LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE. LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' keep; An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the most est fun A list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you Ef you Don't Watch Out! Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers, An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs, 164 Child-Song. His Mammy heered him holler, an' his Daddy heered him bawl, An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wasn't there at all! An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubbyhole, an' press, An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever' wheres, I guess; But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout: An' the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Watch Out! An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin, An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood an' She mocked 'em, an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run and hide, They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side, An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about! An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo 00! An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray, An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond an' dear, An' cherish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns'll git you Ef you Watch Out! JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. From "Rhymes of Childhood." THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY. THE BAD BOY. ONCE a little round-eyed lad He called his porridge nasty pap, His gentle sister's cheek he hurt, He found the bellows, and he blew And when he went to bed at night This pained a lovely twinkling star She told her bright-faced friends, and soon The dreadful rumor reached the moon. The moon, a gossiping old dame, Told Father Sun the bad boy's shame. Child-Song. And then the giant sun began Upon the naughty rebel's face He would not pour his beamy grace. He would not stroke the dark-brown strands The little garden of the boy Seemed desert, missing heaven's joy. But all his sister's tulips grew Where'er he went he found a shade, He also lost, by his disgrace, His father sent him up to bed And in his sleep he had such foes, They bit his ears, they pulled his hairs, O little boys who would not miss A father's and a mother's kiss. 167 |