Chapter II: From Miss Blanche Goose to Mr. Fox

THE FARMYARD, Friday afternoon.

Dear Mr. Fox, it seems so _soon_,
You almost take my breath away!
To-morrow? Three?--what _shall_ I say?
Nothing could charm me more--but, no--
Alas! I fear I cannot go.
Don’t think that I _resent_, I pray,
Your hastiness of yesterday.

It is not that. But if I went,
Without my dear Mama’s consent,
And she should somehow chance to hear,
She would be _dreadfully_ severe;
And so, oh, dear! it is no use!

Believe me,

_Sadly_ yours,
BLANCHE GOOSE.

P. S.--On second thoughts, dear Fox,
I’ll meet you by the hollyhocks,
For if Mama but knew how _kind_
You are, I’m sure she would not mind,
To-morrow, then--we’ll meet at _three_;
Don’t fail to be there. Yours,

B. G.