Run acrosst the little fool

In my Primer-class at school.

When the Teacher wuzn’t lookin’,

He’d be th’owin’ wads; er crookin’

Pins; er sprinklin’ pepper, more’n

Likely, on the stove; er borin’

Gimlet-holes up thue his desk—

Nothin’ that boy wouldn’t resk!

But, somehow, as I was goin’

On to say, he seemed so knowin’,