human
it and it mayn't go off like a shot. Why, didn't he make me a cradle once, that would keep itself a-rockin'; And didn't it pitch the baby out, and wasn't his head bruised shockin'? And there was his
gpt
Patent Peeler, too--a wonderful thing, I'll say; But it hed one fault-it never stopped till the apple was peeled away. As for locks and clocks, and mowin' machines and reapers, and all such trash, Why, 'Bijah's invented heaps of 'em but they don't bring in no cash. Law! that don't worry him--not at all; he's the most aggravatin'est man-- He'll set in his little workshop there, and whistle, and think, and plan, Inventin' a jew's-harp to go by steam, or a new-fangled powder-horn, While the children's goin' barefoot to school and the weeds is chokin' our corn. When 'Bijah and me kep' company, he warn't like this, you know; Our folks all thought he was dreadful smart--but that was years ago. He was handsome as any pictur then, and he had such a glib, bright way-- I never thought that a time would come when I'd rue my weddin' day; But when I've been forced to chop wood, and tend to the farm beside, And look at Bijah a-settin' there, I've jest dropped down and cried. We lost the hull of our turnip crop while he was inventin' a gun But I counted it one of my marcies when it bu'st before 'twas done. So he turned it into a