Presto! What strange dog is there,
Hat in mouth? the young ones stare.
What queer quadruped can he,
Backing toward the doorway, be?
Mrs. Fittig hears the clatter,
Comes to see what is the matter.
Soft as on a mossy bank,
In her lap Sol backward sank.
Fittig also came in view.
"Ow!" cried Sol, "I'm torn in two!
Herr von Fittig pays me for 't,
Or I'll carry it to court!"
He must pay; that makes him pout
Worse than having ten teeth out.
