Thereupon, rather hesitatingly, Songbird held up his writing-pad and
read the following:

"The sun sinks low far in the west--
The farmer plodeth home to rest,
The watchdog, watching in the night,
Assures him ev'ry thing is right."

"Fine!" cried Tom. "Real, dyed-in-the-wool poetry that, Songbird. Give
us some more." And then the would-be poet continued:

"The sun comes up and it is morn,
The farmer goes to plow his corn,
The watchdog, watching through the day,
Keeps ev'ry tramp and thief away."

And be it night or be it day----"

"The watchdog's there, and there to stay!"

continued Tom, and then on:

"The watchdog, watching in his sleep,
Catches each flea and makes him weep!"

"Catching fleas indeed!" interrupted Songbird. "Now, Tom, I didn't
have any fleas in this poem."

"But all dogs have fleas, Songbird-- they own them naturally. You
wouldn't deprive a poor, innocent dog of his inheritance, would you?"