II.

I heard the old man scoldin’ yesterday

Because your spellin’ did n't suit him quite;

He said you'd better go to school at night,

And you was rattled when he turned away;

You had to tear the letter up and write

It all again, and when nobody seen

I went and dented in his hat for spite:

That's what he got for treatin’ you so mean.

I wish that you typewrote for me and we

Was far off on an island, all alone;

I'd fix a place up under some nice tree,

And every time your fingers struck a key

I'd grab your hands and hold them in my own,

And any way you spelt would do for me.