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<h2>The Boy of the House</h2> <div class="poetry"> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> HE was the boy of the house you know, A jolly and rollicking lad, He was never tired and never sick, And nothing could make him sad. </div> <div class="stanza"> If he started to play at sunrise, Not a rest would he take at noon; No day was so long from beginning to end But his bed-time came too soon. </div> <div class="stanza"> Did some one urge that he make less noise, He would say with a saucy grin, “Why, one boy alone doesn’t make much stir— I’m sorry I isn’t a twin! </div> <div class="stanza"> “There’s two of twins—oh it must be fun To go double at everything, To holler by twos, and to run by twos, To whistle by twos, and to sing!” </div> <div class="stanza"> His laugh was something to make you glad, So brimful was it of joy, A conscience he had, perhaps, in his breast, But it never troubled the boy. </div> <div class="stanza"> You met him out in the garden path, With the terrier at his heels,{125} You knew by the shout he hailed you with How happy a youngster feels. </div> <div class="stanza"> The maiden auntie was half distraught At his tricks, as the day went by, “The most mischievous child in the world!” She said, with a shrug and a sigh. </div> <div class="stanza"> His father owned that her words were true, And his mother declared each day Was putting wrinkles into her face, And was turning her brown hair grey. </div> <div class="stanza"> His grown-up sister referred to him As a trouble, a trial, a grief, “The way he ignored all rules,” she said, “Was something beyond belief.” </div> <div class="stanza"> But it never troubled the boy of the house, He revelled in clatter and din, And had only one regret in the world— That he hadn’t been born a twin. . . . . . . . . . . There’s nobody making a noise to-day, There’s nobody stamping the floor, There’s an awful silence up-stairs and down, There’s crape on the wide hall door.{126} </div> <div class="stanza"> The terrier’s whining out in the sun— “Where’s my comrade?” he seems to say, Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog, There’s no frolic for you to-day. </div> <div class="stanza"> The freckle-faced girl from the house next door, Is sobbing her young heart out, Don’t cry little girl, you’ll soon forget To miss the laugh and the shout. </div> <div class="stanza"> The grown-up sister is kissing his face, And calling him “darling” and “sweet,” The maiden aunt is holding the shoes That he wore on his restless feet. </div> <div class="stanza"> How strangely quiet the little form, With the hands on the bosom crossed! Not a fold, not a flower out of place, Not a short curl rumpled and tossed! </div> <div class="stanza"> So solemn and still the big house seems— No laughter, no racket, no din, No startling shriek, no voice piping out, “I’m sorry I isn’t a twin!” </div> <div class="stanza"> There’s a man and a woman pale with grief, As the wearisome moments creep; Oh! the loneliness touches everything— The boy of the house is asleep. </div> </div></div> {127} <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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