This was for Edward the last straw, And so he took a gun; For Horace he would brave the law, Whate'er betide. So when he saw A hare start up and run, He took fair aim with steady wrist And fired--but luckily he missed.
A policeman heard the loud report And hurried to the scene. He hailed the poachers off to court, And there their shrift was very short --The judge's wit was keen: He sentenced them to prison-shop And hoped that long in there they'd stop.
Now prison-shop, of course, is where All dolls, when made, must go Until some maiden, kind and fair, Buys them and saves them from despair. And this is why, you know, They have such eager, anxious eyes, As each to catch your notice tries.
So Edward was marched off to jail And guarded night and day Amid a throng of beauties frail, While Horace, looking somewhat pale, Scanned all who passed that way, For both of them hoped she would see And rescue them from misery.
At last there came a day of joy, She stopped before the shop, And with her was a handsome boy; They viewed with interest each toy From yacht to humming-top. (They were, I may remark off-hand, Penelope and Hildebrand.)
Cold beads of perspiration stood On Edward's frantic brow; He feared lest his own mother should Not notice him (as if she could Have missed her own son, now!). But, scarcely glancing at the rest, Pen saw at once he was the best.
"O what a pleasant person, look!" She cried to Hildebrand, "I must have him by hook or crook!" --In point of fact 'twas by a hook Held in the shopman's hand, Which hoisted Edward by the seat, A part adapted for the feat.
Now Pen had put her pennies by To save poor dolls from fate By buying them, and you should try To do the same. The Buttoneye Was marked, "Price two and eight." 'Twas dear, but Pen was quite content To think her savings so well spent.
The ransom very soon was paid And Edward, once more free, Borne off in triumph. Though arrayed In shabby coat and trousers frayed And baggy at the knee, He was more precious to Pen's heart Than if they'd been quite new and smart.
And faithful Horace, too, was bought --Pen saw by Edward's eye No freedom for himself he sought If his pet lamb's fate should be fraught With doubt--he'd rather die. But Horace had to run like mad, So fast a pace his mistress had.