And they’d jeer—“You’ll keep till another day!”
Poor Bob would turn and slouch from the place
And lie face down in tall “Queen Anne’s lace”
And sob and sob to the cool brown earth,
Far off from the sound of his playmates’ mirth—
Poor Bob Cooning!
And he could not learn to cipher or read,
And he felt himself of a different breed.
He ate so much, and his clothes cost more
Than any one else, till his father swore.