Now they’re coming back from school, jig, jog, jig. 
See them at the corner where the gums grow big;
Dobbin flicking off the flies and blinking at the sun—­
Having three upon his back he thinks is splendid fun: 
Robin at the bridle-rein, in the middle Kate,
Little Billy up behind, his legs out straight.

HIST!

Hist! . . . . . .  Hark! 
The night is very dark,
And we’ve to go a mile or so
Across the Possum Park.

Step . . . . . . light,
Keeping to the right;
If we delay, and lose our way,
We’ll be out half the night. 
The clouds are low and gloomy.  Oh! 
It’s just begun to mist! 
We haven’t any overcoats
And--Hist! . . . . . .  Hist!

(Mo . . . . . . poke!)
Who was that that spoke? 
This is not a fitting spot
To make a silly joke.

Dear . . . . . . me! 
A mopoke in a tree! 
It jarred me so, I didn’t know
Whatever it could be. 
But come along; creep along;
Soon we shall be missed. 
They’ll get a scare and wonder where
We--Hush! . . . . . .  Hist!

Ssh! . . . . . .  Soft! 
I’ve told you oft and oft
We should not stray so far away
Without a moon aloft.

Oo! . . . . . .  Scat! 
Goodness!  What was that? 
Upon my word, it’s quite absurd,
It’s only just a cat. 
But come along; haste along;
Soon we’ll have to rush,
Or we’ll be late and find the gate
Is--Hist! . . . . . .  Hush!

(Kok!. . . . . .  Korrock!)
Oh!  I’ve had a shock! 
I hope and trust it’s only just
A frog behind a rock.

Shoo! . . . . . .  Shoo! 
We’ve had enough of you;
Scaring folk just for a joke
Is not the thing to do. 
But come along, slip along—­
Isn’t it a lark
Just to roam so far from home
On--Hist! . . . . . .  Hark!

Look! . . . . . .  See! 
Shining through the tree,
The window-light is glowing bright
To welcome you and me.

Shout! . . . . . .  Shout! 
There’s someone round about,
And through the door I see some more
And supper all laid out. 
Now, run!  Run!  Run! 
Oh, we’ve had such splendid fun—­
Through the park in the dark,
As brave as anyone.

Laughed, we did, and chaffed, we did,
And whistled all the way,
And we’re home again!  Home again! 
Hip . . . . . .  Hooray!

BIRD SONG

I am friendly with the sparrow
Though his mind is rather narrow
   And his manners—­well, the less we say the better. 
But as day begins to peep,
When I hear his cheery “Cheep”
   I am ready to admit I am his debtor

I delight in red-browed finches
And all birds of scanty inches. 
   Willie wagtail is a pleasant bird, and coy. 
All the babblers, chats and wrens,
Tits and robins, and their hens,
   Are my very special friends, and bring me joy.

THE MUSIC OF YOUR VOICE

A vase upon the mantelpiece,
   A ship upon the sea,
A goat upon a mountain-top
   Are much the same to me;
But when you mention melon jam,
   Or picnics by the creek,
Or apple pies, or pantomimes,
   I love to hear you speak.