And Richard thus, with heart elate,
As past things rushed across his mind,
Over his shoulder talked to Kate,
Who, snug tucked up, walked slow behind:
“When once a giggling mauther[G] you,
And I a red-faced, chubby boy,
Sly tricks you played me, not a few;
For mischief was your greatest joy.
“Once, passing by this very tree,
A gotch[H] of milk I’d been to fill;