XI
The time lagged on; some children through his door Prodded his fur with sticks, the clock struck four. Now is the time, but Jocko does not care, When carriers are starting from the Bear; Fast in his pen, and all his anger gone, No longer would he live at Clarendon. Home was his one desire. “At six,” he said, “My Betsey-Jane is kissed, and goes to bed, Her bath-tub by the nursery fire will be, She will come in and look around for me And sob all night beneath her counterpane For her lost Jocko—little Betsey-Jane!”