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unclear And there it still waits, with its drawing of tea: All read to simmer & steep. But there is the fire, all dying away: And there is the tea-kittle, forgetting its lay. And seemingly going to sleep.

All this has been ready. since half after six. And here I have waited like one in a fix, In silence, was pleasant & grim: Dear me! with the fidgets, I'll fly to the moon. If that husband of mine, doesn't come very soon. And eat what is waiting for him.

And get, all this worryin foolish, I know, When swirly 'tis business that hinders him so. And keeps him away from his home. And hark! tis his foot-step, I hear at the door. And now, all my troubles are happily o'er. For willie, dear Willie, has come.

E. A. Barnes.