The Little Mother

Now, Dolly, dear, I'm going away,
And want you to be good all day.
Don't lose your shoes nor soil your dress,
Nor get your hair all in a mess;
But lie quite still, and up I'll come
To kiss you, soon as I get home.
I'd take you, dear, but then, you know,
It's wax Sabina's turn to go.
She's sick, I'm 'fraid. Her eyes don't work;
They open worse, the more I jerk;
She used to be so straight and stout,
But now her sawdust's running out.
Her kid is out of order, dear.
My papa says she's out of gear.
That's dreadful, isn't it? But then
The air may make her well again.
So, Dolly, won't you stay alone,
And be real good while I am gone?
Good-by, my precious! Yes, I'll come
And kiss you, soon as I get home.