"Perhaps we'd better not, 'cause you feel so badly," said Bessie.
"They do me good," answered Lily. "I don't think I can care for any thing else to-day. Who made this picture?"
"I did," said Maggie, "and this is the story of it. This is fable or allegory too;" and, unrolling another sheet of paper, Maggie read aloud her famous poem, which had been pronounced a great success by both Bessie and Belle. Her picture consisted of a series of small drawings, which explained themselves as she read the verses.
"There's a bad little fellow,
His name it is Pro-
Cras-tin-a-ti-on;
And to you I will show
How he robs and he steals
And he plagues Father Time.
I'll tell you all this,
And I'll tell you in rhyme.
When to school he is sent,
He most slowly doth go,
For he stops first to play,
Then to look at some show;
By the hour he is there,
Why! the school is 'most out.
That's one way he robs Time,
This sad putting-off lout.
When his mother doth say,
'Go this errand for me,'
He will say, 'By and by;'
'Pretty soon;' 'I will see;'
Till at last 'tis too late,
Or his mother must go.
'Tis a base, heartless crime,
For a child to do so.
But there's worse yet to tell,
For to church he goes late;
And he reaches God's house
In a sad, dirty state;
For he never is dressed,
And he never is clean.
That 'tis all putting off,
Is quite plain to be seen.
He ne'er has a book,
Or a toy, or a pet,
For to put them away
He doth always forget;
So they're broken or lost,
Or most shamefully torn;
And he's nothing to do,
Which is very forlorn.
Take heed now, ye children,
And list to my tale;
What e'er you've to do,
Do at once, without fail;
For if you'd be happy,
And useful, and gay,
Don't put off till to-morrow
The work of to-day.
Remember, 'tis minutes
That make up the hours;
As the small, tiny seeds
Bring the beautiful flowers.
Don't procrastinate then,
O ye daughters of earth!
For woman's but grass
From the day of her birth."