But “no,” he shrieked, “he wouldn’t have her in it!”

He seized her wooden dolls that couldn’t smile.—for O,

O, how he hated smiles, grim Dimple Dumpling!

And all the time they sat there in that wooden row

His yellow head against the wall was crumpling,—

It must have been so sore,—but there he sat, like stone,

And kicked the floor till mamma cried, “O, this is

Very bad!”—but, ah, if mamma’d only known

Her little boy was bad for lack of kisses!