And fetched my bow and arrows. It was queer!
It grew from up a speck into a blot,
And squattered past a cloud; then it flew down
All crumply, and waggled such a lot
I thought the thing would fall.--It was a brown
Old carpet where a man was sitting snug
Who, when he reached the ground, began to sew
A big hole in the middle of the rug,
And kept on peeping everywhere to know
Who might be coming--then he gave a twist
And flew away.... I fired at him but missed.





* * * * *





J.C. SQUIRE



A HOUSE


Now very quietly, and rather mournfully,