Kingry's Mill

On old Brandywine - about     Where White's Lots is now laid out,     And the old crick narries down     To the ditch that splits the town,     Kingry's Mill stood. Hardly see     Where the old dam ust to be;     Shallor, long, dry trought o' grass     Where the old race ust to pass!     That's be'n forty years ago -     Forty years o' frost and snow -     Forty years o' shade and shine     Sence them boyhood-days o' mine!     All the old landmarks o' town.     Changed about, er rotted down!     Where's the Tanyard? Where's the Still?     Tell me where's old Kingry's Mill?     Don't seem furder back, to me,     I'll be dogg'd! Than yisterd'y,     Since us fellers, in bare feet     And straw hats, went through the wheat,     Cuttin' 'crost the shortest shoot     Fer that-air old ellum root     Jest above the mill-dam - where     The blame' cars now crosses there!     Through the willers down the crick     We could see the old mill stick     Its red gable up, as if     It jest knowed we'd stol'd the skiff!     See the winders in the sun     Blink like they wuz wonderun'     What the miller ort to do     With sich boys as me and you!     But old Kingry! Who could fear     That old chap, with all his cheer?     Leanin' at the window-sill,     Er the half-door o' the mill,     Swoppin' lies, and pokin' fun,     'N jigglin' like his hoppers done -     Laughin' grists o' gold and red     Right out o' the wagon-bed!     What did he keer where we went?     "Jest keep out o' devilment,     And don't fool around the belts,     Bolts, ner burrs, ner nothin' else     'Bout the blame machinery,     And that's all I ast!" says-ee.     Then we'd climb the stairs, and play     In the bran-bins half the day!     Rickollect the dusty wall,     And the spider-webs, and all!     Rickollect the trimblin' spout     Where the meal come josslln' out -     Stand and comb yer fingers through     The fool-truck an hour er two -     Felt so sorto' warm-like and     Soothin' to a feller's hand!     Climb, high up above the stream,     And "coon" out the wobbly beam     And peek down from out the lof'     Where the weather-boards was off -     Gee-mun-nee! w'y, it takes grit     Even jest to think of it!     Lookin' 'way down there below     On the worter roarin' so!     Rickollect the flume, and wheel,     And the worter slosh and reel     And jest ravel out in froth     Flossier'n satin cloth!     Rickollect them paddles jest     Knock the bubbles galley-west,     And plunge under, and come up     Drippin' like a worter-pup!     And to see them old things gone     That I onc't was bettin' on,     In rale p'int o' fact, I feel     kindo' like that worter-wheel,     Sorto' drippy-like and wet     Round the eyes - but paddlin' yet,     And in mem'ry, loafin' still     Down around old Kingry's Mill!