Part 10 (1/2)

TWO POCKETS

There are two bulging pockets that I have in mind.

Just listen and see if the owners you'll find.

In one--it's quite shocking--there's a round wad of gum, A china doll's head and a half finished sum, A thimble, a handkerchief--sticky, I fear-- A dolly's blue cap and some jackstones are here.

In the other are marbles and fishhooks and strings, Some round s.h.i.+ny stones and a red top that sings, A few apple cores and a tin full of bait, A big black jack-knife in a sad bladeless state.

And now I wonder how many can guess Which pocket Bob owns and which one does Bess?

REBECCA DEMING MOORE.

MY HORSE

I give my pony corn and hay, With oats to tempt him twice a week; I smooth and curry every day Until his coat is bright and sleek; At night he has a cosy stall; He does not seem to care at all.

I mount him often, hurriedly, And ride him fast and ride him far; With whip and spur I make him fly Along the road where robbers are; But when I've galloped madly home He is not wet or flecked with foam.

He does not plunge against the rein, Nor take a ditch nor clear a rail.

He does not toss his flowing mane, He does not even switch his tail.

Oh, well, he does his best, of course; He's nothing but a hobby-horse!

NANCY BYRD TURNER.

MAY-TIME

Sing a song of May-time, And picnics in the park.

Such a happy playtime!

Birds are singing--hark!

Bluebird calls to bluebird, Robins chirp between, And little lads and la.s.ses Are dancing on the green.

Marigolds are golden All along the brooks.

Violets are peeping In the shady nooks.

Out into the fields now!

Choose your happy queen; For all the lads and la.s.ses Are dancing on the green.

HANNAH G. FERNALD.

BOOKS

My father's books are made of words, As long and hard as words can be, They look so very dull to me!

No pictures there of beasts and birds, Of dear Miss m.u.f.fet eating curds, And things a child would like to see.

My books have pictures, large and small, Some brightly colored, some just plain, I look them through and through again.

Friends from their pages seem to call, Jack climbs his bean-stalk thick and tall, I know he will not climb in vain.

Here comes Red-Riding-Hood, and here The Sleeping Beauty lies in state, The prince will come ere 'tis too late!