 | A gift book of stories and poems for children |  |
110
THE TIGHT BOOTS.
Oh, mamma, I am mortified, hurt and asham'd,
And scarce can look up in your face:
Young Loring, who never could beat me before,
Has beat me to-day in a race.
And scarce can look up in your face:
Young Loring, who never could beat me before,
Has beat me to-day in a race.
You laugh! I would thank you ma' never to laugh
As you do when I speak in this style;
I think I would sometimes prefer to be whipped,
Than to see that half-comical smile.
As you do when I speak in this style;
I think I would sometimes prefer to be whipped,
Than to see that half-comical smile.
Well, mamma, we were walking just out of the town,
When Loring proposed we should run;
You know what a fellow I am for a race,
And I thought to have excellent fun.
When Loring proposed we should run;
111
And I thought to have excellent fun.
So we started together, the boys looking on,
My boots felt as tight as a vice;
I hobbled and stumbled, just ready to fall,
While Loring was off in a trice.
My boots felt as tight as a vice;
I hobbled and stumbled, just ready to fall,
While Loring was off in a trice.
The boys shouted, “New boots, run, new boots, hurra!”
Their ridicule went to my soul;
I hopped like a turkey, and was not half way,
When Loring was safe at the goal.
Their ridicule went to my soul;
I hopped like a turkey, and was not half way,
When Loring was safe at the goal.
My toes were all cramp'd, and my ankles were sore,
And I made such a shocking grimace,
That Loring, though he's such a gentleman, ma',
Could not help laughing out in my face.
And I made such a shocking grimace,
That Loring, though he's such a gentleman, ma',
Could not help laughing out in my face.
And big Billy Blackford took out his hair comb,
And said, as he sat on the grass,
“Though your boots spoil your racing, they'll serve a good turn,
And answer right well for a glass.”
And said, as he sat on the grass,
“Though your boots spoil your racing, they'll serve a good turn,
And answer right well for a glass.”
112
Pray hand me my old boots, dear ma', if you please;
And Toney, do stretch these a bit.
No grinning, you rogue, they are scarcely too small;
Just stretch them—I know they will fit.
And Toney, do stretch these a bit.
No grinning, you rogue, they are scarcely too small;
Just stretch them—I know they will fit.
| A gift book of stories and poems for children | |