I guided him a-down the street;
And now he stayed to view
The changing sky, and now he paused
Before some aspect new.
And thus, at length, we gained my gate.
"Too late!" I cried. "Alas, too late!"
Too late to save my household gods,
My treasures rich and rare.
My ransacked cupboards yawned agape,
My sideboard, too, was bare.
And there, beside my tumbled couch,
My trousers lay with rifled pouch.
"Now, haste thee, cop!" I called again,
"Let not thy footsteps lag!
The thief can not be far away.
Haste to regain the swag!" . . .
His arms I saw him outward fling.
He moaned, "Where did you get that thing?"
With startled stare I looked to where
His anguished gaze was bent,
And, hanging by my wardrobe, saw
A Christmas Supplement—
A thing I'd got for little price
And framed because I thought it nice.
