Since then I’ve been thinkin’ it over: How this youngster chanc’d inter life,— Durn me, if I don’t fear it’s the fault Of Tom Smart and Polly, my wife!
I don’t like ter suspicion my Polly Who’s jist now appearin’ in view; But, somehow, I don’t think it’s nat’ral That our “Boots” should come thus. Do you?
However, I’ll not fret erbout it: Say nothin’; my wife’s at the door: But one thing take note on:—We’re happy, And—Tom Smart don’t come here no more!
Now that is the whole histry of “Boots,” A plaguey quar case. It’s not clear! How this boy can be mine I can’t guess, Or how in the world he reach’d here!
But he’s Polly’s, that’s carten and sure, And I admit him inte my heart, Although he bars a strikin’ rersemblance Ter that Tar-heel known as Tom Smart!
The Buzzin’ Bees of Berks.
