 | A gift book of stories and poems for children |  |
122
NOT READY FOR SCHOOL.
Pray, where is my hat—it is taken away,
And my shoe-strings are all in a knot!
I can't find a thing where it should be to-day,
Though I've hunted in every spot.
And my shoe-strings are all in a knot!
I can't find a thing where it should be to-day,
Though I've hunted in every spot.
My slate and my pencil no where can be found,
Though I placed them as safe as can be;
While my books and my maps are all scattered around,
And hop about just like a flea.
Though I placed them as safe as can be;
While my books and my maps are all scattered around,
And hop about just like a flea.
Do, Rachel, just look for my Atlas up stairs,
My Æsop is somewhere there too
And sister, just brush down these troublesome hairs,
And mother, just fasten my shoe.
My Æsop is somewhere there too
And sister, just brush down these troublesome hairs,
And mother, just fasten my shoe.
123
And sister, beg father to write an excuse,
But stop, he will only say “No;”
And go on with a smile, and keep reading the news,
While every thing bothers me so.
But stop, he will only say “No;”
And go on with a smile, and keep reading the news,
While every thing bothers me so.
My satchel is heavy, and ready to fall,
This old pop-gun is breaking my map;
I'll have nothing to do with the pop-gun or ball,
There's no playing for such a poor chap.
This old pop-gun is breaking my map;
I'll have nothing to do with the pop-gun or ball,
There's no playing for such a poor chap.
The town clock will strike in a minute, I fear,
Then away to the foot I must sink;
There—look at my Carpenter tumbled down here,
And my Worcester covered with ink.
Then away to the foot I must sink;
There—look at my Carpenter tumbled down here,
And my Worcester covered with ink.
I wish I'd not lingered at breakfast the last,
Though the toast and the butter were fine;
I think that our Edward must eat pretty fast,
To be off when I haven't done mine.
Though the toast and the butter were fine;
I think that our Edward must eat pretty fast,
To be off when I haven't done mine.
Now Edward and Harry protest they won't wait,
And beat on the door with their sticks;
I suppose they will say I was dressing too late;
To-morrow, I'll be up at six.
And beat on the door with their sticks;
I suppose they will say I was dressing too late;
To-morrow, I'll be up at six.
| A gift book of stories and poems for children | |