另一个英雄的年轻的年回报,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