Yes, there he stood, Trying to look as meek as he could, And he said, “Little pig, are the apples good?” Pig thought he should fall from where he sat, So heavy his heart went pit-a-pat. But he answered, “The nicest under the sun! I’ll throw down one!” The wolf ran after it as he threw it, And, before he knew it, The pig was out of the tree, and as fleet As his four little feet Could scamper he fled, On, into his house, while after him sped The wolf, with a savage voice and face, In a furious chase. He was long and slim, But the little pig proved too swift for him.
Still, he came again the very next day, And he knocked and called “Little pig, I pray, You will go to the Shanklin Fair with me. Be ready, and I will call at three!” Now the pig, as he had always done, Got the start of the wolf, and went at one. At the fair he bought him a butter churn, And with it started out to return; But who should he meet— The very first one he chanced to spy— Upon the street, But the wolf! and it frightened him dreadfully. So he crept inside His churn to hide; It began to roll; he began to ride; Around and around, Along the ground, He passed the wolf with a bump and bound.

He was frightened worse than he’d frightened the pig,

By the funny, rumbling rig;

And he fled in dismay

Far out of his own and the little pig’s way.

Yet in due time—for I suppose

He was nearly starved—his pattering toes

Were heard again at the little pig’s door.

Such a haunted look his visage wore,

When the tale he told

Of the beast that bumped and bounded and rolled,

Up hill, down hill, and everywhere,

And chased him away from the Shanklin Fair!

Then, with all his might,

The little pig laughed outright,

Giving a jocular, scornful shout

With his saucy snout,

As he cried, “O, how would you like to learn

’Twas a churn, and that I was in the churn!”

Then the wolf exclaimed, “I hate your tricks, Your bolted door and your house of bricks! I’ll eat you anyway—that I’ll do! I’ll come down the chimney after you!”
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But the pig built a fire, high and hot, And filled with water his dinner pot, And just as the wolf came down the flue, Scraping his ribs as he slipped through, What did he do But lift the cover, and let him fall Into the pot—hide, hair and all!
And what next he did Was to slide the lid Quick over the pot; “It’s boiling hot— It’ll maybe cook him, and maybe not,” He cried in glee, “But I’ll let him be, And when it is dinner-time I’ll see!” That day he dined quite to his mind; And he mused to himself, “I’m half inclined To think, by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin, That this is the best way to take wolves in!”

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[ GOODY TWO-SHOES.]

GOODY TWO-SHOES.

VERSIFIEDBY MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes,

Little Goody Two-Shoes!

Do you know about her? Well,

I’m ready now to tell

How the little creature came

By so odd a name.

It was very long ago,

In the days of good Queen Bess,

When upon the cold world’s care,

Fatherless and motherless,

There were thrown two helpless ones,

Destitute as they could be;

Tom, they called the little boy,

And the girl was Margery.

Many a day they cried for food

When the cup-board shelves were bare;

Many an hour they roamed the streets

Scarcely knowing why or where.

As to kindred, all were dead;

As to shelter, they had none;

As to shoes, Tom had a pair;

Little Margery had but one!

One-Shoe, One-Shoe,

Think of Little One-Shoe!

Think how never a pretty boot

Was buttoned on the tender foot;

Nor yet a slipper, fairy-light,

With dainty knot or buckle bright!

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