Classic Poem

I

IF you don't know Doc S IFERS I'll jes' argy, here and now,
You've bin a mighty little while about here, anyhow,
'Cause Doc he's rid these roads and woods—er swum 'em, now and then—
And practised in this neighberhood sence hain't no tellin' when!
II

In radius o' fifteen mil'd, all p'ints o' compass round,
No man er woman, chick er child, er team, on top o' ground,
But knows him —yes, and got respects and likin' fer him, too,
Fer all his so-to-speak dee-fects o' genius showin' through!
III

Some claims he's absent-minded; some has said they wuz afeard
To take his powders when he come and dosed 'em out, and 'peared
To have his mind on somepin' else—like County Ditch, er some
New way o' tannin' mussrat-pelts, er makin' butter come.
IV

He's cur'ous—they hain't no mistake about it!—but he's got
Enough o' extry brains to make a jury —like as not.
They's no describin' Sifers,—fer, when all is said and done,
He's jes' hisse'f Doc Sifers —ner they hain't no other one!
V

Doc's allus sociable, polite, and 'greeable, you'll find—
Pervidin' ef you strike him right and nothin' on his mind,—
Like in some hurry , when they've sent fer Sifers quick , you see,
To 'tend some sawmill-accident, er picnic jamboree;
VI

Er when the lightin' 's struck some harebrained harvest-hand; er in
Some 'tempt o' suicidin'—where they'd ort to try ag'in!
I've knowed Doc haul up from a trot and talk a' hour er two
When railly he'd a-ort o' not a-stopped fer “Howdy-do!”
VII

And then, I've met him 'long the road, a-lopin' ,—starin' straight
Ahead,—and yit he never knowed me when I hollered “Yate ,
Old Saddlebags!” all hearty-like, er “Who you goin' to kill?”
And he'd say nothin'—only hike on faster, starin' still!
VIII

I'd bin insulted, many a time, ef I jes' wuzn't shore
Doc didn't mean a thing. And I'm not tetchy any more
Sence that-air day, ef he'd a-jes' a-stopped to jaw with me ,
They'd bin a little dorter less in my own fambily!
IX

Times now , at home, when Sifers' name comes up, I jes' let on ,
You know, 'at I think Doc's to blame , the way he's bin and gone
And disapp'inted folks—'Ll- jee -mun- nee! you'd ort to then
Jes' hear my wife light into me— “ongratefulest o' men!”
X

'Mongst all the women—mild er rough, splendiferous er plain,
Er them with sense, er not enough to come in out the rain,—
Jes' ever' shape and build and style o' women, fat er slim—
They all like Doc, and got a smile and pleasant word fer him!
XI

Ner hain't no horse I've ever saw but what'll neigh and try
To sidle up to him, and paw, and sense him, ear-and-eye:
Then jes' a tetch o' Doc's old pa'm, to pat 'em, er to shove
Along their nose—and they're as ca'm as any cooin' dove!
XII

And same with dogs ,—take any breed, er strain, er pedigree,
Er racial caste 'at can't concede no use fer you er me,—
They'll putt all predju-dice aside in Doc's case and go in
Kahoots with him, as satisfied as he wuz kith-and-kin!
XIII

And Doc's a wonder, trainin' pets!—He's got a chicken-hawk,
In kind o' half-cage, where he sets out in the gyarden-walk,
And got that wild bird trained so tame, he'll loose him, and he'll fly
Clean to the woods!—Doc calls his name—and he'll come, by and by!
XIV

Same says no money down 'ud buy that bird o' Doc.—Ner no
Inducement to the bird , says I, 'at he'd let Sifers go!
And Doc he say 'at he's content—long as a bird o' prey
Kin 'bide him , it's a compliment , and takes it thataway.
XV

But, gittin' back to docterin' —all the sick and in distress,
And old and pore, and weak and small, and lone and motherless,—
I jes' tell you I 'preciate the man 'at's got the love
To “go ye forth and ministrate!” as Scriptur' tells us of.
XVI

Dull times, Doc jes' mi anders round, in that old rig o' his:
And hain't no tellin' where he's bound ner guessin' where he is;
He'll drive, they tell, jes' thataway fer maybe six er eight
Days at a stretch; and neighbers say he's bin clean round the State.
XVII

He picked a' old tramp up, one trip, 'bout eighty mil'd from here,
And fetched him home and k-yored his hip, and kep' him 'bout a year;
And feller said—in all his ja'nts round this terreschul ball
'At no man wuz a circumstance to Doc! —he topped 'em all!—
XVIII

Said, bark o' trees 's a' open book to Doc, and vines and moss
He read like writin'—with a look knowed ever' dot and cross:
Said, stars at night wuz jes' as good's a compass: said, he s'pose
You couldn't lose Doc in the woods the darkest night that blows!
XIX

Said, Doc'll tell you, purty clos't, by underbresh and plants,
How fur off warter is,—and 'most perdict the sort o' chance
You'll have o' findin' fish; and how they're liable to bite ,
And whether they're a-bitin' now, er only after night.
XX

And, whilse we're talkin' fish ,—I mind they formed a fishin'-crowd
(When folks could fish 'thout gittin' fined , and seinin' wuz allowed!)
O' leadin' citizens, you know, to go and seine “Old Blue”—
But hadn't no big seine, and so—w'y, what wuz they to do? . . .
XXI

And Doc he say he thought 'at he could knit a stitch or two—
“Bring the materials to me—'at's all I'm astin' you!”
And down he sets—six weeks, i jing! and knits that seine plum done—
Made corks too, brails and ever'thing—good as a boughten one!
XXII

Doc's public sperit—when the sick's not takin' all his time
And he's got some fer politics—is simple yit sublime:—
He'll talk his principles —and they air honest; —but the sly
Friend strikes him first, election-day, he'd 'commodate, er die!
XXIII

And yit, though Doc, as all men knows, is square straight up and down,
That vote o' his is—well, I s'pose—the cheapest one in town;—
A fact 'at's sad to verify, as could be done on oath—
I've voted Doc myse'f— And I was criminal fer both!
XXIV

You kin corrupt the ballot-box —corrupt yourse'f , as well—
Corrupt some neighbers,—but old Doc's as oncorruptible
As Holy Writ. So putt a pin right there!—Let Sifers be,
I jucks! he wouldn't vote ag'in' his own worst inimy!
XXV

When Cynthy Eubanks laid so low with fever, and Doc Glenn
Told Euby Cynth 'ud haf to go—they sends fer Sifers then! . . .
Doc sized the case: “She's starved,” says he, “fer warter —yes, and meat!
The treatment 'at she'll git from me's all she kin drink and eat!”
XXVI

He orders Euby then to split some wood, and take and build
A fire in kitchen-stove, and git a young spring-chicken killed;
And jes' whirled in and th'owed his hat and coat there on the bed,
And warshed his hands and sailed in that-air kitchen, Euby said,
XXVII

And biled that chicken-broth, and got that dinner—all complete
And clean and crisp and good and hot as mortal ever eat!
And Cynth and Euby both'll say 'at Doc'll git as good
Meals-vittles up, jes' any day, as any woman could!
XXVIII

Time Sister Abbick tuk so bad with striffen o' the lung,
P'tracted Meetin', where she had jes' shouted, prayed, and sung
All winter long, through snow and thaw,—when Sifers come, says he:
“No, M'lissy; don't poke out your raw and cloven tongue at me!—
XXIX

“I know, without no symptoms but them injarubber-shoes
You promised me to never putt a fool-foot in ner use
At purril o' your life!” he said. “And I won't save you now ,
Onless—here on your dyin' bed—you consecrate your vow!”
XXX

Without a-claimin' any creed , Doc's rail religious views
Nobody knows—ner got no need o' knowin' whilse he choose
To be heerd not of man, ner raise no loud, vain-glorious prayers
In crowded marts, er public ways, er—i jucks, any wheres!—
XXXI

'Less'n it is away deep down in his own heart, at night,
Facin' the storm, when all the town's a-sleepin' snug and tight—
Him splashin' hence from scenes o' pride and sloth and gilded show,
To some pore sufferer's bedside o' anguish, don't you know!
XXXII

Er maybe dead o' winter —makes no odds to Doc ,—he's got
To face the weather ef it takes the hide off! 'cause he'll not
Lie out o' goin' and p'tend he's sick hisse'f—like some
'At I could name 'at folks might send fer and they'd never come!
XXXIII

Like pore Phin Hoover—when he goes to that last dance o' his!
That Chris'mus when his feet wuz froze—and Doc saved all they is
Left of 'em—“'Nough,” as Phin say now, “to track me by, and be
A adver tise ment, anyhow, o' what Doc's done fer me!—
XXXIV

“When he come—knife-and-saw”—Phin say, “I knowed, ef I'd the spunk,
'At Doc 'ud fix me up some way, ef nothin' but my trunk
Wuz left, he'd fasten casters in, and have me, spick-and-span,
A-skootin' round the streets ag'in as spry as any man!”
XXXV

Doc sees a patient's got to quit—he'll ease him down serene
As dozin' off to sleep, and yit not dope him with mor pheen .—
He won't tell what —jes' 'lows 'at he has “airnt the right to sing
‘O grave, where is thy victery! O death, where is thy sting!’ ”
XXXVI

And, mind ye now!—it's not in scoff and scorn, by long degree,
'At Doc gits things like that-un off: it's jes' his shority
And total faith in Life to Come,—w'y, “from that Land o' Bliss ,”
He says, “we'll haf to chuckle some, a-lookin' back at this!”
XXXVII

And, still in p'int, I mind, one night o' 'nitiation at
Some secert lodge, 'at Doc set right down on 'em, square and flat,
When they mixed up some Scriptur' and wuz funnin' -like—w'y, he
Lit in 'em with a rep'imand 'at ripped 'em, A to Z!
XXXVIII

And onc't—when gineral loafin'-place wuz old Shoe-Shop—and all
The gang 'ud git in there and brace their backs ag'inst the wall
And settle questions that had went onsettled long enough,—
Like “wuz no Heav'n—ner no torment”— jes' talkin' awful rough!
XXXIX

There wuz Sloke Haines and old Ike Knight and Coonrod Simmes—all three
Ag'inst the Bible and the Light, and scoutin' Deity.
“Science,” says Ike, “it DIM onstrates —it takes nobody's word—
Scriptur' er not,—it 'vestigates ef sich things coulDoccurred!”
XL

Well, Doc he heerd this,—he'd drapped in a minute, fer to git
A tore-off heel pegged on ag'in,—and, as he stood on it
And stomped and grinned, he says to Ike, “I s'pose now, purty soon
Some lightin'-bug, indignant-like, 'll 'vestigate the moon! . . .
XLI

“No, Ike,” says Doc, “this world hain't saw no brains like yourn and mine
With sense enough to grasp a law 'at takes a brain divine.—
I've bared the thoughts of brains in doubt, and felt their finest pulse,—
And mortal brains jes' won't turn out omnipotent results!”
XLII

And Doc he's got respects to spare the rich as well as pore —
Says he, “I'd turn no millionnaire onsheltered from my door.”—
Says he, “What's wealth to him in quest o' honest friends to back
And love him fer hisse'f? —not jes' because he's made his jack!”
XLIII

And childern.— Childern? Lawzy-day! Doc worships 'em!—You call
Round at his house and ast 'em—they're a- swarmin' there—that's all!—
They're in his Li b'ry—in best room—in kitchen—fur and near,—
In office too, and, I p'sume, his operatin'-cheer!
XLIV

You know they's men 'at bees won't sting?—They's plaguy few ,—But Doc
He's one o' them .—And same, i jing! with childern ;—they jes' flock
Round Sifers natchurl! —in his lap, and in his pockets, too,
And in his old fur mitts and cap, and heart as warm and true!
XLV

It's cur'ous, too,—'cause Doc hain't got no children of his own—
'Ceptin' the ones he's tuk and brought up, 'at's bin left alone
And orphans when their father died, er mother,—and Doc he
Has he'pped their dyin' satisfied.—“The child shall live with me
XLVI

“And Winniferd, my wife,” he'd say, and stop right there, and cle'r
His th'oat, and go on thinkin' way some mother-hearts down here
Can't never feel their own babe's face a-pressin' 'em, ner make
Their naked breasts a restin'-place fer any baby's sake.
XLVII

Doc's Li b'ry—as he calls it,—well, they's ha'f-a-dozen she'ves
Jam-full o' books—I couldn't tell how many—count yourse'ves!
One whole she'f's Works on Medicine! and most the rest's about
First Settlement, and Indians in here,—'fore we driv 'em out.—
XLVIII

And Plutarch's Lives—and life also o' Dan'el Boone, and this-
Here Mungo Park, and Adam Poe—jes' all the lives they is!
And Doc's got all the novels out,—by Scott and Dickison
And Cooper.—And, I make no doubt, he's read 'em ever' one!
XLIX

Onc't, in his office, settin' there, with crowd o' eight er nine
Old neighbers with the time to spare, and Doc a-feelin' fine,
A man rid up from Rollins, jes' fer Doc to write him out
Some blame' p'scription—done, I guess, in minute, nigh about.—
L

And I says, “Doc, you 'pear so spry, jes' write me that recei't
You have fer bein' happy by,—fer that 'ud shorely beat
Your medicine! ” says I.—And quick as s'cat! Doc turned and writ
And handed me: “Go he'p the sick, and putt your heart in it.”
LI

And then, “A-talkin' furder 'bout that line o' thought,” says he,
“Ef we'll jes' do the work cut out and give' to you and me,
We'll lack no joy, ner appetite, ner all we'd ort to eat,
And sleep like childern ever' night—as puore and ca'm and sweet.”
LII

Doc has bin 'cused o' offishness and lack o' talkin' free
And extry friendly; but he says, “I'm 'feard o' talk,” says he,—
“I've got,” he says, “a natchurl turn fer talkin' fit to kill.—
The best and hardest thing to learn is trick o' keepin' still.”
LIII

Doc kin smoke, and I s'pose he might drink licker—jes' fer fun.
He says, “ You smoke, you drink all right; but I don't—neether one”—
Says, “I like whisky—‘good old rye’—but like it in its place,
Like that-air warter in your eye, er nose there on your face.”
LIV

Doc's bound to have his joke! The day he got that off on me
I jes' had sold a load o' hay at “Scofield's Livery,”
And tolled Doc in the shed they kep' the hears't in, where I'd hid
The stuff 'at got me “out o' step,” as Sifers said it did.
LV

Doc hain't, to say, no “rollin' stone,” and yit he hain't no hand
Fer 'cumulatin'.—Home's his own, and scrap o' farmin'-land—
Enough to keep him out the way when folks is tuk down sick
The suddentest—'most any day they want him 'special quick.
LVI

And yit Doc loves his practise; ner don't, wilful, want to slight
No call—no matter who—how fur away—er day er night.—
He loves his work—he loves his friends—June, Winter, Fall, and Spring:
His lovin' —facts is—never ends; he loves jes' ever' thing. . . .
LVII

'Cept— keepin' books . He never sets down no accounts.—He hates,
The worst of all, collectin' debts—the worst, the more he waits.—
I've knowed him, when at last he had to dun a man, to end
By makin' him a loan—and mad he hadn't more to lend.
LVIII

When Pence's Drug Store ust to be in full blast, they wuz some
Doc's patients got things frekantly there, charged to him , i gum!—
Doc run a bill there, don't you know, and allus when he squared,
He never questioned nothin',—so he had his feelin's spared.
LIX

Now sich as that, I hold and claim, hain't 'scusable —it's not
Perfessional! —It's jes' a shame 'at Doc hisse'f hain't got
No better business -sense! That's why lots 'd respect him more,
And not give him the clean go-by fer other doctors. Shore!
LX

This-here Doc Glenn , fer instance; er this little jack-leg Hall; —
They're business —folks respects 'em fer their business more'n all
They ever knowed, er ever will , 'bout medicine .—Yit they
Collect their money, k-yore er kill.—They're business , anyway!
LXI

You ast Jake Dunn:—he's worked it out in figgers .—He kin show
Stastistics how Doc's airnt about three fortunes in a row,—
Ever' ten-year' hand-runnin' straight— three of 'em— thirty year'
'At Jake kin count and 'lucidate o' Sifer's practise here.
LXII

Yit—“Praise the Lord,” says Doc, “we've got our little home!” says he—
“(It's railly Winniferd's , but what she owns, she sheers with me.)
We' g