"Oh yes, I'm watchful," said the man,
"As a porter ought to be;
I s'pose you've lost your way, young Miss,
You've lost your shoe, I see.
"Missus," he cried to his wife within,
"Here's a child here, at the door,
You'll never see such a one again,
If you live to be fourscore.
She wants discretion, so she says,
Indeed I think 'tis true;
But I know some who want it more,
Who will not own they do."
"Go to the Hall," his wife replies,
"And take the child with you,
The ladies there are all so wise,
They'll soon know what to do."
The man complied, and led the child
Through many a flowery glade;
"Is that the Palace Beautiful?"
The little Pilgrim said.
"There, to the left, among the trees?
Why, Miss, 'tis mighty grand;
Call it a palace, if you please,
'Tis the finest in the land.
Now we be come to the fine old porch,
And this is the Marble Hall;
Here, little lady, you must stay,
While I the servants call."
