  They dug away till almost noon, With spade and hoe and great big spoon. And Towser dug at a wee round hole, Pretending that he smelt a mole. The hours sped by as if on wings; Swift goes the day that pleasure brings. And deep they dug the mellow soil, And raked it smooth with patient toil. The noon bell rang; they cried, “Look here! See how we’re digging, mother, dear! We’re nearly through. It can’t be noon! Keep dinner hot; we’ll be there soon!” |
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