“Oh come into the dining-room!”
Cries Fred, “come, grandma, dear.
For something very strange indeed
Is going on in here!”
And sure enough, when grandma comes,
Perhaps at first with fright,
She stands quite still, astonished at
An unexpected sight.
For there upon the woollen rug,
A jug between her feet,
Sits Freddy’s little sister Bess
Absorbed in pleasures sweet.
Her finger in the syrup now
Behold she slyly dips,
And carries it with great delight
To her own rosy lips.
“You little witch!” cries grandmama,
“You’re like the naughty rat
I found within the cellar once,
Who on a barrel sat,
Filled with molasses, which he reached
By dipping in the hole
His great long tail from which he licked
The sweets he thus had stole.
“The rat was shot, but grandma’s babe,
Well, till she’s learned to know
Such tricks are wrong, why we of course
Must naught but patience show.”
Then grandma took her little pet,
And washed her sticky face,
Then put that tempting syrup-jug
Up in a safer place.
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