Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

I04 ANNALS OF OUR ANCESTORS
him, he was so soft and woolly. We named him Trippie.
Mother tried to give him back to the man who had presented
him to us, and Trippie was even in his wagon, when Ida threw
her small self on the ground and rolled in agony, begging and
pleading for the return of Trippie, fleas and all. There was
nothing for mother to do but to take him out of the wagon and
restore him to the little flea-bitten arms. Later Ida reasoned
it out that it really did not pay to suffer thus for Trippie and
she finally consented to his being given away. Brother
Will was studying Greek at that time, and he wrote a poem in
that classic language to immortalize Trippie.
One dog we had was not a pet. Father bought him for a
watch dog, and he was so fierce he had to be kept chained at
the barn all the time. He was purchased to keep away thieves,
and was described by our boys as "Old Bose, jocose, morose!"
The latter, I might state, was true, while the other adjective
was simply for euphony and rhyme. When loosed at night
he got to wandering, and poison took him, although it required
two doses, for he outhved one placed by some one in the vicin-
ity whom he must have troubled. We had cats and dear little
kittens and little fish in the cistern. I rather think mother
co/nposed the rhyme we heard on many a summer morning:
Get up, little sister, the morning is bright.
The birds are all singing to welcome the light,
The fishes are swimming the cistern quite through;
Get up, little sister, there's something to do!
The days of springtime are so sweet that I would linger
here and fancy the sound of our mother's voice as we rolled
from our trundle-bed to begin the bright days. Sometimes we
were up and off for the meadow and down by the brook where
Father and Mother Goose were accustomed to lead their
flock of little ones to nip the tender blades of grass and swim
in the brook. I think of all
sister as the yellow goslings.
pets none were so dear to little
"
'Ak 'od, see dossie!" (Walk
road, see goslings) was a familiar watchword of hers. I think
if I could have been persuaded to take a lunch, she would
have been willing to follow all day long that flock of green
and yellow goslings. How hot we used to get trailing through