Riley Child-Rhymes | Page 7

ferever!
[Illustration: I'm go' to be a baker]

[Illustration: A-slingin' pie-crust 'long the road]
WHO SANTY-CLAUS WUZ
[Illustration: Who Santy-Claus Wuz--Title]
Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still--
Ust to almost cry fer
Christmas, like a youngster will.
Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New
Year's ain't a smell!
Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the
shell!
Lawzy, though! at night, you know, to set around an' hear

The old folks work the story off about the sledge an' deer, An' "Santy"
skootin' round the roof, all wrapt in fur an' fuzz-- Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!


Ust to wait, an' set up late, a week er two ahead;
Couldn't hardly keep
awake, ner wouldn't go to bed;
Kittle stewin' on the fire, an' Mother
settin' here
Darnin' socks, an' rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer;

Pap gap', an' wonder where it wuz the money went,
An' quar'l with
his frosted heels, an' spill his liniment;
An' me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells
when the clock 'ud whir an' buzz, Long afore
I knowed who
"Santy-Claus" wuz!


Size the fire-place up an' figger how "Ole Santy" could
Manage to
come down the chimbly, like they said he would;
Wisht 'at I could
hide an' see him--wunderd what he'd say
Ef he ketched a feller layin'
fer him thataway!
But I bet_ on him, an' _liked him, same as ef he
had
Turned to pat me on the back an' say, "Look here, my lad,

Here's my pack,--jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!" Long
afore
I knowed who

"Santy-Claus"
wuz!


[Illustration: An' quar'l with his frosted heels]
Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it 'peared to be--
Truth made
out o' lies like that-un's good enough fer me!-- Wisht I still wuz so
confidin' I could jes' go wild
Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the
little child
Climbin' in my lap to-night, an' beggin' me to tell
'Bout
them reindeers, and "Old Santy" that she loves so well I'm half sorry fer
this little-girl-sweetheart of his--
Long afore
She knows who
"Santy-Claus" is!


[Illustration: Who Santy-Claus Wuz--Tailpiece]
THE NINE LITTLE GOBLINS
They all climbed up on a high board-fence--
Nine little Goblins, with
green-glass eyes--
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And
couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up
on the fence, and sat--
And I asked them what they were staring at.
And the first one said, as he scratched his head
With a queer little arm
that reached out of his ear
And rasped its claws in his hair so red--

"This is what this little arm is fer!"
And he scratched and stared, and
the next one said,
"How on earth do you scratch your head?"
And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge--
Laughed and
laughed till his face grew black;
And when he choked, with a final
twinge
Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
With a fist that
grew on the end of his tail
Till the breath came back to his lips so
pale.

[Illustration: The Nine Little Goblins]
And the third little Goblin leered round at me--
And there were no
lids on his eyes at all--
And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,

"What is the style of your socks this fall?"
And he clapped his
heels--and I sighed to see
That he had hands where his feet should be.
Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,
Bowed his head, and I saw
him slip
His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,
And paste them over
his upper lip;
And then he moaned in remorseful pain--

"Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!"
And then the whole of the Goblin band
Rocked on the fence-top to
and fro,
And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,
Singing the songs
that