A large slug, from the gravel he mined,
And a midwinter smile I did not understand
Lit his weatherworn dial and lined,
As he carelessly toyed with his find.
[104]
]Then I hurried across to congratulate Dad,
(Oh the slug! and its wondrous gold-red!)
And I spoke of the marvellous fortune he had,
When he wakened that sprite from its bed—
“Pshaw! A fly-speck—a fly-speck!”—he said.
And he sighed as he spoke, and his eyes gathered damp