Samuel.
Guess again—dear little guesser!
You wouldn't catch this boy lopping his wing,
Or whining over anything.
So stir your stumps,
Forget your bumps,
Get out of your dumps,
And up and at it again;
For the clock is striking ten,
And Ruth will come pretty soon and say,
"Go to your beds
You sleepy heads!"
So—quick! What shall we play?
Rebekah.
I wouldn't play any more,
For Joseph is tired and sore
With his fall upon the floor.
All.
Then he shall tell a story.
Joseph.
About old Mother Morey?
All.
No! Tell us another.