ONE AFTERNOON.
Papa and Mamma went out to row,
And left us alone at home, you know,—
Roderick, James and me.
“My dears,” they said, “now play with your toys
Like dear little, good little, sweet little boys,
And we will come home to tea.”
We played with our toys the longest while!
We built up the blocks for nearly a mile,—
Roderick, James and I.
But when they came tumbling down, alas!
They fell right against the looking-glass,—
Oh! how the pieces did fly!
Then we played the stairs were an Alpine peak,
And down we slid with shout and with shriek,—
Roderick, I and James.
But Jim caught his jacket upon a tack,
And I burst the buttons all off my back,
And Roderick called us names.
Then we found a pillow that had a rip,
And all the feathers we out did slip,—
Roderick, James and I.
And we made a snowstorm, a glorious one,
All over the room. Oh! wasn’t it fun,
But just as the storm was raging around,
Papa and Mamma came in, and found
Roderick, James and me.
Oh! terrible, terrible things they said!
And they put us all three right straight to bed,
With the empty pillow-case under our head,
And none of us had any tea!