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Updated: June 18, 2025
"And how far off do you think you could see a boy smile?" Dave asked, scornfully. "How far off can you say a rainbow is?" Jake retorted. "I can say how far off that piece of woods is," said Dave, with a laugh. He got to his feet, and began to pull at the other boys, to make them get up. "Come along, if you're ever goin' to the swimmin'-hole."
Every time the rascals struck a swimmin'-hole they swum it, the men sort o' tote'n' the women, I reckon ah, my Charmer! Yes, my sweet lady! take 'em! take 'em!" As the stream emerged into an old field "Sun's pow'ful hot for you-all!" Hardy added. "Ain't see' such a day this time o' year fo' a coon's age. Hosses feel'n' it. Hard to say which is hottest, sun or brush."
"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days When the humdrum of school made so many "run-a-ways," How pleasant was the jurney down the old dusty lane, Whare the tracks of our bare feet was all printed so plane You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole They was lots o' fun on hands at the old swimmin'-hole. But the lost joys is past!
"Thare the bullrushes growed, and the cattails so tall, And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all; And it mottled the worter with amber and gold Till the glad lilies rocked in the ripples that rolled; And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole.
In a flash of memory he remembered the day when his father, an old-fashioned man, had given him his freedom suit and shaken hands with him and wished him well. Involuntarily he put out his hand. "It's my own will, Hermie," he said, in a tone they had not heard from him since the day, eighteen years behind them, when the boy Hermie was rescued from the "old swimmin'-hole."
"It reads," said I, studiously conning the old man's bold but bad chirography, and tilting my chair back indolently, "it reads like this the first verse does," and I very gravely read: "Oh! the old swimmin'-hole!" "Stop! Stop!" said the old man excitedly "Stop right there! That's my poetry, but that's not the way to read it by a long shot! Give it to me!" and he almost snatched it from my hand.
And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole." My applause was long and loud. The old man's interpretation of the poem was a positive revelation, though I was glad enough to conceal from him my moistened eyes by looking through the scraps for other specimens of his verse. "Here," said I enthusiastically, "is another one, signed 'Benj.
There used to be another boy in the gang, Skinny. One day when we ran away to the swimming-hole after school, this other little fellow didn't come back with us. You see, there was the little-kids' swimmin'-hole and the big-kids' swimmin'-hole. The latter was over our heads. Well, Skinny swung out on the rope hanging from the cottonwood-tree on the bank of the big-kids' hole.
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