Them Baby’s Shues

No, no; not them; ‘tain’t come ter thet;

     Jest lay ‘em back agin;

Hard time hev pinched us purty tight,

     An’ nuthin’s comin’ in.

But, mother, let all else be sold,

     Things as we need an’ use;

But we mus’ keep, let come what will,

     Them little snow white shues.

God knows there ain’t but little left,

     An’ thet is goin’ fast;

You’ve sol’ yeour gowns an’ me my suit,

     An’ rent is two weeks past.

This man here wants ten dollars wuth,

     Step up here, sir, an’ chuse;

Take what yeou will, but keep yeour han’s

     Off frum them baby’s shues.

“Them baby’s shues?” No, not ef I

     Go ragged, naked, sir!

“Them baby’s shues?” Why don’t yeou know?

     Thet’s all we hev uv her.

“Good stuff in ‘em?” I know it, sir,

     The best her aunt could use;

But God is good, I know he’ll let

     Me keep my baby’s shoes.

March 29, 1894

B. Traveler,

June 13, 1896

(note – Joe and Emma Cone’s first two children died as an infants)