And, without waiting to be pressed, he graciously began:—
“Oh, what a lucky child am I,
As here upon my bed I lie
With all my needs and wants supplied,
My food, and everything beside;—
Clams, and white mice, and kittens, all!
And when I’m cold my mother’s shawl.”
“Isn’t that pretty?”
“Indeed it is, honey,” I answered. “How did you come to think of it?”
“Well,” confessed Robin, “I’d been crying just a little yesterday, Ellie, because I wanted to pertend to play tag and I couldn’t see out the window, and so I had to blow my nose; and I felt for my hankersniff under the pillow, and there it was! I didn’t have to ring or anything! And that made me think how lucky I am, and so I made up the poem. Is it nice enough to be written down?”