A picture book for little folk
Good Mrs. Flop, one wintry morn,
To Bobbity, her eldest born,
Remarked: In spite of frost and snow
To school, my dear, you'll have to go
First take this jelly from the shelf,
Then go and tidy up yourself.
Brush your ears, pray, don't forget,
And wear your warmest socks, my pet
His mother packed a lovely lunch,
And gave Wee Whisk a cake to munch
Wee Whisk wished she were coming too:
Poor innocent - she little knew!
When Bob had walked a mile, perhaps,
He met a friend called Tippy Taps.
Bob hollered Hi! Tip cried Hullo!
And turned a cartwheel in the snow
Said Tippy Taps: Well this is luck!
Young Bobbity, now show your pluck.
Don't go to school; let's have a spree,
I've got a penny; come with me!
'Twas easy, I regret to say,
To lead young Bobbity astray;
So off they went, up hill and down,
Until they reached the market town.
There, at the nicest of the shops,
Where toys were sold, and lollipops,
Young Tip, entirely at his ease,
Said: Ten-a-penny mint-drops, please!
They played at mint-marbles, till a shout,
Showed Tip's cross mother looking out.
Come in, you tiresome boy! she cried.
He went, and left poor Bob outside.
Down fell such great big flakes of snow
That Bob forgot which way to go.
Each eye brimmed over with a tear,
While sadly drooped one silky ear.
The snow fell faster, flake on flake,
Poor Bobbit thought his heart would break.
The finger-post he could not read-
The little one was lost indeed.
Meanwhile at home they watched the clock
And listened for Bob's well-known knock.
But empty stood his wooden stool;
His dinner, too, was getting cool.
At three Wee Whisk went off to bed,
While Father Flop the paper read;
But there no news of Bob he found,
And Ma Flop's tears bedewed the ground.
They hired sandwichmen in hordes,
LOST BOBBITY upon their boards.
But, though they walked till they were lame
The little lost one never came.
For Bob was weeping far away;
He guessed his fur was turning grey.
He'd not a single crumb to munch;
For Tip had gobbled up his lunch.
The postman going on his round,
Was startled by a curious sound;
And saw, in snowdrifts covered deep,
A rabbit sobbing in his sleep.
He turned his lantern on him quick,
And seized the brolly by the stick.
Bobbity Flop! my little dear!
He cried; What are you doing here?
Then gently placed him in the sack
That held the letters on his back.
Oh, won't your Ma be glad! he said-
Nod-nod went Bobbit's sleepy head.
And though it was a tightish fit
Poor Bobbit didn't mind a bit.
The postman sang a little song
To sooth him as he strode along.
'Twas ten o'clock, or rather more,
Before they reached the Flops' front door.
The family were all in bed:
Thankyou, Kind postman! Bobbit said.
Then, feeling weaker than a rat,
Poor Bobbit gave a rat-tat-tat.
Wee Whisk heard something from her cot;
She pricked her ears, and up she got.
'Tis burglars! exclaimed Papa.
Then I'll go first, dear! cried Mama.
Well armed they all crept down the stair
To see what sort of thief was there.
And found poor Bob too tired to speak.
Great tears were frozen on his cheek.
They picked him up, and hugged him tight,
And covered him with kisses quite!
In nice warm water he was tubbed,
And fed, and comforted, and rubbed.
They didn't scold him, but, instead-
They let him sleep in Mummy's bed!
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