“A FAIR LITTLE GIRL SAT UNDER A TREE”
“We are in Rhyme Land,” said Lucy. “Come through the gate and you-will be in Rhyme Land, too.”
The old gentleman sighed.
“There’s my son, you know. He won’t come, he prefers Nonsense Land. Beware of Nonsense Land. But I’ll go and tell him about this gate. In my youth”
And the old gentleman hurried up the lane, sighing and groaning and muttering.
“You are old Father William,” said Mary. “Poor Father William! He is always trying to find his way to the Land of Poetry; but he always, somehow, gets back to Nonsense Land.”
“Then I must be careful not to get into Nonsense Land,” said Lucy.
“Yes, you had better be very careful,” growled the Spider, who had finished his fine parlour. “I only wish I had a few more lines.”
“But the children,” said Lucy.
“Moo—moo—moo,” said a Cow, poking its nose over the gate.
“Thank you, pretty Cow,” said Mary. “Now, the pretty Cow manages quite well with only three verses. Lucy, you must cut something out.”
“I will,” said Lucy, and she ran to the gate to stroke the Cow’s forehead.
“Silly things, silly things,” growled the Spider. “Nearly as silly as flies.”
Mary followed Lucy to the gate.
“Cut out the last two lines of the first verse,” said Mary, “and three lines of the second verse.”
“Yes,” said Lucy, as she opened the gate and stepped into the road.
“Beware, beware! In my youth” shouted the voice of Father William, far away in the distance.
“Then leave out the Violets, and tuck in the Foxglove,” said Mary.
