PUTTERIN’ ROUND. BY CORA A. MATSON DOLSON.

“Pretty old for work, I am! Though I used to till my ground In good shape as any one— Now, I only putter ’round. Way I used to swing a scythe Was a caution, tell you, though! Down my acre any day— But I’m gettin’ old and slow. Still, I keep the burdocks out, And the grapevines up and trim; And this great-grandson of mine— Takes my time a-watchin’ him. He’s the cutest little chap, Like his Grandpap, and his dad— And that boy of mine I lost When he was an eight-year’s lad! I make out to split the wood, Like this—little at a time. There’s that baby, top the gate! Beats all, how the feller’ll climb! “Here, let’s stay with Grandpa now; Build a cob house on the ground,” “Keeps me pretty busy?” Yes, Guess it does, a-putterin’ ’round!”