Page:Shingle-short-Baughan-1908.djvu/18

 Kind of a curtain, now, this wet, Between the wharé an’ the world, An’ me all good an’ cosy, curl’d Behind it, with no room to let. Gosh! Ain’t it fine to be alone, With just the work you want to do? Snug as a bug—that’s got a brain: Keen as a dog that’s got a bone: Quiet, an’ safe, an’ unbeknown: The tools, the matter, Him to guide— An’ everybody else outside! ....Kick off your boots, an’ wash your hands... Now let’s see where Creation stands!

(Taking up the wood he has brought in.)

First thing, the matter. Ain’t that good! Reggular wholesome bit o’ wood— Totara-heart, an’ extry sound. An’, look! Aha! God’s rifle sent Bang in my spirit what you meant, Minute you spurted on the ground. What! Think I’d give ’em you to burn? To cook the body spuds, an’ meal? No fear! Look here! What’s this? A stern! An’ this here lengthway ridge—Just feel! My word! it all-right is a keel! Plain as the buttons on my coat (Look at her, feelin’ for her bow!) This log was built to be a Boat— Blest if she ain’t a half-one now! An’ makin’ of a half-thing whole, Smells like the savin’ o’ my soul.