"But we'll be good, won't we, moder,"
And from off my lap he slid,
Digging deep among the goodies
In his crimson stockings hid.
While I turned me to my table,
Where a tempting goblet stood
Brimming high with dainty custard
Sent me by a neighbour good.
But the kitten, there before me,
With his white paw, nothing both,
Sat, by way of entertainment,
Lapping off the shining froth;
And, in not the gentlest humour
At the loss of such a treat,
I confess, I rather rudely
Thrust him out into the street.
Then, how Bennie's blue eyes kindled;
Gathering up the precious store
He had busily been pouring
In his tiny pinafore,
With a generous look that shamed me
Sprang he from the carpet bright,
Showing by his mien indignant,
All a baby's sense of right.
"Come back, Harney," called he loudly,
As he held his apron white,
"You shall have my candy wabbit,"
But the door was fastened tight,
So he stood abashed and silent,
In the centre of the floor,
With defeated look alternate
Bent on me and on the door.
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