That Other Maud Muller

Maud Muller worked at making hay,     And cleared her forty cents a day.     Her clothes were coarse, but her health was fine,     And so she worked in the sweet sunshine     Singing as glad as a bird in May     "Barbara Allen" the livelong day.     She often glanced at the far-off town,     And wondered if eggs were up or down.     And the sweet song died of a strange disease,     Leaving a phantom taste of cheese,     And an appetite and a nameless ache     For soda-water and ginger cake.     The judge rode slowly into view -     Stopped his horse in the shade and threw     His fine-cut out, while the blushing Maud     Marveled much at the kind he "chawed."     "He was dry as a fish," he said with a wink,     "And kind o' thought that a good square drink     Would brace him up."    So the cup was filled     With the crystal wine that old spring spilled;     And she gave it him with a sun-browned hand.     "Thanks," said the judge in accents bland;     "A thousand thanks! for a sweeter draught,     From a fairer hand" - but there he laughed.     And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day,     And raked the judge instead of the hay.