"Or stay, here's old Dobbin—why, children, you know
We must gallop him off to the pond below.
Poor Dobbin is thirsty—we nearly forgot;
He's done lots of work, and he's tired and hot."
Rattle and scamper—hurrah for the fun!—
Three merry youngsters, see how they run!
Fast go their heels, round go the wheels.
Old Dobbin says nothing of all that he feels.
Yet in his one eye lurks a mischievous wink,
And brought to the water, old Dobbin won't drink.
Sir Toadie lies low by yon mossy gray stone—
A worshipful toad is he!—
A toad with a wise and wonderful mien,
Solemnly wearing his coat of green,
Of what does this knowing Sir Toadie dream?
Hark! he croaks to a passing bee
Watching the scene—the scolding and petting
A very queer steed on the bank is getting,
Now ordered, now asked, now begged, "just one drop,"
Next pushed all a-hurry, it tumbles in—flop!
Nidding and nodding his wise old head,
These are the words that the toad has said,
"Many may lead to the fair river's brink,
But a horse must will, ere they make him drink."
Jes you stan' up, you queer old broom.
And be as good as you can be;
You see to-night is Christmas-eve,
And you must be my Christmas-tree.