We told her all about digging for treasure, and what we meant to do. Then she asked to see Noel's poetry - and he said he didn't like - so she said, 'Look here - if you'll show me yours I'll show you some of mine.' So he agreed.
The jolly lady read NoEl's poetry, and she said she liked it very much. And she thought a great deal of the picture of the Malabar.
And then she said, 'I write serious poetry like yours myself; too, but I have a piece here that I think you will like because it's about a boy.' She gave it to us - and so I can copy it down, and I will, for it shows that some grown-up ladies are not so silly as others. I like it better than NoEl's poetry, though I told him I did not, because he looked as if he was going to cry. This was very wrong, for you should always speak the truth, however unhappy it makes people. And I generally do. But I did not want him crying in the railway carriage. The lady's piece of poetry:
Oh when I wake up in my bed And see the sun all fat and red, I'm glad to have another day For all my different kinds of play.
There are so many things to do -The things that make a man of you, If grown-ups did not get so vexed And wonder what you will do next.
I often wonder whether they Ever made up our kinds of play -If they were always good as gold And only did what they were told.
They like you best to play with tops And toys in boxes, bought in shops;
They do not even know the names Of really interesting games.
They will not let you play with fire Or trip your sister up with wire, They grudge the tea-tray for a drum, Or booby-traps when callers come.
They don't like fishing, and it's true You sometimes soak a suit or two:
They look on fireworks, though they're dry, With quite a disapproving eye.