Cassander

" CASSANDER! O Cassander! " — her mother's voice seems cle'r
As ever, from the old back-porch, a-hollerin' fer her —
Especially in airly Spring — like May, two year' ago —
Last time she hollered fer her, — and Cassander didn't hear!

Cassander was so chirpy-like and sociable and free,
And good to ever'body, and wuz even good to me
Though I wuz jes' a common — well, a farm-hand, don't you know,
A-workin' on her father's place, as pore as pore could be!

Her bein' jes' a' only child, Cassander had her way
A good-'eal more'n other girls; and neighbers ust to say
She looked most like her Mother, but wuz turned most like her Pap, —
Except he had no use fer town -folks then — ner yit to-day!

I can't claim she incouraged me: She'd let me drive her in
To town sometimes, on Saturd'ys, and fetch her home ag'in,
Tel onc't she 'scused " Old Moll " and me, — and some blame' city-chap,
He driv her home, two-forty style, in face o' kith-and-kin.

She even tried to make him stay fer supper, but I 'low
He must 'a' kind o' 'spicioned some objections. — Anyhow,
Her mother callin' at her, whilst her father stood and shook
His fist, — the town-chap turnt his team and made his partin' bow.

" Cassander! You , Cassander! " — hear her mother jes' as plain,
And see Cassander blushin' like the peach tree down the lane,
Whilse I sneaked on apast her, with a sort o' hang-dog look,
A-feelin' cheap as sorghum and as green as sugar-cane!

(You see, I'd skooted when she met her town -beau — when, in fact,
Ef I'd had sense I'd stayed fer her. — But sense wuz what I lacked!
So I'd cut home ahead o' her, so's I could tell 'em what
Wuz keepin' her. And — you know how a jealous fool'll act!)

I past her, I wuz sayin', — but she never turnt her head;
I swallered-like and cle'red my th'oat — but that wuz all I said;
And whilse I hoped fer some word back, it wuzn't what I got. —
That girl'll not stay stiller on the day she's layin' dead!

Well, that-air silence lasted! — Ust to listen ever' day
I'd be at work and hear her mother callin' thataway;
I'd sight Cassander, mayby, cuttin' home acrost the blue
And drizzly fields; but nary answer — nary word to say!

Putt in about two weeks o' that — two weeks o' rain and mud,
Er mostly so: I couldn't plow. The old crick like a flood:
And, lonesome as a borried dog, I'd wade them old woods through —
The dogwood blossoms white as snow, and redbuds red as blood.

Last time her mother called her — sich a morning like as now:
The robins and the bluebirds, and the blossoms on the bough —
And this wuz yit 'fore brekfust, with the sun out at his best,
And hosses kickin' in the barn — and dry enough to plow.

" Cassander! O Cassander! " . . . And her only answer — What? —
A letter, twisted round the cook-stove damper, smokin'-hot,
A-statin': " I wuz married on that day of all the rest,
The day my husband fetched me home — ef you ain't all fergot! "

" Cassander! O Cassander! " seems, allus, 'long in May,
I hear her mother callin' her — a-callin', night and day —
" Cassander! O Cassander! " allus callin', as I say,
" Cassander! O Cassander! " jes' a-callin' thataway.
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