Speaks:
"I found him crooked upon the floor; The ax was sharp, for heHad sharpened it that day an' whet It sharp as it could be.
She didn't notice me; she sat As white's a sheet, but cool,An' hummed a song: the words wan't much, Jest, 'Mooncalf, dolt an' fool!'"
The ConservativeWinifred Virginia Jackson