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THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW.
Alice.—One of your old world stories, Uncle John,
Such as you tell us by the winter fire,
Till we all wonder it has grown so late.
Uncle John.—The story of the witch that ground to death
Two children in her mill, or will you have
The tale of Goody Cutpurse?
Alice.—Nay now, nay;
Those stories are too childish, Uncle John,
Too childish even for little Willy here,
And I am older, two good years, than he;
Such as you tell us by the winter fire,
Till we all wonder it has grown so late.
Uncle John.—The story of the witch that ground to death
Two children in her mill, or will you have
The tale of Goody Cutpurse?
Alice.—Nay now, nay;
Those stories are too childish, Uncle John,
Too childish even for little Willy here,
And I am older, two good years, than he;