Her hair is combed up straight and smooth
Above his pretty face.
His looks are full of friendliness;
Her attitude, of grace.
And every morning when I wake,
And every evening too,
She greets me with his pleasant smile,
And friendly "How-d'ye-do?"
She wonders why I lie in bed;
He thinks my wisest plan
Would be to come and live with her
Upon a paper fan.
But that, alas! can never be;
And so I never can
Know whether he's a woman,
Or whether she's a man.
[MARJORIE'S KNITTING.]
In the chimney-corner our Marjorie sits,
Softly singing the while she knits.
The fire-light, flickering here and there,
Plays on her face and her shining hair;
And glimmering bright in the fitful glow,
Backward and forward her needles go,—
Backward and forward, swift and true,—
And hark! the needles are singing too.
"One and two and three and four,
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!"
And what is our Marjorie knitting, I pray?
A soft, warm scarf, for a wintry day,
A pair of mittens for schoolboy Fred,
Or some reins for toddling Baby Ned?