HOW POLLY PAID FOR HER KEEP
71
They lay quite secure in the crook of the handle,
She clutched them—the parasol fell underneath.
I tell you no girl ever could hold a candle
To Poll, as she hung back and clenched her white teeth.
The bolters sped downward, with nostrils distended,
She must get a pull on them ere they should reach
The fence on the hill, where the road had been mended ...
The blocks bit the wheels with a scroop and a screech;
