  Have you met her? Little Can’t-Wait, she is sweet and bright and fair, With her sunny, floating, ringlets and bewitching baby air; Just a pretty bit of mischief all impatient now to know If St. Nicholas, dear fellow, by her tiny socks will go. Quite alone on Christmas evening, she has planned it out to hide And is bound to capture Santy, brisk and jolly from his ride. Little Can’t-Wait is so winsome as she lays this clever plot, That I toss her to the ceiling and caress her on the spot. But the darling, I’ve a notion, like a bird upon its nest In the cosy chimney corner will glide softly off to rest; And her brown eyes will not open till the rosy morning light, When she’ll wake to find Kris Cringle caught her napping in the night. Have you met her? Little Can’t-Wait: met the witchery of eyes Where the halo of affection in its angel beauty lies? While I toss her to the ceiling and caress her sunny hair, She is deep in speculation, seeing Santy ev’ry where. Hearing of his sturdy reindeer, rapidly they speed along, We can barely catch the echo of his merry jest and song; Of the bountiful attractions, of the season and the night, Of the pleasures and the pastimes such as give a child delight. Little Can’t-Wait as I chatter hangs enraptured on the tale, With an interest in Santy that was never known to fail. Whereupon I whisper gaily and receive a roguish glance, Here’s the story Kris will tell you if you give him half a chance. “Have you heard how little Can’t-Wait, just a year ago to-day, Formed a clever plan, the mischief, and when twilight softly lay Over this fair scene around us, crept into a dainty nest, In the cosy chimney corner where the evening shadows rest. There, upon the faintest jingle of my sleigh bells drawing nigh To triumphant watch my fingers pile the tiny stockings high; And so certain was the conquest that the elf was bound to make, I was downright sorry, darling, to the pretty picture break. It was pleasant to be welcomed by a most enticing view, Of a dainty bit of muslin and a golden lock or two. As I crept up close and closer to the crimson curtained chair, Well, a secret’s none in telling, some one, slyly kissed her there. When those baby eyes were blinking in the rosy morning light, They were just too late to see me as I bounded out of sight.” Little Can’t-Wait shyly dimples, firm this Christmas eve to keep, And to not be caught “a-napping,” even though she is asleep. |
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