Part 28 (1/2)
”One and two and three and four, Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!”
And what is our Marjorie knitting, I pray?
A soft, warm scarf, for a wintry day, A pair of mittens for schoolboy Fred, Or some reins for toddling Baby Ned?
I cannot see, in the twilight gray, How many needles are working away; But I see them flickering in and out, And _they_ know exactly what they are about.
”One and two and three and four Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!”
The fire is whispering, ”Marjorie mine, 'Tis a positive pleasure on you to s.h.i.+ne, From your pretty brown hair, all s.h.i.+ning and neat, Down to your dainty, trim-slippered feet.”
The kettle is murmuring, ”Marjorie dear, 'Tis all for your sake that I'm bubbling here; But though I have bubbled both loud and long, You've ears for nought save those needles' song.”
”One and two and three and four, Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!”
Marjorie cheerily works away, Nor ever her thoughts from her knitting stray.
Whatever it is, 'twill be sure to fit, For loving thoughts in the web are knit.
The kettle may bubble, the fire may burn, But Marjorie's thoughts they cannot turn; And I think my heart must be working too, For it seems to sing as the needles do.
”One and two and three and four, Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er; Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, dear little girl!”
HE AND HIS FAMILY.
His father was a whale, With a feather in his tail, Who lived in the Greenland sea; And his mother was a shark, Who kept very dark In the Gulf of Caribbee.
His uncles were a skate, And a little whitebait, And a flounder, and a chub beside; And a lovely pickerel, Both a beauty and a belle, Had promised for to be his bride.
You may think these things are strange, And they _are_ a little change From the ordinary run, 'tis true; But the queerest thing (to me) Of all appeared to be, That _he_ was a kangaroo!
EASTER-TIME.
The little flowers came through the ground, At Easter-time, at Easter-time; They raised their heads and looked around, At happy Easter-time.
And every pretty bud did say, ”Good people, bless this holy day; For Christ is risen, the angels say, This happy Easter-time.”
The scarlet lily raised its cup, At Easter-time, at Easter-time; The crocus to the sky looked up, At happy Easter-time.
”We hear the song of heaven!” they say; ”Its glory s.h.i.+nes on us to-day, Oh! may it s.h.i.+ne on us alway, At happy Easter-time.”