It must be right, but somehow I can't look at it that way-- Why should he go, so young and good, and me--so worn out--stay? But mebbe up in heaven he will think of me and wait And holler "Hi!" when he sees me a-limpin' to the Gate, And mebbe (where is my old han'kerchief a-got to now?) He'll say to Peter, "Let him in--_I_ like him, anyhow!" THE FISHERMAN'S SON When pa comes back home from his trip, All brown and freckle-faced, He's fatter than he's been for months-- There ain't no cloth to waste When he puts on his old fall suit And sits out on the lawn, And tells about the fish he caught-- But my! how ma does yawn! Pa smokes a puff or two, and then He says, "You ought to see The one I caught on Thursday--long As 'tis from you to me. I had him on the bank; yes, sir, As sure as you are born, And then he jumped right back again--" But ma--how she does yawn! I got a hook and line that ain't Like pa's, but still it's fun To go down to the creek and fish And keep out of the sun. Ma gives me sandwiches to eat, And when the last bite's gone I guess I go to sleep, sometimes-- At least I know I yawn. But one day I _did_ ketch a fish; Ma took it, and it weighed A pound, she said; but pa looked cross And said, "It must have strayed." We had it cooked for supper, too, And ma and I ate some; But pa, he wouldn't, and ma laughed; But all she _said_ was "hu-u-m!" THE DOG CONFESSES I am a lucky dog, I know, and all my friends agree The people that I live with now are good as gold to me Because three times I saved a life--and that is why they give Me everything a dog could want--and will, while I shall live. But I've a conscience, and I must Confess the truth--or else I'll bust! One day the cart that Bobbie drives ran up on pony's heels, And off he bolted! I went, too, and mixed up with the wheels, Until the cart came to a stop, and Bobbie-boy was saved-- Then folks wept o'er the noble way that I, a dog, behaved. (The truth is, I got in that mix Avoiding pony's vicious kicks!) Another time, when Bobbie went to play out on the dock He fell into the water there, (he'd stumbled on a block); I sprang in after him, of course, and dragged him back to land-- Then everybody said the way I acted was "just grand." (The rat that I was chasing when I plunged, I never saw again!) You see this stubby tail of mine? I got that when a car Came near to crushing Bobbie-boy--it gave us all a jar; I knocked him off the track in time, but one wheel caught my tail And cut it short; it hurt, of course, and I let out a wail-- (The cur that I had hoped to fight Across the street, was out of sight!) So, though I haven't meant to be a noble brute at all, I have to take the praise they give, and hear them patiently; But there is comfort in this thought--although it may seem small-- There are some human heroes who are "posing"--just like me! BR'ER RABBIT IN DE BRESH PILE