I look and look all day,
          And when I’m home I say: 
          He isn’t like a mole
          To dig himself a hole;
          Them little legs he’s got
          They can’t go far, trot, trot,
          They can’t go far, run run,
          Oh no, it is his fun;
          I’m sure he’s near,
          He must be here
          A-skulking round the house
          Just like a little mouse. 
    I’ll get a mouse-trap in a minute,
          And bait with cheese that’s smelly
          To bring him helter-skelly—­
          That little empty belly,
    And then I’ll have him in it. 
          Where have he hid,
          That little kid,
    That good old Jacob was so kind to? 
    And when a rest I am inclined to
    Who’ll boil the cow and dig the kittles
    And milk the stockings, darn the wittles? 
          Who mugs of tea
          Will drink with me? 
          When round and round
          I pound the ground
    With boots of cowhide, boots of thunder,
    Who’ll help to make the noise, I wonder? 
          Who’ll join the row
          Of loud bow-wow
    With din of tin and copper clatter
    With bang and whang of pan and platter? 
          O when I find
          Him fast I’ll bind
    And upside down I’ll hold him;
    And when a-home I gallop late-o
    I’ll give him no more cold potato,
    But cuff him, box him, bang him, scold him,
    And drench him with a pail of water,
    And fill his mouth with wool and mortar,
    Because he don’t do things he oughter,
      But does the things he ought not to,
           Then tell me true,
           Both ram and ewe,
      Wherever have that Martin got to? 
      For Jacob’s old and deaf and dim
           And never knowed the ways of him.”

“I forgive him everything,” said the Queen very graciously, when the song ended, at which they all laughed.  “And now let two of you speak and each bestow a gift on him.  He deserves to be rewarded for running so far after us.”

Then one of those bright beautiful beings came forward and cried out:  “He loves wandering; let him have his will and be a wanderer all his days on the face of the earth.”

“Well spoken!” cried the Queen.

“A wanderer he is to be,” said another:  “let the sea do him no harm—­that is my gift.”

“So be it,” said the Queen; “and to your two gifts I shall add a third.  Let all men love him.  Go now, Martin, you are well equipped, and satisfy your heart with the sight of all the strange and beautiful things the world contains.”

“Kneel and thank the Queen for her gifts,” said a voice to Martin.

He dropped on to his knees, but could speak no word; when he raised his eyes again the whole glorious company had vanished.

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