ON THE CELLAR-DOOR.

We fellows held a meeting, and Tommy had the floor; Ned Parks was in the chair, sir, on Charley's cellar-door. We'd voted for a lot of things and ruled some others in, When Tommy's mother sent for him, which made no end of din. 'Twas in the middle of his speech, but Tommy had to go, For if your mother sends for you, you haven't half a show. The thing that we complained of was that neither just nor kind Is the way a fellow's mother veers, and dares to "change her mind." Old Tommy said his mother said that he might spend the day A-playing by that cellar-door; then would not let him stay, But thought of errands he must run, and broke our meeting square In two just at the height of fun, and I tell you 'twasn't fair. Grown people have such funny ways. If we should change our mind When we had made a promise, why, they wouldn't be so blind, They'd call it fibbing, if you please, or something worse than that, A small black word of letters three; I've heard them plain and pat. But we left our ruined meeting and went to playing ball, And kicked it well, with might and main, there by Tom's mother's wall; For we couldn't bear to stand around the dreary cellar-door When Tommy's mother changed her mind just when he had the floor. M. E. S.