SAYING HIS SPEECH
One day last week good Mrs. Jones
Sat making a new gown
When home from school her young son came
And strode first up, then down.
He waved his arms and muttered much
And frightened the pet cat
And every time he neared the fire
Right into it he spat.
"Why, Jimmie," said his frightened ma,
"Oh, what makes you act so?
And if you do not soon behave
Right straight to bed you'll go!"
"Ah, mother," said the wise young lad,
"I'm neither bad nor bold.
I'm just rehearsing a short speech
So don't begin to scold.
To-day at school the teacher gave
These lines to every one
And bade us all learn them to-night
Or else the stick would come."
"Well, Jimmie, dear," his mother said,
Recite these lines to me.
And why do you when by the fire
Spit out so furiously?"
"The reason, Ma," said Jimmie Jones,
"You very soon shall see.
When I recite these lines to you
You'll know that act must be.
'The embers glow, the fire burns
The kid turns on the spit!'
And now you see, my mother dear,
That gesture well does fit."