Now he stops— Now he hops— Now cautiously trips! On tip-toe, And slip-toe He skuttles and skips; Along the grass gliding, Half-dancing—half-sliding— Oft stooping—half hiding— Then bolt upright walks, And whispering talks To himself, Pretty elf; And quaint sounds he utters, Till close to the shutters Of the cot that’s still sleeping, He climbs up close, peeping, And pokes in each crevice his sharp little nose; Till one shutter creaks, And opening squeaks, And the elfin springs down, and dances and crows! Till softly again, He climbs to the lattice, Taps once, twice, and thrice! Puffs and blows— And through the crack’d pane In he goes! Within this cottage lived a child— “Toody” her name—she was not very big You might judge by the plants and shrubs that grew wild, And o’er her head nodded or lifted a sprig. Within the same cot there also resided Her cousins—in love they were never divided— Kitty and Crocus, Tiny and Twig. But accurate words in good time to employ, We say “Tiny’s” a small dog, and not a small boy; And likewise explain that Grandmama Grey, In spectacles, tucker, and flower’d chintz gown, Took care of them all—often grave, seldom gay, Yet she always half smiled when trying to frown. Five o’clock in the morning! “What noise do I hear below?” Cried Grandmama Grey. “Although it’s broad day, There’s no one up, I know.” Then her head’s complete adorning— Her turret cover’d with snow, Skull-cap and bandage, and double-frill’d night-cap, With puff-crown and ribbon, bows, broad-strings, and all, Not stopping to think, and not caring what might hap, She cast off, and threw at the opposite wall! Crying loudly, “Come, children! jump up with me— There’s a rat in the dairy! run quickly and see! Down with me, each one, as blithe as a grig— Toody and Kitty, and Crocus and Twig!” At once down the stairs they ran scrambling and fumbling, In night-gowns and night-caps—all laughing and jumbling, With Tiny between their legs, barking and tumbling. Down at last they are safely landed, Dusky the parlour—the shutters closed, Though one swings a-jar (which the Elfin’s hand did), By green blinds the light is still opposed. So one by one, some rosy, some pale— As Indians cautiously pass through a mead, Holding each other by night-gown tail, Dame Grey and the children in silence proceed.