Old Farmer B. was a stingy man.
He keeps all he gets and gets all he can;
By all his friends he is said to be
As tight as the bark on a young birch tree;
He goes to church, and he rents a pew,
But the dimes that he gives to the Lord are few;
If he gets to heaven with the good and great,
He will be let in through the smallest gate.
Now, Farmer B. besides drags and plows,
Keeps a number of very fine calves and cows;
He makes no butter, but sends by express,
The milk to the city’s thirstiness.
“What do the city folks know about milk?
They are better judges of cloth and silk;
Not a man who buys, I’ll vow can tell
If I water it not, or water it well;
If they do not know when where’s the sin!
I will put the sparkling water in”
Thus talked, to himself, old Farmer B.;
How mean he is young and old can see.
One night it was dark, oh! fearfully dark;
The watch dog never came out to bark;
Old Farmer B. in his bed did snore;
When rap, rap, rap, nearly shattered his door;
And a voice cried out with a hasty breath
“Your best cow, neighbor, is choking to death.”
Clipping off the end of a rousing snore,
Farmer B bounded out on the bed room floor;
And the midnight voice was heard no more;
He pulled on his pants he knew now how,
For his thoughts were all on the choking cow;
He flew to the yard like a frightened deer,
For his stingy soul was filled with fear;
Looking around by his lantern’s light,
He found that the cows were there all right.
“I will give a dime,” cried Farmer B.
“To knew who played this trick on me:
May the hand be stiff and the knuckle sore,
That knocked to-night on my farmhouse door.”
With a scowl on his face and a shaking head,
Farmer B. again sought his nice warm bed;
No good thoughts came, they were all o’erpowered;
The little good nature he had had soured.
When he went to water his milk next day,
The midnight voice seemed again to say,
As he pumped away with a panting breath,
“Your best cow, neighbor, is choking to death.”
The meaning of this he soon found out,
For a stone was driven in the old pump’s spout.
Old Farmer B., when he drives to town,
Now meets his neighbors with a savage frown;
They smile, and ask as they kindly bow,
“How getteth along the best cow now?”
From: The Daily Patriot, (Concord, NH) Friday, August 25, 1871. Issue 73, col E.
