A merry group,
With spades in hand,
Building wee houses
Of yellow sand.
They dig and delve
The livelong day;
But even children
tired with play.
On pillows soft
Their heads they lay,
While the wee houses
Are washed away.
What is the matter with Princess Maude,
All alone in her tower?
She sits forlorn in her little chair,
And cries to herself by the hour.
We'll carry some flowers to Princess Maude,
And a basket of apples and pears;
We'll call her to open the window wide,
For we can't go up the stairs.
Throw open your window, Princess Maude,
It is only Charlie and me;
The cat and the dog are fast asleep,
And there's nobody here to see.
Dear Mary Angelina Jane,
You will be sorry to be told
My doll was left out in the rain,
So that she caught a dreadful cold.
She's better now, the doctors say,
Though I'm afraid of a relapse.
And now no more from me to-day—
I'll write some other day, perhaps.