Old, junked machinery Lay piled beside the house. The live-stock ran at will Over the unfenced yard. We visited back of the house Where poultry gathered in the sun. She said to me— "It's lonesome in the house With all the children gone." She said again— "I wish that old junk-pile Was moved back of the barn." And in the spring—in many springs— She made two little flower-beds, One by each side of her front door. The chickens scratched and barn-yard stock Trampled the flowers to the ground. "I wish Pap would build a yard-fence," She said to me patheticially. ... One day she died ... and then "Pap" died. The farm was leased and held for sale; "We'll clean the place up," said the heirs; And so the yard was tidied up. The pile of junk was moved back of the barn; The new yard-fence was put around the house. The farm was sold at auction— Sold to the highest bidder. It brought a better price, Being all tidied up With a yard-fence and flower-beds. |