“He’s neither in,
And he’s neither out;
He’s where something goes in
When the light goes out.”
Quick as the crow flies before the farmer’s empty gun the farmer’s wife would guess, “You’re in the keyhole, Tinykins, you rogue, come out.”
And out he would pop in high glee.
The way he went was as strange as the way he came. I’ll tell you about it
One evening as the little fellow was frisking about the farm kitchen, a shrill voice from the farmyard called three times, “Tolman Grig! Tolman Grig! Tolman Grig!”
“Ho! ho! ho! My daddy is come,” cried the elf, springing up and speaking for the first time.