Little pup,
Jump up!
Say! little pup,
Bark up!
Let's hear your voice.
Say, you're a brick!
Now try to beg
And do a trick.
Little pup,
Sit up!
Say! little pup,
Chime up!
Why, you can sing--
Now come with me;
Let's wash and eat
And then we'll see,
Little pup,
What's up!
HENRY FIRTH WOOD.
A LAUGH IN CHURCH
She sat on the sliding cushion,
The dear, wee woman of four;
Her feet, in their shiny slippers,
Hung dangling over the floor.
She meant to be good; she had promised,
And so with her big, brown eyes,
She stared at the meetinghouse windows
And counted the crawling flies.
She looked far up at the preacher,
But she thought of the honeybees
Droning away at the blossoms
That whitened the cherry trees.
She thought of a broken basket,
Where curled in a dusky heap,
Four sleek, round puppies, with fringy ears.
Lay snuggled and fast asleep.
Such soft, warm bodies to cuddle,
Such queer little hearts to beat,
Such swift round tongues to kiss,
Such sprawling, cushiony feet;
She could feel in her clasping fingers
The touch of the satiny skin,
And a cold, wet nose exploring
The dimples under her chin.
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