Armazindy;—fambily name
Ballenger,—you’ll find the same,
As her Daddy answered it,
In the old War-rickords yit,—
And, like him, she’s airnt the good
Will o’ all the neighborhood.—
Name ain’t down in History,—
But, i jucks! it ort to be!
Folks is got respec’ fer her—
Armazindy Ballenger!—
’Specially the ones ’at knows
Fac’s o’ how her story goes
From the start:—Her father blowed
Up—eternally furloughed—
When the old “Sultana” bu’st,
And sich men wuz needed wusst.—
Armazindy, ’bout fourteen-
Year-old then—and thin and lean
[4]
As a killdee,—but—my la!—
Blamedest nerve you ever saw!
The girl’s mother’d allus be’n
Sickly—wuz consumpted when
Word came ’bout her husband.—So
Folks perdicted she’d soon go—
(Kind o’ grief I understand,
Losin’ my companion,—and
Still a widower—and still
Hinted at, like neighbers will!)
So, app’inted, as folks said,
Ballenger a-bein’ dead,
Less