Then he went back to the house and lighted a lamp, and sat down to compose a new tune before his father and mother returned.

The cat had recovered from her fright and lay quietly under the stove, and Towser sat upon the floor panting, with his mouth wide open, and looking so comical that Bobby thought he was actually laughing at the whole occurrence.

And these were the words to the tune that Bobby composed that night: 

    Hey, diddle, diddle,
    The cat and the fiddle,
    The cow jumped over the moon! 
    The little dog laughed
    To see such sport,
    And the dish ran off with the spoon!

The Black Sheep

The Black Sheep

    Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool? 
    Yes, my little master, three bags full;
    One for my master and one for his dame,
    And one for the little boy that lives in the lane.

It was a bright spring day, and the sun shone very warm and pleasant over the pastures, where the new grass was growing so juicy and tender that all the sheep thought they had never tasted anything so delicious.

The sheep had had a strange experience that morning, for the farmer had taken them down to the brook and washed them, and then he tied their legs together and laid them on the grass and clipped all the heavy, soft wool from their bodies with a great pair of shears.

The sheep did not like this very well, for every once in a while the shears would pull the wool and hurt them; and when they were sheared they felt very strange, for it was almost as if someone took off all your clothes and let you run around naked.  None of them were in a very good temper this morning, although the sun shone so warmly and the grass was so sweet, and as they watched the farmer and his man carry their wool up to the house in great bags, the old ram said, crossly,

“I hope they are satisfied, now that they have stolen from us all our soft, warm fleece.”

“What are they going to do with it?” asked one of the sheep.

“Oh, they will spin it into threads and make coats for the men and dresses for the women.  For men are such strange creatures that no wool grows on them at all, and that is why they selfishly rob us of our fleece that they may cover their own skinny bodies!”

“It must be horrid to be a man,” said the Black Sheep, “and not to have any wool grow on you at all.  I ’m sorry for that little boy that lives in the lane, for he will never be able to keep warm unless we give him some of our wool.”

“But what a shame it is,” continued the ram, “for the farmer to steal all the wool from us when we have taken all the trouble to grow it!”

“I do n’t mind,” bleated a young lamb named Frisky, as it kicked up its heels and gambolled about upon the grass; “it ’s nice to have all that heavy wool cut off my back, for I sha’ n’t have to carry it around wherever I go.”