STRAWBERRY GIRL.
EMILY.
Mamma, do hear Eliza cry!
She wants a piece of cake, I know,
She will not stir to school without;
Do give her some, and let her go.
MOTHER.
Oh no, my dear, that will not do,
She has behaved extremely ill;
She does not think of minding me,
And tries to gain her stubborn will.
This morning, when she had her milk,
She gave her spoon a sudden twirl
And threw it all upon the floor;
Oh, she’s a naughty, wicked girl!
And now, forsooth, she cries for cake,
But that, my dear, I must refuse,
For children never should object
To eating what their parents choose.
That pretty little girl who came
To sell the strawberries here to-day,
Would have been very glad to eat
What my Eliza threw away;
Because her parents are so poor
That they have neither milk nor meat,
But gruel and some Indian cake
Is all the children have to eat.
They have beside three little girls,—
Mary’s the oldest of them all,—
And hard enough she has to work
To help the rest, though she’s so small.
As soon as strawberries are ripe,
She picks all day and will not stop
To play, nor eat a single one
Till she has filled her basket up.
Then down she comes to sell them all,
And lays the money up to buy
Her stockings and her shoes to wear
When cold and wintry storms are nigh.
Then Mary has to trudge away,
And gather wood thro’ piles of snow,
To keep the little children warm,
When the frost bites and cold winds blow.
Oh, then, as she comes home at night,
Hungry and tired, with cold benumb’d,
How would she jump to find a bowl
Of bread and milk all nicely crumb’d.
But she, dear child, has no such thing;
Of gruel and some Indian cake,
Whether she chooses it or not,
Poor Mary must her supper make.
And now, my child, will you behave
So ill again another day,
Be cross, and pout, and cry for cake,
And throw your breakfast all away?
ELIZA.
Oh never, never, dear mamma,
I’m sorry that I gave you pain;
Forgive me, and I never will
Be such a naughty girl again.
