Papa Fittig, calm and cosy,
Mamma Fittig, round and rosy,
Arm in arm sit peaceful there—
Troubled by no speck of care—
On the bench before the door;
For the summer day is o'er,
And the supper hour is near,
And the lads will soon be here.
Soon they burst upon the view,
Plish and Plum are with them too.
Fittig thinks a dog a plague:
"Nah!" he cries,—"excuse, I beg!"
But mamma with soft looks pleaded:
"Let them, Fittig!"—and succeeded.
Evening milk, fresh and delicious,
On the table stood in dishes.
Joyfully they haste indoors;
Plish and Plum ahead, of course.
Mercy! look! right in the sweet
Cream each wretch has set his feet;
And the noise their lapping makes
Shows what comfort each one takes.
At the window peeps old Sly,
Chuckles loud and says: "My eye!
This is very bad, he! he!
Very bad, but not for me!!"