Chapter I: HEAR the piano, the party's begun;

Hurry up! hurry up! there is going to be fun.
Leave your wrap in the hall and tie up your shoes,
There isn't a moment, a moment to lose.
Take a peep at the dining-room as you go by,
Lemonade, claret cup, orange wine you will spy:
And they're going to have two sorts of ices this year,
Both strawberry-cream and vanilla, I hear.
Twelve dances are down on the programme, I see.
Oh, do up your gloves, she is waiting for me!
I hear the piano, the polka's begun!
Oh, why does your beastly old sash come undone!
That's right, are your ready? now don't you forget
To say how d'ye do and express your regret
That Miss Perkins[B] is laid up in bed with a cold--
It isn't my place--just you do as you're told.
I say, look at Frank,[C] he's behaving as though
He was playing with cads in a field full of snow;
He's sliding about on the slippery floor
All over the room with the kid from next door.
It's a jolly good thing that Miss Perkins' in bed,
They'll probably send old Eliza[D] instead.
When we hear that she's come, we'll just not attend,
Or tell her we never go home till the end.
They give all the maids when they come, orange wine--
I say, do you think I might ask her for nine.
All right, only don't say I danced more than twice;
If you do, I'll say you have had more than one ice.
Mother said that you could? She said one of each?
You'd better look out or I'll jolly well peach.
You don't care if I do? All right, just you wait!
You'll tell Mrs. Jones we were not to be late?
I'm not pinching at all, you beastly young sneak!
You _won't_ follow me round when we play hide and seek!
There's Dorothy![E] Pax! You can eat what you like,
And to-morrow I'll give you a ride on my bike.

[B] Miss Perkins is our governess]

[C] He's my brother

[D] Eliza is our housemaid

[E] She's an awfully decent girl I know.

POSTMAN'S Knock! Postman's Knock!
A letter for the girl next door,
And two pence, please, to pay.

Kiss in the Ring! Kiss in the Ring!
She's fallen down upon the floor,
I don't know what to say.

Postman's Knock! Postman's Knock!
I wish that I had asked for more;
At games you must obey.

Kiss in the Ring! Kiss in the Ring!
When running after her I tore
Her frock the other day.

Postman's Knock! Postman's Knock!
A letter for the girl next door,
And a shilling she must pay.[F]

[F] But she didn't

THE Round Pond is a fine pond
With fine ships sailing there,
Cutters, yachts and men-o'-war,
And sailor-boys everywhere.

Paper boats they hug the shore,
And row-boats move with string
But cutters, yachts and larger ships
Sail on like anything.

It was the schooner _Kensington_,
Set out one Saturday:
The wind was blowing from the east,
The sky was cold and grey.

Her crew stood on the quarter-deck
And stared across the sea,
With two brass cannon in the stern
For the Royal Artillery.

The Royal Tin Artillery
Had faced the sea before,
They had fallen in the bath one night
And heard the waste-plug roar.

They were rescued by the nursery maid
And put on the ledge to dry;
And they looked more like the Volunteers
Than the Royal Artillery.

For the blue had all come off their clothes,
And they afterwards wore grey;
But they stood by the cannon like Marines
That famous Saturday.

The crew of the schooner _Kensington_
Were Dutchmen to a man,
With wooden legs and painted eyes;
But the Captain he was bran.

His blood was of the brownest bran
And his clothes were full of tucks;
But he fell in the sea half-way across,
And was eaten up by ducks.

We launched the boat at half-past three,
And stood on the bank to watch,
And some friends of mine who were fishing there
Had a wonderful minnow-catch.

Fifteen minnows were caught at once
In an ancient ginger jar,
When a shout went up that the _Kensington_
Was heeling over too far.

Too far for a five-and-sixpenny ship
That was warranted not to upset;
But she righted herself in half a tick
Though the crew got very wet.

The crew got very wet indeed;
The Artillery all fell down,
And lay on their backs for the rest of the voyage
For fear they were going to drown.

The schooner _Kensington_ sailed on
Across the wild Round Pond,
And we ran along the gravel-bank
With a hook stuck into a wand.

A hook stuck into a wand to guide
The schooner safe ashore
To incandescent harbour lights
And a dock on the school-room floor.

But suddenly the wind dropped dead.
And a calm came over the sea,
And a terrible rumour got abroad
It was time to go home to tea.

We whistled loud, we whistled long,
The whole of that afternoon;
But there wasn't wind enough to float
A twopenny pink balloon.

And the other chaps upon the bank
Looked anxiously out to sea;
For their sweethearts and sisters were going home,
And they feared for the cake at tea.

* * * * *

It was the schooner _Kensington_
Came in at dead of night
With many another gallant ship
And one unlucky kite.

The keeper found them at break of day,
And locked them up quite dry
In his little green hut, with a notice that
On Monday we must apply.

So on Sunday after church we went
To stare at them through the door;
And we saw the schooner _Kensington_
Keel upwards on the floor.

But though we stood on the tips of our toes,
And craned our necks to see,
We could not spot the wooden-legged crew
Or the Royal Artillery.

THEY say that country children have
Most fierce adventures every night,
With owls and bats and giant moths
That flutter to the candle-light.

They say that country children search
For earwigs underneath the sheets,
That creeping animals abound
Upon the wooden window-seats.

They say that country children wash
Their hands in water full of things,
Tadpoles and newts and wriggling eels,
Until their hands are pink with stings.

But this I know, that if they slept
Far, far away from owls and bats,
Their hearts would thump tremendously
To hear outside two fighting cats.

Two cats that surely must come through
The inky window-pane and jump,
With gleaming eyes, upon my bed--
Ah, then indeed their hearts would thump.

LAVENDER, lavender!
Summer's in town!
Blue skies and marguerites,
Mother's new gown!

Lavender, lavender!
Summer's in town!
Blue seas and yellow sands,
Children have flown.

Lavender, lavender!
Bunchy and sweet!
No one wants lavender
All down our street.

Lavender girls in London never learn to play,
Give them a penny, a penny before you go away.

WHEN I was small and went to bed
Before the sun went down,
My cot was woven out of gold
Like a princess's gown.

And in the garden every night,
I used to hear the birds,
And from the people on the lawn
A pleasant sound of words.

The garden was quite full of pinks
Whose smell came blowing in
Through windows open very wide
Where gnats would dance and spin.

And as I lay in my cool cot,
I'd think of daylight hours,
Poppies and ox-eyed daisies white,
And all the roadside flowers

Now lifting up their drooping heads
In the long-shadow time;
I'd listen for my mother's step
The narrow stairs to climb.

And as she bent to say good-night
And heard me say my prayer,
She seemed a bit of mignonette,
She was so sweet and fair.

And just as I was dozing off,
I'd hear some jolly talk
Of aunts and uncles setting out
To take their supper-walk.

I'd hear their voices die away
In the green curly lane;
But I was always fast asleep
When they came back again.

THE moon is not much use to me,
She rises far too late:
I'm fonder of the friendly fire
That crackles in the grate.

But when I wake up in the night
And find the fire asleep,
His ashes make a horrid noise
And mice begin to creep.

And then the moon crawls in between
The curtains and the floor,
And when I turn my face away,
She's crawling round the door.

Oh, then I wish she was the fire,
I like his light the most;
He does not give the furniture
A sort of shaking ghost.

I hide my head beneath the clothes
And shut my eyes up tight,
And then I see queer dancing wheels
And spots of coloured light.

They do not comfort me at all,
But pass the time away
Until I hear the milkman's can
And know that it is day.

I'VE heard it said that the dustman
Is responsible for our sleep,
That he puts a pinch of dust in our eyes
When the stars begin to peep.

If this is true it would quite explain
The horrible dreams that come,
For the dustman looks a rough sort of chap,
And his cart smells awfully rum.

I've tried to talk to the dustman,
But his voice is fearfully hoarse;
And once I put a penny in the bin--
It was taken out of course.

But for all the good it did my dreams,
I need not have put it in;
Perhaps he thought that the penny had slipped
By accident into the bin.

It seems absurd in this civilised age[G]
That our dreams should still be bad;
If the dustman _is_ responsible
I think he must be mad.

It's horrid enough to lie awake,
And count the knobs on the bed;
But it's horrider far to go to sleep,
In fact I'd sooner be dead.

I expect that then if one had bad dreams
And woke up in a fright,
There would be an angel somewhere about
To strike a cheerful light.

And your governess is not always glad,
If you wake her up to say
That a witch has been chasing you down a street
Where the people have gone away.

[G] Father said this about something.

IT'S extremely unusual, my mother declares,
For a burglar to sleep at the top of the stairs:
The policemen, she says, are so terribly sure
That daily the number of burglars gets fewer.
They are caught by the dozen as morning comes round
And dragged off to cells very deep underground:
And there they repent of their wicked bad lives,
With occasional visits from children and wives.
So every night when I lie in my bed,
I listen to hear the policeman's deep tread.
I've a whistle that hangs on a piece of white cord,
And it's much more consoling than any tin sword:
For I know, if I blow, the policeman will come
And make the old burglar look awfully glum.