Clock-room and pantry too;
And a hole was cut in the cellar-door,
Where fav’rite cat went through.
Grandma’ wore parted on her brow
Her own soft, silvery hair;
And scissors bright at her girdle hung,
E’er knitting her fingers were.
A buck-horn head had grandpa’s cane,
His hat was wide of brim;
His silver snuff-box was a gift