Said Horse, "Here's a pickle, I sat on Eliza,
Her face is all scratched and her eye is pushed in."
Said Lamb, "Here's a muddle, my tail's in the tea-pot,
I can't get it out, and it pricks like a pin."
Said Cow, "It is shocking, my horn's in the trumpet,
And Sambo is squashed underneath me, I know."
Said Book, "I am lying all twisted and crumpled,
A drum is on top and the ink-pot below."
When Patty came in she was terribly frightened,
The cupboard was moving about, she was sure,
She heard angry voices, "It's perfectly awful,
It's simply disgraceful—I cannot endure."
She straightened the cupboard, put toys in their places,
She brushed out the Doll's hair, and smoothed down the Horse,
She took the soft tail of the Lamb from the teapot,
And tenderly cared for the others, of course.
The toys in the cupboard were pleased and contented,
No longer they grumbled, no longer they wept,
For Patty had learned a most wonderful lesson,
And now the toy cupboard is splendidly kept.
The Pencil's Story
I am a little pencil, and my name is H and B,
I lie upon the mantelpiece for every one to see;
I'm handled forty times a day, it is a weary life,
And when my wits are rather dull I'm sharpened with a knife!
I scrawl when Tommy has me, and I draw all sorts of things,
From submarines and aeroplanes to cabbages and kings;
I write a lovely letter when Miss Phyllis is about,
And if by chance I make mistakes Miss Phyllis rubs them out.
And if I slip and tumble down I'm certain to be missed,
For Mother wants me badly when she does the washing-list,
And Father makes me keep the score when he begins to play—
I'm just a little pencil, but I have a busy day.
I really never am allowed to grow up as I ought,
I'm getting shorter every day (it's awful to be short),
And when the knife begins on me I ache in every joint,
I put it in that way because you're sure to see the point.