Noey Bixler

Another hero of those youthful years     Returns, as Noey Bixler's name appears.     And Noey - if in any special way -     Was notably good-natured. - Work or play     He entered into with selfsame delight -     A wholesome interest that made him quite     As many friends among the old as young, -     So everywhere were Noey's praises sung.     And he was awkward, fat and overgrown,     With a round full-moon face, that fairly shone     As though to meet the simile's demand.     And, cumbrous though he seemed, both eye and hand     Were dowered with the discernment and deft skill     Of the true artisan: He shaped at will,     In his old father's shop, on rainy days,     Little toy-wagons, and curved-runner sleighs;     The trimmest bows and arrows - fashioned, too.     Of "seasoned timber," such as Noey knew     How to select, prepare, and then complete,     And call his little friends in from the street.     "The very best bow," Noey used to say,     "Haint made o' ash ner hick'ry thataway! -     But you git mulberry - the bearin'-tree,     Now mind ye! and you fetch the piece to me,     And lem me git it seasoned; then, i gum!     I'll make a bow 'at you kin brag on some!     Er - ef you can't git mulberry, - you bring     Me a' old locus' hitch-post, and i jing!     I'll make a bow o' that 'at common bows     Won't dast to pick on ner turn up their nose!"     And Noey knew the woods, and all the trees,     And thickets, plants and myriad mysteries     Of swamp and bottom-land. And he knew where     The ground-hog hid, and why located there. -     He knew all animals that burrowed, swam,     Or lived in tree-tops: And, by race and dam,     He knew the choicest, safest deeps wherein     Fish-traps might flourish nor provoke the sin     Of theft in some chance peeking, prying sneak,     Or town-boy, prowling up and down the creek.     All four-pawed creatures tamable - he knew     Their outer and their inner natures too;     While they, in turn, were drawn to him as by     Some subtle recognition of a tie     Of love, as true as truth from end to end,     Between themselves and this strange human friend.     The same with birds - he knew them every one,     And he could "name them, too, without a gun."     No wonder Johnty loved him, even to     The verge of worship. - Noey led him through     The art of trapping redbirds - yes, and taught     Him how to keep them when he had them caught -     What food they needed, and just where to swing     The cage, if he expected them to sing.     And Bud loved Noey, for the little pair     Of stilts he made him; or the stout old hair     Trunk Noey put on wheels, and laid a track     Of scantling-railroad for it in the back     Part of the barn-lot; or the cross-bow, made     Just like a gun, which deadly weapon laid     Against his shoulder as he aimed, and - "Sping!"     He'd hear the rusty old nail zoon and sing -     And zip! your Mr. Bluejay's wing would drop     A farewell-feather from the old tree-top!     And Maymie loved him, for the very small     But perfect carriage for her favorite doll -     A lady's carriage - not a baby-cab, -     But oilcloth top, and two seats, lined with drab     And trimmed with white lace-paper from a case     Of shaving-soap his uncle bought some place     At auction once.         And Alex loved him yet     The best, when Noey brought him, for a pet,     A little flying-squirrel, with great eyes -     Big as a child's: And, childlike otherwise,     It was at first a timid, tremulous, coy,     Retiring little thing that dodged the boy     And tried to keep in Noey's pocket; - till,     In time, responsive to his patient will,     It became wholly docile, and content     With its new master, as he came and went, -     The squirrel clinging flatly to his breast,     Or sometimes scampering its craziest     Around his body spirally, and then     Down to his very heels and up again.     And Little Lizzie loved him, as a bee     Loves a great ripe red apple - utterly.     For Noey's ruddy morning-face she drew     The window-blind, and tapped the window, too;     Afar she hailed his coming, as she heard     His tuneless whistling - sweet as any bird     It seemed to her, the one lame bar or so     Of old "Wait for the Wagon" - hoarse and low     The sound was, - so that, all about the place,     Folks joked and said that Noey "whistled bass" -     The light remark originally made     By Cousin Rufus, who knew notes, and played     The flute with nimble skill, and taste as wall,     And, critical as he was musical,     Regarded Noey's constant whistling thus     "Phenominally unmelodious."     Likewise when Uncle Mart, who shared the love     Of jest with Cousin Rufus hand-in-glove,     Said "Noey couldn't whistle 'Bonny Doon'     Even! and, he'd bet, couldn't carry a tune     If it had handles to it!"          - But forgive     The deviations here so fugitive,     And turn again to Little Lizzie, whose     High estimate of Noey we shall choose     Above all others. - And to her he was     Particularly lovable because     He laid the woodland's harvest at her feet. -     He brought her wild strawberries, honey-sweet     And dewy-cool, in mats of greenest moss     And leaves, all woven over and across     With tender, biting "tongue-grass," and "sheep-sour,"     And twin-leaved beach-mast, prankt with bud and flower     Of every gypsy-blossom of the wild,     Dark, tangled forest, dear to any child. -     All these in season. Nor could barren, drear,     White and stark-featured Winter interfere     With Noey's rare resources: Still the same     He blithely whistled through the snow and came     Beneath the window with a Fairy sled;     And Little Lizzie, bundled heels-and-head,     He took on such excursions of delight     As even "Old Santy" with his reindeer might     Have envied her! And, later, when the snow     Was softening toward Springtime and the glow     Of steady sunshine smote upon it, - then     Came the magician Noey yet again -     While all the children were away a day     Or two at Grandma's! - and behold when they     Got home once more; - there, towering taller than     The doorway - stood a mighty, old Snow-Man!     A thing of peerless art - a masterpiece     Doubtless unmatched by even classic Greece     In heyday of Praxiteles. - Alone     It loomed in lordly grandeur all its own.     And steadfast, too, for weeks and weeks it stood,     The admiration of the neighborhood     As well as of the children Noey sought     Only to honor in the work he wrought.     The traveler paid it tribute, as he passed     Along the highway - paused and, turning, cast     A lingering, last look - as though to take     A vivid print of it, for memory's sake,     To lighten all the empty, aching miles     Beyond with brighter fancies, hopes and smiles.     The cynic put aside his biting wit     And tacitly declared in praise of it;     And even the apprentice-poet of the town     Rose to impassioned heights, and then sat down     And penned a panegyric scroll of rhyme     That made the Snow-Man famous for all time.     And though, as now, the ever warmer sun     Of summer had so melted and undone     The perishable figure that - alas! -     Not even in dwindled white against the grass -     Was left its latest and minutest ghost,     The children yet - materially, almost -     Beheld it - circled 'round it hand-in-hand -     (Or rather 'round the place it used to stand) -     With "Ring-a-round-a-rosy! Bottle full     O' posey!" and, with shriek and laugh, would pull     From seeming contact with it - just as when     It was the real-est of old Snow-Men.