We play we are Indians, and live in the

woods.

The woods are the cherry-trees.

Indians live in a wigwam.

We play we live in a wigwam.
We have a kite.

It is a soldier boy's kite.

The soldier boys cannot find the

kite, for we have it.

We shall hide it in the cherry-tree. When the soldiers march after it, we shall run and hide in the wigwam.

We are little soldier boys.
Tom is our captain.

See our beautiful red drum.

Bill beats the drum with the drum sticks.

Tom says, "The Indians have our kite. They are in the woods.

We must march to the woods and get the kite."

Bill beats the drum, and it says, "Mark time!"

Tom says, "Soldiers, mark time! left, right; left, right; forward, march!" When the Indians see us, they will run. Then we shall get the kite.

See us march!

Hurrah! now we shall have the kite! See the Indians run!

Hurrah for the soldier boys!

THE HUMMING TOP

The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song
Το my dear little boy at play —
Merrily singeth all day long,

As it spinneth and spinneth away.
And my dear little boy

He laugheth with joy

When he heareth the monotone
Of that busy thing

That loveth to sing

The song that is all its own.

Hold fast the string and wind it tight,
That the song be loud and clear;
Now hurl the top with all your might
Upon the banquette here;

And straight from the string
The joyous thing

Boundeth and spinneth along,

And it whirrs and it chirrs
And it birrs and it purrs

Ever its pretty song.

Will ever my dear little boy grow old,
As some have grown before?

Will ever his heart feel faint and cold,
When he heareth the songs of yore?
Will ever this toy

Of my dear little boy,