Our Boys. Various

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      Teddy is out upon the lake;

      His oars a softened click-clack make;

      On all that water bright and blue,

      His boat is the only one in view;

      So, when he hears another oar

      Click-clack along the farthest shore,

      "Heigh-ho," he cries, "out for a row!

      Echo is out! heigh-ho—heigh-ho!"

      "Heigh-ho, heigh-ho!"

      Sounds from the distance, faint and low.

      Then Teddy whistles that he may hear

      Her answering whistle, soft and clear;

      Out of the greenwood, leafy, mute,

      Pipes her mimicking, silver flute,

      And, though her mellow measures are

      Always behind him half a bar,

      'Tis sweet to hear her falter so;

      And Ted calls back, "Bravo, bravo!"

      "Bravo, bravo!"

      Comes from the distance, faint and low.

      She laughs at trifles loud and long;

      Splashes the water, sings a song;

      Tells him everything she is told,

      Saucy or tender, rough or bold;

      One might think from the merry noise

      That the quiet wood was full of boys,

      Till Ted, grown tired, cries out, "Oh, no!

      'Tis dinner time and I must go!"

      "Must go? must go?"

      Sighs from the distance, sad and low.

      When Ted and his clatter are away,

      Where does the little Echo stay?

      Perched on a rock to watch for him?

      Or keeping a lookout from some limb?

      If he were to push his boat to land,

      Would he find her footprint on the sand?

      Or would she come to his blithe "hello,"

      Red as a rose, or white as snow?

      Ah no, ah no!

      Never can Teddy see Echo!

      Six merry stockings in the firelight,

      Hanging by the chimney snug and tight:

      Jolly, jolly red,

      That belongs to Ted;

      Daintiest blue,

      That belongs to Sue;

      Old brown fellow

      Hanging long,

      That belongs to Joe,

      Big and strong;

      Little, wee, pink mite

      Covers Baby's toes—

      Won't she pull it open

      With funny little crows!

      Sober, dark gray,

      Quiet little mouse,

      That belongs to Sybil

      Of all the house;

      One stocking left,

      Whose should it be?

      Why, that I'm sure

      Must belong to me!

      Well, so they hang, packed to the brim,

      Swing, swing, swing, in the firelight dim.

      'Twas the middle of the night.

      Open flew my eyes;

      I started up in bed,

      And stared in surprise;

      I rubbed my eyes, I rubbed my ears,

      I saw the stockings swing, I heard the stockings sing;

      Out in the firelight

      Merry and bright,

      Snug and tight,

      Six were swinging,

      Six were singing,

      Like everything!

      And the red, and the blue, and the brown, and the gray,

      And the pink one, and mine, had it all their own way,

      And no one could stop them—because, don't you see,

      Nobody heard 'em—but just poor me!

      "All day we carry toes,

      To-night we carry candy;

      Christmas comes once a year

      Very nice and handy.

      Run, run, race all day,

      Mother mends us after play,

      We don't care, life is gay,

      Sing and swing, away, away!

      "Boots and little tired shoes,

      We kick 'em off in glee;

      It's fun to hang up here

      And Santa Claus to see.

      Run, run, race all day,

      Mother mends us after play,

      We don't care, life is gay,

      Sing and swing, away, away!

      "To-morrow down we come,

      The sweet things tumble out,

      Then carrying toes again

      We'll have to trot about.

      Run, run, race all day,

      Mother'll mend us after play,

      We don't care, we'll swing so gay

      While we can—away, away!"