Little Breeches.

I don't go much on religion,         I never ain't had no show;     But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir,         On the handful o' things I know.     I don't pan out on the prophets         And free-will, and that sort of thing, -     But I b'lieve in God and the angels,         Ever sence one night last spring.     I come into town with some turnips,         And my little Gabe come along, -     No four-year-old in the county         Could beat him for pretty and strong,     Peart and chipper and sassy,         Always ready to swear and fight, -     And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker         Jest to keep his milk-teeth white.     The snow come down like a blanket         As I passed by Taggart's store;     I went in for a jug of molasses         And left the team at the door.     They scared at something and started, -         I heard one little squall,     And hell-to-split over the prairie         Went team, Little Breeches and all.     Hell-to-split over the prairie!         I was almost froze with skeer;     But we rousted up some torches,         And searched for 'em far and near.     At last we struck hosses and wagon,         Snowed under a soft white mound,     Upsot, dead beat, - but of little Gabe         No hide nor hair was found.     And here all hope soured on me,         Of my fellow-critters' aid, -     I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,         Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.         .     .     .     .     By this, the torches was played out,         And me and Isrul Parr     Went off for some wood to a sheepfold         That he said was somewhar thar.     We found it at last, and a little shed         Where they shut up the lambs at night.     We looked in and seen them huddled thar,         So warm and sleepy and white;     And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped,         As peart as ever you see,     "I want a chaw of terbacker,         And that's what's the matter of me."     How did he git thar?    Angels.         He could never have walked in that storm;     They jest scooped down and toted him         To whar it was safe and warm.     And I think that saving a little child,         And fotching him to his own,     Is a derned sight better business         Than loafing around The Throne.