The Barefooted Boy

Gordonville, Pa.

The threshing engine used to come
A-rambling down the road
Puffing, chugging, grumbling ’bout
its heavy load.
‘Twould hiss and tug,
And smoke and snort
Then whistle loud and clear
To let the barefoot fellows know
That it would soon be here.

We’d stop whatever we were at
Though it were work or play
And scamper off to see that rig
A-rumbling down our way.
We’d climb upon the water tank
And ride along through town
That threshing engine was a friend
That never let us down.

‘Twould pull up near a farmers barn
Then shove the thresher in
We’d hold our ears — the whistle’d
And oh! my what a din
The dust would fly, the straw blow
We kids would romp and yell
That threshing engine was our pal
Each summer for a spell.

Farm Collector Magazine
Farm Collector Magazine
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