Around bend after bend,
It was blown woods and no end.
I came to but one house
I made but the one friend.
At the one house a child was out
Who drew back at first in doubt,
But spoke to me in a gale
That blew so he had to shout.
His cheek smeared with apple sand,
A part apple in his hand,
He pointed on up the road
As one having war-command.
A parent, his gentler one,
Looked forth on her small son,
And wondered with me there
What now was being done.
His accent was not good.
But I slowly understood.
Something where I could go—
He couldn’t but I could.
He was too young to go,
Not over four or so.
Well, would I please go to school,
And the big flag they had—you know
The big flag, the red—white—
And blue flag, the great sight—
He bet it was out to-day,
And would I see if he was right?