It surely was late when they started home, But they took the trail with a laugh, Little Ann clinging to Amos's coat, And Amos to J. M.'s staff.

And through the meadows and over the hills, Happily up and down,

With hurry and scurry and skip and hop, And talking in verse the live-long time, (For they'd got in the habit and couldn't stop,) They traveled the scallopy road of Rhyme, The wandering road of much renown That leads from Zodiac Town.

They traveled on till they came in sight Of a couple of windows shining bright.

Then J. M. stopped and held up his stick.

"Yonder's your house," he said. "Be quick!

I'll count very slowly, but you must be As far as the gate by twenty-three; And when I have counted twenty-four You must be inside the door."

"Come with us, do!" the children cried, But he only shook his head.

"I can't, for I am a Journeying Man, And I must be off," he said.

Then he started to count--and away at last They went on twinkling feet; Never did squirrels move more fast, Or rabbits run more fleet.

And just as they touched the latch of the gate, They heard, far down in the hush, "Twenty-three!" as plain as could be; And they scurried through with a rush.

There on the porch, its covers bent, The book with the poem lay.

They picked it up as they fled through the door (Just as the voice called, "Twenty-four!").

"Why, _this_ wasn't hard!" said they.

They stared at the poem and hung their heads-- "Why did we run away?"

They said to each other, "It seems sometimes There really is lots of good in rhymes."

"Perhaps it would be a very good plan To study them more," said wise little Ann.

And Amos answered: "I'm going to know Whole pages up and down, Then find J. M., in a hurry, and go Straight back to Zodiac Town."

They fled upstairs like swift little hares, And burrowed into their beds, With numberless tunes and rhythms and runes A-ringing in their heads.

And they dreamed all night of a scallopy road And of clocks with a curious chime, And talked in their sleep--and every word Was a rhyme, a rhyme, a rhyme!

McGRATH-SHERRILL PRESS BOSTON, Ma.s.s.