Take a chair by the fireplace, mister. Pull up, s'r, pull up to the blaze!
Cheerfuler some than an air-tight, hey? Too many air-tights these days!
But that ain't a matter to harp on--complainin' isn't my style:
Do you notice that rug where ye're sittin? Let me tell ye 'bout that
for a while.

That's an old hooked rug; just burlap with snippin's o' rags looped through-
A hit-or-miss pattern they call it; it looked pretty smart when t'was new.
Some fami'lies have his'ries about 'em an' docyments filed away,
But ourn hain't ever done nothin' that his'rys can find to say,
Yet next to my Bible, mister, the readin' I like the best
I find right there in that old hooked rug, when there's ary a minit to rest.
I come an's read it o' daytimes, but the readin' goes best at night
With the wind and the rain at the winder an' the hearth flames burnins' bright.