Down to her very shoe-sole.
She heered a foot, an’ knowed it tu,
A-raspin’ on the scraper,—
All ways to once her feelins flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.
He kin’ o’ l’itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle o’ the sekle, sequel.
His heart kep’ goin’ pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.
An’ yit she gin her cheer a jerk