And bumped your nose and bruised your shin,
Tumbling over the rolling-pin
That rolled to the floor in the awful din
That followed the fall of the row of tin
That stood upon the dresser.

_Samuel_.

Guess again--dear little guesser!
You wouldn't catch this boy lopping his wing,
Or whining over anything.
So stir your stumps,
Forget your bumps,
Get out of your dumps,
And up and at it again;
For the clock is striking ten,
And Ruth will come pretty soon and say,
"Go to your beds
You sleepy heads!"
So--quick! What shall we play?

_Rebekah_.

I wouldn't play any more,
For Joseph is tired and sore
With his fall upon the floor.

_All_.

Then he shall tell a story.