"I have indeed," your Aunt Amy replied, and it was only with difficulty she prevented herself from laughing aloud. "I have heard of his poetry from every bird and animal around this farm."
A WET-WEATHER PARTY.
"Then perhaps you don't care to hear any more?" Mrs. Mouser said inquiringly.
"Indeed I do," your Aunt Amy replied, "if it is anything new, and I surely have never heard of a wet-weather party."
Mrs. Mouser stroked her whiskers a moment, and then began to repeat the following:
A little Black Ant was journeying home
From a marketing visit to town,
When down came the ram, pitter-patter, so fast,
It threatened to spoil her best gown.
She wandered about till she quite lost her way,
Till at last a big Toadstool she found,
"Ah, here I can rest!" said the little Black Ant,
And she wearily sank to the ground.