“Come with us, do!” the children cried,
But he only shook his head.
“I can’t, for I am a Journeying Man,
And I must be off,” he said.
Then he started to count—and away at last
They went on twinkling feet;
Never did squirrels move more fast,
Or rabbits run more fleet.
And just as they touched the latch of the gate,
They heard, far down in the hush,
“Twenty-three!” as plain as could be;
And they scurried through with a rush.
There on the porch, its covers bent,
The book with the poem lay.
They picked it up as they fled through the door
(Just as the voice called, “Twenty-four!”).
“Why, this wasn’t hard!” said they.
They stared at the poem and hung their heads—
“Why did we run away?”
They said to each other, “It seems sometimes
There really is lots of good in rhymes.”
“Perhaps it would be a very good plan
To study them more,” said wise little Ann.
And Amos answered: “I’m going to know
Whole pages up and down,
Then find J. M., in a hurry, and go
Straight back to Zodiac Town.”
They fled upstairs like swift little hares,
And burrowed into their beds,
With numberless tunes and rhythms and runes
A-ringing in their heads.
And they dreamed all night of a scallopy road
And of clocks with a curious chime,
And talked in their sleep—and every word
Was a rhyme, a rhyme, a rhyme!
McGRATH-SHERRILL PRESS
BOSTON, MASS.