. St. Nicholas [serial] . nly asshe could. She wore no mourning, being blackanyway. We buried them under the cedar-tree wherethe periwinkles grow in summer, and sprinkledviolets over their grave, and Mandy sang a songshe knew. It did nt seem very appropriate toa funeral, but it was the only one we knew aboutalligators, so we had to use it. It s a veryqueer song. This is the way it goes: Svvimmin in der river, des afo de day,Wat yer think my mammy hear der alligators say ? Get long home, ol lady; better get long home,Kaze we gwine ter bite yer foot off, en chaw up all derbone. We gwine ter eat
. St. Nicholas [serial] . nly asshe could. She wore no mourning, being blackanyway. We buried them under the cedar-tree wherethe periwinkles grow in summer, and sprinkledviolets over their grave, and Mandy sang a songshe knew. It did nt seem very appropriate toa funeral, but it was the only one we knew aboutalligators, so we had to use it. It s a veryqueer song. This is the way it goes: Svvimmin in der river, des afo de day,Wat yer think my mammy hear der alligators say ? Get long home, ol lady; better get long home,Kaze we gwine ter bite yer foot off, en chaw up all derbone. We gwine ter eat er little pig, we gwine ter eat er fish ;Gwine ter eat em wid er knife en fork, offer gret biggolen dish. But it had a nice lonesome sort of tune, andwe all sang the last verse together. We set upa pasteboard tombstone, and Susy wrote on it: Here LieSlimy, Scaly, and OffIn the flower of their Youth and BeautyBy a too Ardent Affection. I think that sounds just splendid. Susy cer-tainly can write nice By-Z^&Tg&Tet • V^ndegrift? A little dinner party was in progress downbelow,While above-stairs, in the nursery, was a lonelylittle Fred. There is nothing left to do ! he sighed. Thatclock is very slow,And when nurse does finish supper, she willput me straight to bed! Now, if they d let me play with that! — he lookedup on the wall,And gently pushed a chair along before him, ashe spoke — I really would not mischief it, or worry it, at all,And I feel quite pretty certain I could mend it,if it broke ! About five minutes after this, the door-bell rang,and lowThe servant to the master whispered, Sir,he s at the door—aThe messenger, you rang for. Replied themaster, No;He s made some stupid blunder. And hethought of it no more.
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Keywords: ., bookauthordodgemar, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1873
