Page:Wee wee songs for our little pets.djvu/145

 The wandering Indian oft partook The generous farmer's cheer; He liked his food, but better still His cider fine and clear.

And as he quaff'd the pleasant draught, The kitchen fire before, He longed for some to carry home, And asked for more and more.

The farmer saw a basket new Beside the Indian bold, And smiling said, "I'll give to you   As much as that will hold."

Both laughed, for how could liquid thing Within a basket stay; But yet the jest unanswering, The Indian went his way,

When next from rest the farmer sprung, So very cold the morn, The icicles like diamonds hung On every spray and thorn.

The brook that babbled by his door Was deep, and clear, and strong, And yet unfettered by the frost, Leaped merrily along.