That Vicious Old Bucket.

Issue 4 and Volume 1889 5.

That Vicious Old Bucket. How fresh in my mind are the scenes of my childhood, As fond recollections present them to view— The cow stall, the pig pen, the ten cords of firewood, All the tough chores that I had to go through. The weeds in the garden, the stones in the stubble, The errands to run and the white beans to shell; And (when I’d already a surplus of trouble) The bucket that viciously dropped in the well— The rotten-roped bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The confouhded bucket that dropped in the well. After trudging all day in the wake of a harrow, The team I must water ere getting my grub; Cross, footsore and tired clear into the marrow, . I’d seize on the windlass to fill up the tub. So downward that bucket demurely meandered, And then with hard lu2gging it ” rose in the well,” But ere…

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