Then mamma opens one eye and I can hear her say:
“Where’s my baby?”
N’en I keep still—jus’ as still as a mouse, an’ she keeps saying:
“Where’s my baby?”
N’en all at once I go “Boo!” and she laughs and hugs me, and says “I’m a precious.”
Mamma’s nice, and I love her ’cept when she washes my face too hard and pulls my hair with the comb.
Seven o’clock!
That’s when the bell goes jingle, jingle, and we have breakfast.
All the eight an’ nine an’ ten an’ ’leven hours I play.
I run after butterflies and squirrels, and swing, and read my picture book, and sometimes I cry—jus’ a little bit.