William Ti Trimity, he’s a good fisherman;
Catches his hens and puts them in pens.
Some lays eggs and some lays none.
Wire, briar, limber lock,
Three geese in a flock.
One flew east, and one flew west,
And one flew over the cuckoo’s nest.
Susan gave Grandfather’s cheek a pat by way of thanks.
“Sing to me now, please,” was the next command.
Obligingly Grandfather tuned up and sang in his sweet old voice—
It rains and it hails and it’s cold stormy weather.
In comes the farmer drinking up the cider.
You be the reaper and I’ll be the binder,
I’ve lost my true love, and right here I find her.
This was an old favorite, and it never failed to delight Susan to have Grandfather in great surprise discover her as the lost true love “right here” in his arms.
“Now, ‘Chickamy,’” said Susan, smoothing herself down after the vigorous hug she felt called upon to bestow.
Chickamy, Chickamy, crany crow,
Went to the well to wash his toe.
When he came back the black-eyed chicken was gone—
said Grandfather in a mysterious voice.
“Can’t you remember any more of it, Grandfather?” implored Susan. “Don’t you know who Chickamy was, or who stole the black-eyed chicken? I do wish I knew.”