THE BROWNIES' RIDE.
And while the rogues went prying 'round,
The farmer's mare at rest they found;
And peeping through the stable-door,
They saw the harness that she wore.
The sight was tempting to the eye,
For there the cart was standing nigh.
"That mare," said one, "deserves her feed—
Believe me, she's no common breed;
Her grit is good: I've seen her dash
Up yonder slope without the lash,
Until her load—a ton of hay—
Went bouncing in beside the bay.
In this same cart, old Farmer Gill
Takes all his corn and wheat to mill;
It must be strong, though rude and rough;
It runs on wheels, and that's enough."
Now, Brownies seldom idle stand
When there's a chance for fun at hand.