Fittig thinks a dog a plague:
"Nah!" he cries,—"excuse, I beg!"
But mamma with soft looks pleaded:
"Let them, Fittig!"—and succeeded.
Evening milk, fresh and delicious,
On the table stood in dishes.
Joyfully they haste indoors;
Plish and Plum ahead, of course.
Mercy! look! right in the sweet
Cream each wretch has set his feet;
And the noise their lapping makes
Shows what comfort each one takes.
At the window peeps old Sly,
Chuckles loud and says: "My eye!
This is very bad, he! he!
Very bad, but not for me!!"