Do they pity the canary, And come to you and say, ’Tis weary of its prison And wants to get away? Do they hint the budding calla Is bold enough to bloom, If some one isn’t careful To pluck it pretty soon? Do they tell you on which bushes Grows “de bestest zinzerbread”? That how to get new dollies Is to smash the old one’s head? Do they teach you model methods For enslaving humankind— The way to rule the father And to make the mother mind? And to keep all of us people, Who live across the street, Forever on the listen For the tinkling of your feet? Alas! ere you can answer, I’m very much in fear The cherubs will have finished A-whispering in your ear. ’Tis cloudy April weather, There’s a chill in all the air, And over in the window I see the golden hair. Somebody must stay indoors For fear of catching cold; And it’s “defful” tiresome business For little Three-years-old. But the whole town remembers How, not six months agone, All round the house the curtains Were ever closely drawn, And where erewhile the door-bell Its frequent summons rang, Was pinned a penciled notice, To hush the piercing clang. For little, little Florence Among the shadows lay, In fever, moaning, tossing, The livelong night and day. And oft was asked the question, “Is she any better now?” With a choking and a tremor One couldn’t help, somehow. But _she_ does not remember, Of course—the blithesome heart. See! she has donned her “yiding-hood,” All ready for a start. And—now! quick, no one watching, Down, down the walk she flies— And Betsy rushing after, With a twinkle in her eyes. Ha! let us see you catch her— The wee Red Riding-hood! A flash of scarlet lightning; She’s in a racing mood. Quick, o’er the muddy crossing (The dainty buttoned shoes!) Quick, quick, around the corner— Ah, she begins to lose! And—now!—the race is over. You little midget, you! To laugh such bubbling laughter, The other must laugh too. And now the door closed on her, As yesterday, no doubt— “Mamma must haf to lock it, Or some peoples _vill_ get out.” Once, left alone a moment, They couldn’t find the child; And the father’s face was ghastly, And the mother—she went wild. Nor here, nor there, the missing; The neighbors, looking out, Saw all the household flying Promiscuously about, And joined the search, in terror, And hurried to and fro; “Oh! where—oh! where is Florence? Does anybody know?” “O Florence! Florence! Florence!” There came a little squeal From pony Prince’s manger— “I be here in de meal.”