TAFFY
"TAFFY was a Welshman, Taffy was a thief,
Taffy came to my house and stole a piece of beef;
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy wasn't home,
Taffy came to my house and stole a marrow-bone;
I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was in bed,
I took the marrow-bone and beat about his head."
"Well, I guess you did what was right," said Puss, Junior, as he and Tom Thumb neared a butcher shop in a small village.
The butcher, who had just spoken in rhyme, shifted from one foot to the other in an uneasy sort of way. "But that isn't all," he went on to say, in rather an anxious tone of voice.
"Tell us the worst, then," laughed Puss, Junior, who didn't appear very sympathetic, although the name Taffy appealed to him and made him wonder what sort of a person Taffy was.
"The truth of the matter is," the butcher went on to say, "I hit him a bit too hard with the marrow-bone. His head is in bad shape, and the doctor says it will be some weeks yet before Taffy gets out of bed."
"Gracious me!" exclaimed Tom Thumb. "Why weren't you more careful?"
"That's just it," replied the butcher. "Why wasn't I more careful?" And then he gave a sigh and went into his shop to wait on a customer.
"Let's make a call on Taffy," said Puss, Junior. "Somehow, I can't help liking him. I don't know whether it's on account of his name, or not. But Taffy sounds awfully nice to me."
"It tastes awfully good to me," laughed Tom Thumb. "You must have him mixed up with candy. That's the reason you like him, I guess."
"Come on and we'll soon find out," cried Puss, Junior. "I'm curious to see what 'Welsh Taffy' is like." So they both walked up the street, inquiring on the way where Taffy lived. If the house Taffy owned was any indication that Taffy was a nice sort of person, it certainly spoke well for him, for it was the prettiest and most homelike little place Puss had ever seen.
"I like him already," said Puss, as he knocked on the door.