PUTTING THE CREAM IN THE WELL OF VERMONT by DANIEL LEAVENS CADY

WE all have seen a sultry spurt
Along in mid-July,
When gallus buckles stain your shirt
As black as whisker dye;
When jackknives rust and sideboards "seize,"
And lightstand doors beswell—
That's when we used to put the cream
'Way down inside the well.

When burdocks wilt and saltshakes balk
And ink writes through your sheet;
When robins pant and rabbits walk
And hens lay down to eat;
When grinstones crack at dead of night,
And sometimes jars of jell—
That's when the cream pail had to go
At twilight down the well.

The last of all the chores and cares
A "scorcher" brought about,
Was running down the bulkhead stairs
To fetch the cream pail out;
With butter eighteen cents a pound
We had no cream to sell
Or use or lose—we kept it sweet
'Way down inside the well.

We had a butchering gambrel 'round
To lay acrost the top
Of Mr. Well, because we found
It wouldn't roll or flop;
To this we sailorized the rope,
For if a thing befell
That rigging, what a mess there'd be
'Way down inside the well!

It made a feller stop and think
To stiddy down that pail,
For when the bottom struck the drink
There still was time to fail;
And such glub sounds come crumping up
You held your breath a spell—
'Twas ticklish business putting cream
'Way down our deep old well.

But now the trucks come 'round and glean
The cream, and sad but true,
They've built a tank for gasoline
Inside the well I knew;
There's nothing left but these old thoughts
That ring a little knell
Of recollection o'er the cream
We storaged down the well.

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