Soon they burst upon the view,
Plish and Plum are with them too.

Fittig thinks a dog a plague:
"Nah!" he cries,—"excuse, I beg!"
But mamma with soft looks pleaded:
"Let them, Fittig!"—and succeeded.
Evening milk, fresh and delicious,
On the table stood in dishes.

Joyfully they haste indoors;
Plish and Plum ahead, of course.

Mercy! look! right in the sweet
Cream each wretch has set his feet;
And the noise their lapping makes
Shows what comfort each one takes.

At the window peeps old Sly,
Chuckles loud and says: "My eye!

This is very bad, he! he!
Very bad, but not for me!!"

When night came, all worn and tired,
As if nothing had transpired,
Paul and Peter in their chamber
Lay there, wrapt in peaceful slumber,
A soft snoring through their noses
Shows how tranquilly each dozes.

But not so with Plish and Plum!
They sit ill-at-ease and glum,

Not being lodged to suit their mind,

To turn in they too inclined.
Plish, the dog's old rule to follow,
Turns round thrice, his bed to hollow;
Plum, however, shows a mind
More affectionately inclined.

When we dream of perfect rest
Comes full many a troublous guest.

"March!" With this harsh word the pets.
Turn their outward summersets
Coolness wakes activity;
Time well-filled glides pleasantly.

Means of sport are handy too,
Here a stocking—there a shoe.
These, before the morning glow,
Curious changes undergo.

When he comes the boys to wake,
And beholds the frightful wreck,

Pale the father cries: "This will
Be a monstrous heavy bill!"
Vengeful claws are in the air;
Feigning sleep, the rogues lie there;

But the mother begs: "I pray,
Fittig dear, thy wrath allay!"
And her loving words assuage
The stern father's boiling rage.
Paul and Peter never care
How they look or what they wear.

Peter two old slippers gets,
Paul his infant pantalets.

Plish and Plum, in morals blind,
To the dog-house are confined.

"This is bad!" says Sly, "he! he!
Very bad, but not for me!"

Caught at last in wiry house,

Sits that most audacious mouse,
Who, with many a nightly antic,
Drove poor Mamma Fittig frantic,—
Rioting, with paws erratic,
From the cellar to the attic.

This event to Plish and Plum
Was a long-sought gaudium;
For the word was: "Stu-boys! take him!
Seize the wicked grinder—shake him!"

Soft! a refuge mousey reaches
In a leg of Peter's breeches.