And upward lead the way,
And with my pupils pressing on,
I’m happy every day.—Chorus.
WHAT BABY SAID.
I am here. And if this is what they call the world, I don’t think much of it. It’s a very flannelly world and smells of paregoric awfully. It’s a dreadful light world, too, and makes me blink, I tell you. And I don’t know what to do with my hands; I think I’ll dig my fists in my eyes. No, I won’t. I’ll scratch at the corner of my blanket and chew it up, and then I’ll holler; whatever happens, I’ll holler. And the more paregoric they give me, the louder I’ll yell. That old nurse puts the spoon in the corner of my mouth, sidewise like, and keeps tasting my milk herself all the while. She spilt snuff in it last night, and when I hollered she trotted me. That comes of being a two-days-old baby. Never mind; when I’m a man, I’ll pay her back good.
There’s a pin sticking in me now, and if I say a word about it, I’ll be trotted or fed; and I would rather have catnip-tea. I heard folks say, “Hush! don’t wake up Emeline’s baby;” and I suppose that pretty, white-faced woman on the pillow is Emeline.
No, I was mistaken; for a chap was in here just now and wanted to see Bob’s baby and looked at me and said I was a funny little toad, and looked just like Bob. He smelt of cigars. I wonder who else I belong to! Yes, there’s another one—that’s “Gamma.” “It was Gamma’s baby, so it was.” I declare, I don’t know who I belong to; but I’ll holler, and maybe I’ll find out. There comes snuffy with catnip tea. I’m going to sleep. I wonder why my hands won’t go where I want them to!
