  I KNEW that a baby was hid in the house; Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry, But the husband went tiptoeing ’round like a mouse, And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby; And there was a look on the face of that mother That I knew could mean only one thing, and no other. “The mother” I said to myself; for I knew That the woman before me was certainly that, For there lay in the corner a tiny cloth shoe, And I saw on the stand such a wee little hat; And the beard of the husband said plain as could be, “Two fat, chubby hands have been tugging at me.” And he took from his pocket a gay picture-book, And a dog that would bark if you pulled on a string; And the wife laid them up with such a pleased look; And I said to myself, “There is no other thing But a babe that could bring about all this, and so That one is in hiding here somewhere, I know. I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more, And heard not a sound, yet I knew I was right; What else could the shoe mean that lay on the floor, The book and the toy, and the faces so bright? And what made the husband as still as a mouse? I am sure, very sure, there’s a babe in that house. |
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