FRAIDIE-CAT.
Reading edition
I sha'n't tell you what's his name!— When we want to play a game, Always thinks that he'll be hurt, Soil his jacket in the dirt, Tear his trousers, spoil his hat,— Fraidie-cat! Fraidie-cat! Nothing of the boy in him! Dasn't try to learn to swim; Says a cow'll hook; if she Looks at him he climbs a tree; Scart to death at bee or bat,— Fraidie-cat! Fraidie-cat! Claims there're ghosts all snowy white Wandering around at night In the attic; wouldn't go There for anything I know. B'lieve he'd run if you said "scat!"— Fraidie-cat! Fraidie-cat! Clinton Scollard.
A MORTAR BATTERY.
