From the Newark Evening Star, March 5, 1914. By Edgar A. Guest.
Kitty never had no use for men,
Seemed to us she’d rather read an’ sew;
None of us could ever point to when
She had ever entertained a beau.
Every time a feller came to call,
Kitty never had a word to say,
Never even showed him to the hall
When at 10 o’clock he went away.
Jim, we used to think, was jes’ as queer,
Women used to scare him to a chill;
When the girls come visitin’ us here
He jes’ spent the evenin’ sittin’ still.
“Women ain’t fer me,” he used to say,
“I can’t get accustomed to their ways,”
Then he’d grab his hat an’ run away
Jes’ as though his mind was in a daze.
Jim an’ Kitty scarcely ever spoke,
Least we never saw ‘em, if they did;
Never heard ‘em ever pass a joke.
Much beneath still waters, though, is hid.
Both of ‘em lived on the farm for years,
Never once we saw ‘em arm in arm;
But you shouldn’t judge from what appears,
Leastwise if you’re livin’ on a farm.
Kitty disappeared one mornin’ bright,
All that day we looked in vain for Jim;
But they both came back again at night,
Kitty, smiling, hand in hand with him.
Seemed they both had tired of single life,
So she said, while brushing back the tears,
Parson Brown had made ‘em man an’ wife,
An’ they’d been engaged for twenty years.
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