Страница - 132Страница - 134- Just then his nose was tickled with
- A spear of grass close by;
- Then came an awful sneeze, which knocked
- The pickerel into pi,
- And blew its bones, the ice and waves
- Two hundred feet on high!

- Tim Keyser swam up to the top
- A breath of air to take;
- And finding broken ice, he hooked
- His nose upon a cake,
- And gloried in a nose which could
- Such a concussion make.

- And thus he drifted slowly on
- Until he reached the shore;
- And creeping out all dripping wet,
- He very roundly swore
- To use that crimson nose as bait
- For pickerel no more.

- His Christmas turkey on that day
- He tackled with a vim,
- And thanked his stars as, shuddering,
- He thought upon his swim,
- That that wild pickerel had not
- Spent Christmas eating him!