Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 February 1879 — The Butcher Boy and the Baker’s Girl. [ARTICLE]

The Butcher Boy and the Baker’s Girl.

It was down in the yeast part of the city. He was a bully butcher boy—she was the pie-ous daughter of the German baker next door, with eyes like currants, and her yellow hair twisted on the back of her head like a huge cruller. They leaned toward each other over the backbone of the separating railing. He was casting sheep’s eyes at her, while hers turned on him with a provocating roll. “Meat me to-night beef-fore quarter to 10,” said he. “O, dough-nut ask it,” said she. “I make no bones about it,” said he. “You’re net well-bread,” said she. “Only sweet-bread,” said he. “Don’t egg me on,” said she. “I never sausage a girl. Don’t keep me on tender hooks?” said he, quite chop-fallen. “ Why don’t you wear the dear flour I gave you?” asked she. “Pork-quoi?” asked he. “O, knead I say?” asked she. “That don’t suet me,” said he. “You’re crusty. I only wanted to cracker joke,” said she. “You gave me a cut—the cold shoulder,” said he. “Ah, you don’t loaf me!” sighed she. “Veal see. I’ll cleave to you, and no mis-s l eak—if you have money,” said he. “I can make a bun-dance,” said she. “ Then no more lamb-entations,” said he. “ You shall be my rib! ” “ Well done I ” said she. And their arms embraced like a pretzel. So his cake was not all dough; she liked a man of his kidney; and, being good livers, they will no doubt live on the fat of the land, raisin lots of children. This world is a queer jumble, but love seems “bread in the bone.”— Potter's American Monthly.