It really was a fine sight, I assure you, and grandma was quite overcome by the spectacle. So she was introduced to her gifts as quickly as possible, to divert her mind from the tender thought that all these fond and foolish adornments were to please her.
Every gift had a poem attached, and as the presents were of every description, the verses possessed an agreeable variety. Here are a few as a sample. A small tea-kettle was one gift, and this pleasing verse seemed to be bubbling out of its spout:—
"A little kettle, fat and fair,
To sit on grandma's stove,
To simmer softly, and to sing
A song of Freddie's love."
Another was this brief warning tucked into a match-box:—
"On this you scratch
Your little match.
When the spark flies
Look out for your eyes!
When the lucifer goes
Look out for your nose!
Little Jack gives you this
With a birthday kiss."
A third was rather sentimental, from Mrs. Coobiddy:—
"Within doth lie
A silken tie,
Your dress to deck;
Soft and warm
As daughter's arm
Round mother's neck."
Mr. Pib presented a mouse-trap all set; and in order to explain his poem, I must relate an incident in his varied career.
Pib had long been one of the family, and was much respected and beloved by them all. In fact, he was so petted and stuffed that he grew as fat and big as a small dog, and so clumsy that he could no longer catch the mice who dodged about among the dishes in the kitchen closets.
In vain had Mrs. Trot shut him up there; in vain had Aunt Trib told him it was his duty to clear the cupboards of such small deer. Poor fat Pib only bounced about, broke the china, rattled down the pans, to come out with empty paws, while the saucy mice squeaked scornfully, and pranced about under his very nose.