'He will be glad to get rid of me,' Tim said.
His words proved true, and before a week had passed Tim was settled in his new home. He worked with a will, and liked his work, because he felt he was at last of some use in the world instead of being a burden to others.
And the pig that had led him to such a happy position received such a special share of attention that he grew fatter and bigger than any of his fellows.
'One good turn deserves another,' Tim would think. 'The pig got me this job, and sure and I am paying him back for it.'
THE FOX'S SERENADE.
ittle Goose, I love thee, little Goose.
All the stars are flinging
Bright blue beams above me,
As I'm sweetly singing
How I dearly love thee.
Here I'm waiting; is it any use?
Little Goose,
More than words can tell I love thee dearly,
More than tongue can tell—or very nearly.
Little Goose, I love thee, little Goose.
The shadows cling together,
The moonbeams give sweet kisses;
How I wonder whether
We shall know such blisses.
To my mother you I'll introduce,
Little Goose.
She will greet you with a smile so cheery,
Like a mother kind—or very nearly.
Little Goose, I love thee, little Goose.
Hark, the farmer's coming
With his ugly rifle;
So I must be roaming,
For I dare not trifle:
And the watch-dog he will now unloose,
Little Goose.
Some night in the future I'll come really,
Make you all my own—or very nearly.