Part 2 — HOW TEDDY CUT THE PIE.

Teddy, Jimmy, Frank, and I Fished all day for smallest fry, And as evening shades drew nigh, Stopped to see if we could buy, At a road-side groce-ry, Anything they called a pie. There was one, and only one, Deeply filled and brownly done, Warm from standing in the sun, Flanked on each side by a bun, Since that summer day begun. From the window it was brought, With our pennies it was bought; Then a knife was quickly sought— Who would cut it as he ought? "Leave it all," says Ted, "to me," As the knife he flourished free; "I have cut a great ma-ny." "But," says Frank, who feared our fate, "Will you cut it fair and straight?" "Straight?" says Ted. "I'll tell you what— Straighter than a rifle-shot: Straighter than the eagle's flight. Straight as any ray of light." "I will mark the place," says Jim— Great exactness was his whim— And he measured, on the rim, Starting-points, as guides for him. Ted put in the knife with glee; First he cut from a to b! Then he cut from c to d!! Then he took the piece marked e!!! Every cut was straight, he said,— He would bet his curly head. Such a perfect, born-and-bred Geometric rogue was Ted.