Oh, sad to tell!
She went to the well—
The time was as close to eve as to dawn—
To Chickamy Chick,
So supple and slick,
The clock said “Tick!”
But when she came back her chicken was gone!
Oh, whatamy, whichamy, chickamy, oh!
Moonery, oonery, tickamy Toe!
Wellery, tellery, gittery go!
Witchery, itchery, knitchery know.
CHICKAMY CRANY CROW AND TICKLE-MY-TOES
“What kinder gwines on is dat?” exclaimed Drusilla, whose mind had never been quite easy since she walked through the dry water in the spring without getting drowned. “We all better be makin’ our way to’rds home. Time we git dar—ef we ever is ter git dar—it’ll be dark good. Den what yo’ ma gwine to say? She gwine ter talk wid de flat er her han’—dat what she gwine ter talk wid. Come on!”
“Can’t you be quiet?” cried Buster John. “It’s nothing but a song.”
“Oh, you kin stay, an’ I’ll stay wid you,” said Drusilla; “but when Mistiss git you in de wash-room, don’t you come sayin’ dat I wouldn’t fetch you home.”
“I want to see everything,” said Buster John.
“I done seed much ez I want ter see,” replied Drusilla, “an’ now I want ter live ter tell it.”