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Where have you been? What have you seen?
And why do you limp so, Dog-gie
Says Dog-gie True, "I'll tell to you
I was near-ly touch-ing the sky. Down with a thump, all in a lump, Fell at last your Dog-gie True: The Bull did bel-low, the ter-ri-ble fel-low, And I ran off at once to you." "The cows and the sheep I told you to keep
From the corn and hay-fields out, Where are they now? Stray-ing, I vow, While you go id-ling a-bout.
Off to the hill ran an-gry Will (Dog-gie was left be-hind),
How the cows and the sheep did run and leap
When his horn they heard him wind!
One fine spring day, when frost which had fro-zen up the pools was gone, and the fresh wind blew, Flo-ra and her dog Flash went down to the riv-er. Her doll was in her arms, dressed in a pink frock with a pret-ty frill. Flash fret-ted at being kept back from the flocks of sheep that fled from him; but when Flo-ra frowned at his freaks, he trot-ted on qui-et-ly. Flo-ra nev-er need-ed to flog Flash.
When Flash got free, how he frisked, full of frol-ic, over the flat where the riv-er flows and froths a-mong the big stones. Flo-ra dipped a flask in the stream; and, when she had gath-ered some peb-bles and flow-ers, turned homewards, look-ing hap-py and flushed after her run with Flash.
There was an old wo-man tossed up in a blan-ket,
Nine-teen times as high as the moon; Where she was go-ing no mor-tal could tell, But un-der each arm she car-ried a broom.
"Old wo-man, old wo-man, old wo-man," said I, "Whith-er, ah! whith-er, whith-er so high ?" "I'm go-ing, I'm go-ing, I'll bid you good-bye! For I'm go-ing to sweep cob-webs out of the sky."
IN Jan-u-ar-y, the ska-ters go
Mer-ri-ly 'mid the frost and snow;
In June, the sweet birds sing all the long day,
In Ju-ly, the hay-ma-kers work in the sun,
In Aug-ust, the reap-ers are reap-ing the grain,
In Sep-tem-ber, the farm-er is build-ing his stacks,
Wheat for the hop-per, meal for the sacks;
Fall then the rain-drops nev-er a-wear-y;
In De-cem-ber, the long nights wind up the year, Pile up the logs high-Christ-mas is near!
gen-tle-man weath-er feath-ers friends vis-it flown brought al-though through
Who does not love Rob-in Red-breast, with his scar-let waist-coat and his bright black eyes? When all other birds are flown, he pays us a visit, grate-ful if we only throw him a few crumbs. Al-though not very bold at
first, he, as soon as the weath-er gets cold-er, hops from the win-dow-sill on to the ta-ble, and makes friends of both
old and young. In the spring, the
Rob-ins some-times build their nests in strange places. A gen-tle-man in Yorkshire once found a Rob-in's nest in an old ket-tle, and in it four young ones were brought up by the pa-rents. Anoth-er pair chose an old wa-ter-ingpot as a snug re-treat for their lit-tle fam-i-ly. But a third pair chose a stran-ger spot still, for they built a nest on a small shelf at the back of an or-gan in a church; and when the young ones got their feath-ers, they flew a-way through a bro-ken pane of glass in the church win-dow.
Come here, lit-tle Rob-in, and don't be a-fraid, I would not hurt e-ven a feath-er;
Come here, lit-tle Rob-in, and pick up some bread
To feed you this ver-y cold weath-er.
I don't mean to hurt you, poor lit-tle thing,