An' whispers, "Little feller, yer mother's proud o'
you!"

She don't wear silks 'at rustle, like Tommie's mother
does,
But I like her gingham better 'cause it's -- well, just
'cause it's hers!
An' she don't look young an' girl-like, an' her hands
are sorter red,
But, my, they're awful gentle when she tucks you
inter bed. . . .
She hasn't got a di'mond like th' lady crost th' street,
But she's got two great big dimples, an' her smile is
mighty sweet!

My mother's sorter chubby -- but say, her step is
light --
She's never cross 'r tired -- not even when it's night!
An' her shoulders JUST as comfy when yer heart is
feelin' sore,
When you wish you was a baby -- an' not a boy no
more --
Oh, her arms are cushion tender at th' twilight time
o' day,
Yes -- my mother's sorter chubby -- But I like her that
a-way!