Verses for Children Part 3

Nurse makes beautiful starch--like water-arrowroot when you're ill--in a minute or two.

It's a very odd thing that what looks so easy should be so difficult to do!

Then Mary put the iron down to heat, but as soon as she'd turned her back, A jet of gas came sputtering out of the coals and smoked it black.

We dared not ask Sally for another, for we knew she'd refuse it, So we had to clean this one with sand and brown-paper before we could use it.

It was very hard work, but I rubbed till I made it s.h.i.+ne; Yet as soon as it got on a damped "fine thing" it left a brown line.

I rubbed it for a long, long time before it would iron without a mark, But it did at last, and we finished our Dolls' Wash just before dark.

Sally's very kind, for she praised our wash, and she has taken away Victoria's dress to do it again; and I really must say She was right when she said, "You see, young ladies, a week's wash isn't all play."

Our backs ache, our faces are red, our hands are all wrinkled, and we've rubbed our fingers quite sore; We feel very sorry for Sally every week, and we don't mean to dirty our dresses so much any more.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

HOUSE-BUILDING AND REPAIRS.

Father is building a new house, but I've had one given to me for my own; Brick red, with a white window, and black where it ought to be gla.s.s, and the chimney yellow, like stone.

Brother Bill made me the shelves with his tool-box, and the table I had before, and the pestle-and-mortar; And Mother gave me the jam-pot when it was empty; it's rather big, but it's the only pot we have that will really hold water.

We--that is I and Jemima, my doll. (For it's a Doll's House, you know, Though some of the things are real, like the nutmeg-grater, but not the wooden plates that stand in a row.

_They_ came out of a box of toy tea-things, and I can't think what became of the others; But one never can tell what becomes of anything when one has brothers.) Jemima is much smaller than I am, and, being made of wood, she is thin; She takes up too much room inside, but she can lie outside on the roof without breaking it in.

I wish I had a drawing-room to put her in when I want to really cook; I have to have the kitchen-table outside as it is, and the pestle-and-mortar is rather too heavy for it, and everybody can look.

There's no front door to the house, because there's no front to have a door in, and beside, If there were, I couldn't play with anything, for I shouldn't know how to get inside.

I never heard of a house with only one room, except the cobbler's, and his was a stall.

I don't quite know what that is; but it isn't a house, and it served him for parlour and kitchen and all.

Father says that whilst he is about it, he thinks he shall add on a wing; And brother Bill says he'll nail my Doll's House on the top of an old tea-chest, which will come to the same thing.

Father's house is not finished, though the wing is; for now the builder says it will be all wrong if there isn't another to match; And my house isn't done either, though it's nailed on, for Bill took off the roof to make a new one of thatch.

The paint is very much scratched, but he says that's nothing, for it must have had a new coat; And he means to paint it for me, inside and out, when he paints his own boat.

There's a sad hole in the floor, but Bill says the wood is as rotten as rotten can be: Which was why he made such a mess of the side with trying to put real gla.s.s in the window, through which one can see.

Bill says he believes that the shortest plan would be to make a new Doll's House with proper rooms, in the regular way; Which was what the builder said to Father when he wanted to build in the old front; and to-day I heard him tell him the old materials were no good to use and weren't worth the expense of carting away.

I don't know when I shall be able to play at dolls again, for all the things are put away in a box; Except Jemima and the pestle-and-mortar, and they're in the bottom drawer with my Sunday frocks.

I almost wish I had kept the house as it was before; We managed very well with a painted window and without a front door.

I don't know what Father means to do with his house, but if ever mine is finished, I'll never have it altered any more.

THE BLUE-BELLS ON THE LEA.

FAIRY KING.

"The breeze is on the Blue-bells, The wind is on the lea; Stay out! stay out! my little lad, And chase the wind with me.

If you will give yourself to me, Within the fairy ring, At deep midnight, When stars are bright, You'll hear the Blue-bells ring-- D!

DI! DIN!

DING!

On slender stems they swing.

"The rustling wind, the whistling wind, We'll chase him to and fro, We'll chase him up, we'll chase him down To where the King-cups grow; And where old Jack-o'-Lantern waits To light us on our way, And far behind, Upon the wind, The Blue-bells seem to play-- D!

DI! DIN!

DING!

Lest we should go astray.

"So gay that fairy music, So jubilant those bells, How days and weeks and months go by No happy listener tells!

The toad-stools are with sweetmeats spread, The new Moon lends her light, And ringers small Wait, one and all, To ring with all their might-- D!

DI! DIN!

DING!

And welcome you to night."

BOY.

"My mother made me promise To be in time for tea, 'Go home! go home!' the breezes say, That sigh along the lea.

I dare not give myself away; For what would Mother do?

I wish I might Stay out all night At fairy games with you.

D!

DI! DIN!

DING!

And hear the bells of blue.

"But Father sleeps beneath the gra.s.s, And Mother is alone: And who would fill the pails, and fetch The wood when I am gone?

And who, when little Sister ails, Can comfort her, but me?

Her cries and tears Would reach my ears Through all the melody-- D!

DI! DIN!

DING!

Of Blue-bells on the lea."

The sun was on the Blue-bells, The lad was on the lea.

"Oh, wondrous bells! Oh, fairy bells!

I pray you ring to me.

I only did as Mother bade, For tea I did not care, And winds at night Give more delight Than all this noonday glare."

D!

DI! DIN!

DING!

No sound of bells was there.

BOY.

"The snow lies o'er the Blue-bells, A storm is on the lea; Our hearth is warm, the fire burns bright, The flames dance merrily.

Oh, Mother dear! I would no more That on that summer's day, Within the ring, The Fairy King Had stolen me away-- D!

DI! DIN!

DING!

To where the Blue-bells play.