  One day last week good Mrs. Jones Sat making a new gown When home from school her young son came And strode first up, then down. He waved his arms and muttered much And frightened the pet cat And every time he neared the fire Right into it he spat. "Why, Jimmie," said his frightened ma, "Oh, what makes you act so? And if you do not soon behave Right straight to bed you'll go!" "Ah, mother," said the wise young lad, "I'm neither bad nor bold. I'm just rehearsing a short speech So don't begin to scold. To-day at school the teacher gave These lines to every one And bade us all learn them to-night "Well, Jimmie, dear," his mother said, Recite these lines to me. And why do you when by the fire Spit out so furiously?" "The reason, Ma," said Jimmie Jones, "You very soon shall see. When I recite these lines to you You'll know that act must be. 'The embers glow, the fire burns The kid turns on the spit!' And now you see, my mother dear, |
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