Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
  He was a Goop if there ever was one! 
  Slapped his small sister whene’er he could reach her,
  Muddied the carpet, made mouths at the preacher,
  Talked back to his mother whenever she chid,
  Always did otherwise than he was bid;
  Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
  Manners he certainly had not a one!

  O bad little Goops, wheresoe’er you may be,
  Take heed what befell young Agricola G! 
  For Gunther Augustus (unlike you, I hope),
  Had an inborn aversion to water and soap;
  He fought when they washed him, he squirmed and he twisted,
  He shrieked, scratched and wriggled until they desisted;
  He would not be combed—­it was no use to try—­
  O he was a Goop, they could all testify!

  So Gunther went dirty—­unwashed and uncombed,
  With hands black as pitch through the garden he roamed;
  When suddenly a monstrous black shadow fell o’er him,
  And the Woman Who Scrubs Dirty Goops stood before him!

  Her waist was a washcloth, her skirt was a towel,
  She looked down at him with a horrible scowl;
  One hand was a brush and the other a comb,
  Her forehead was soap and her pompadour foam! 
  Her foot was a shoebrush, and on it did grow
  A shiny steel nail file in place of a toe! 
  Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
  He had a fright if he ever had one!

  In a twinkling she seized him—­Oh, how he did shriek! 
  And threw him headforemost right into the creek! 
  Rubbed soap in his eyes (Dirty Goops, O beware!),
  And in combing the snarls pulled out handfuls of hair! 
  Scrubbed the skin off his nose, brushed his teeth till they bled,
  Tweaked his ears, rapped his knuckles, and gleefully said,
  “Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
  There’ll be a difference when I get done!”

  After that young Agricola strove hard to see
  How very, how heavenly good he could be! 
  Wiped his feet at the door, tipped his hat to the preacher,
  Caressed his small sister whene’er he could reach her! 
  Stood still while they washed him and combed out his hair,
  His garments he folded and laid on a chair! 
  Gunter Augustus Agricola Gunn,
  He was a saint if there ever was one!

“Where did you get that poem?” asked Nyoda.

“I wrote it myself,” answered Migwan.

“Good work!” said Nyoda; “will you give me a copy?”

Nyoda showed the poem to Professor Green and Professor Green showed it to a friend who was column editor of one of the big dailies, and one fine morning the poem appeared in the paper, with Migwan’s full name and address at the bottom, “Elsie Gardiner, Adams Ave.”  The Gardiners did not happen to take that particular paper and Migwan knew nothing of it until she reached school and was congratulated on all sides.  Professor Green, who had taken a great interest in Migwan since she had worked up