Four brothers by the name of Peck,

(All Mr. Bushel’s kin),

As often as one desires it,

Are taken by him in.

Eight sisters, the Misses Gallon,

When the four Peck brothers are out,

In Mr. Bushel’s quarters

Have room to move about.

Thirty-two cousins, the Quarts—ah, me!

What will Mr. Bushel do?

Polite and open, he smiles and says,

“I’m alone, so there’s room for you!”

A jingling crowd—the sixty-four Pints,

To shelter them, no fun!

Mr. Bushel laughs, “I’m empty now,

Walk in, come, every one!”

Two hundred and fifty-six baby Gills,

The tiniest friends and shy,—

“Can we all come in?” Mr. Bushel replies,

“I can hold you and not half try!”

A jolly good fellow to entertain all,

This Mr. Bushel must be!

He takes them only one group at a time,—

And each group makes him, you see!