Page:Wee wee songs for our little pets.djvu/146

The self-same Indian by this brook.
    The astonished farmer sees;
He laid his basket in the stream,
    Then hung it up to freeze.

And by this process oft renewed,
    The basket soon became
A well-glazed vessel, tight and good,
    Of most capacious frame.

The door he entered speedily,
    And claim'd the promis'd boon,
The farmer, laughing heartily,
    Fulfilled his promise soon.

Up to the basket's brim he saw
    The sparkling cider rise,
And to rejoice his absent squaw,
    He bore away the prize.

Long lived the good man at the farm,—
    The house is standing still,
And still leaps merrily along,
    The much diminished rill.

And his descendants still remain,
    And tell to those who ask it,
The story they have often heard
    About the Indian's basket.