TRICK SIXTH.

Easter days have come again, When the pious baker men Bake all sorts of sugar things, Plum-cakes, ginger-cakes, and rings. Max and Maurice feel an ache In their sweet-tooth for some cake.

But the Baker thoughtfully Locks his shop, and takes the key.

Who would steal, then, this must do: Wriggle down the chimney-flue.

Ratsch! There come the boys, my Jiminy! Black as ravens, down the chimney.

Puff! into a chest they drop, Full of flour up to the top.

Out they crawl from under cover Just as white as chalk all over.

But the cracknels, precious treasure, On a shelf they spy with pleasure.

Knacks! The chair breaks! down they go—

Schwapp!—into a trough of dough!

All enveloped now in dough, See them, monuments of woe.

In the Baker comes, and snickers When he sees the sugar-lickers.

One, two, three! the brats, behold! Into two good brots are rolled.

There's the oven, all red-hot,— Shove 'em in as quick as thought.

Ruff! out with 'em from the heat, They are brown and good to eat.

Now you think they've paid the debt! No, my friend, they're living yet.

Knusper! Knasper! like two mice Through their roofs they gnaw in a trice;

And the Baker cries, "You bet! There's the rascals living yet!"

This was the bad boys' sixth trick, But the last will follow quick.