“And though we suffer grievously,
  We gladly hail the lot
  That brings us toils and pains and wounds
  For charming Sissy Knott!”

  But Sissy Knott still wailed and wept,
  And still her fate reviled;
  For who could patch her dolly up—­
  Who, who could mend her child?

  Then out her doting mother came,
  And soothed her daughter then;
  “Grieve not, my darling, I will sew
  Your dolly up again!”

  Joy soon succeeded unto grief,
  And tears were soon dried up,
  And dignities were heaped upon
  Clow’s noble yellow pup.

  Him all that goodly company
  Did as deliverer hail—­
  They tied a ribbon round his neck,
  Another round his tail.

  And every anniversary day
  Upon the Waller Lot
  They celebrate the victory won
  For charming Sissy Knott.

  And I, the poet of these folk,
  Am ordered to compile
  This truly famous history
  In good old ballad style.

  Which having done as to have earned
  The sweet rewards of fame,
  In what same style I did begin
  I now shall end the same.

  So let us sing:  Long live the King,
  Long live the Queen and Jack,
  Long live the ten-spot and the ace,
  And also all the pack!

THE ROCK-A-BY LADY.

  The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby Street
  Comes stealing; comes creeping;
  The poppies they hang from her head to her feet,
  And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet—­
  She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
  When she findeth you sleeping!

  There is one little dream of a beautiful drum—­
  “Rub-a-dub!” it goeth;
  There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum,
  And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come
  Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum,
  And a trumpet that bloweth!

  And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams
  With laughter and singing;
  And boats go a-floating on silvery streams,
  And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams,
  And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams,
  The fairies go winging!

  [Illustration:  ROSWELL FRANCIS FIELD, EUGENE FIELD’S YOUNGEST SON
  AND THE INSPIRER OF “THE ROCK-A-BY LADY,” “BOOH,”
  AND MANY OTHER POEMS IN THE VOLUME “LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD.”

  From a photograph by Stein, Chicago.]

  Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? 
  They’ll come to you sleeping;
  So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet,
  For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby Street,
  With poppies that hang from her head to her feet,
  Comes stealing; comes creeping.

“BOOH!”

  On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap,
  And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse’s lap,
  In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face,
  And cautiously and quietly I move about the place;
  Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view,
  And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say “Booh!”