He could not think of robbing,
He had but half-a-crown;
And so he mounted Dobbin,
And rode back from the town.
The sheep were in the meadows,
The cows were in the corn;
Amid the evening shadows
He stood where he was born.
MISS HOOPER
MISS Hooper was a little girl,
Whose head was always in a whirl;
For she had hoop upon the head—
“My precious, precious hoop!” she said.
Trundling a hoop was her delight
From breakfast time to nearly night,
She loved it so! and, truth to tell,
At last she drove her hoop too well.
That hoop began to go one day
As if it never meant to stay;
Of course the girl would not give in,
But followed it through thick and thin.
The King and Queen came out to see
What sort of hoop this hoop might be;
My Lady said, “I think, my Lord,
That hoop goes of its own accord.”