I guess mamma was right. Maybe I’m sumfin’ like a window curtain. ’Mokin’ isn’t good for me.
The Elf-Child.
Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, and brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board and keep;
An’ all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch tales ’at Annie tells about,
An’ the gobble-uns ’at gits you