Dozens of damp little curls;
One little short upper lip;
Two rows of teeth like diminutive pearls;
Eyes clear and grey as the creek where it swirls
Over the ledges-that's Tip!
With a skip!-
A perfectly hopeless young nip!

Smudge on the tip of his nose;
Mischievous glance of a Puck;
Heart just as big as the rents in his clothes;
Lungs like a locust and cheeks like a rose;-
Total it!-there you have Tuck!
And bad luck
To the man who would question his pluck!

School is all over at last-
School with its pothooks and strokes:
Homeward they toddle, but who could go fast?-
So many wonderful things to be passed-
Froggie, for instance, who croaks
'Neath the oaks
By the creek where the watercress soaks.

Sandpipers dance on the bars;
Swallows, white-throated and fleet,
Dip thirsty beaks in the stream as they pass;
Smooth water-beetles that twinkle like stars
Watch the gay dragon-flies greet.
Hark how sweet
Is the pipe of the tiny pee-weet!

Near, too, the earth is all torn:
Strong, willing workers have thrown
Great heaps of tailings, smooth-polished and worn,
Round the mysterious caverns that yawn-
Stacks of the snowy quartz stone,
Grass-grown
Piles of the Earth's dry bone.

Grasshoppers chirp on the brace;
Briars drop berries blood-red
Into the mouldering void of the race;
Green mosses flourish on cutting and face;
Children speak softly, with dread,
When they tread
In this desolate place of the dead.

-Tum on!' said Tip, -here's a nest!'
Looking behind as he ran.
-No,' said his brother, expanding his chest,
-I like to play at pro'pectin' the best'-
Thumping a rusty old pan;
Then began
To wash up a dish like a man.

-Tum on! here's four little eggs!
Do tum!'-he whimpers his lip:
A-tremble his eyes, wet by tears as he begs,
And sharp briars are scratching his legs.
A branch strikes his face like a whip;
Then a slip-
And a shaft swallows poor little Tip!

Peering and catching his breath,
Tuck felt his little heart swell:
Nothing at all could he see underneath-
P'r'aps poor old Tippy had gone to his death-
Would it hurt him if he fell?
Who could tell
The depth of that horrible well?

-Tippy! oh, Tip! are you dead?' . . .
Never a sound or a sigh!
Tuck held his breath, his heart heavy as lead:
Then: -Tuck! where are you? I've hurted my head!'
Came up the quav'ring reply;
And a cry:
-Oh, Tuck! don't go 'way, or I'll die!

-Tuck! it's so dark; I'm afraid!' . . .
He drew down his eyebrows and frowned
Up the creek, down the creek, somewhat dismayed.
Miles to go home; but, again, if he stayed,
How would they ever be found Underground
In that cavern that swallowed all sound?

-Tuck, I'm all covered with blood!
Sobbed the small voice without cess.
-Why don't you help me up out of the mud?'
Tuck foraged out a long length of pine wood;
Stripped off his little print dress,
And-just guess!
Rigged a white flag of distress!

Truly the depth was not great-
That, though, the babe did not know;
Lowering himself till the whole of his weight
Hung on the fingers that clutched the blue slate . . .
-Please God!' . . . he let himself go;
And I trow
That angel hands caught him below.

Never a scratch or a mark!
No, and not even a tear!
Little hands feeling their way through the dark . . .
What if that other should be stiff and stark?
-Here I am, Tippy! quite near-
Oh, dear!'
Then came the answer: -I'm here!'

Crouched in the mouth of a drive,
Tippy sobbed out his delight-
Not so much hurt, after all-quite alive:
Almost convinced that no harm could arrive
Now that Tuck's arms clasped him tight.
Then the light
Died slowly, and lo! it was Night.

Above-the flag blows to the air:
Sad parents seek vainly and weep:
There are lights 'mid the thistles, and cries of despair:
A rifle cracks loudly, and bonfires glare . . .
Below-where the blind creatures creep,
Hidden deep,
Two pretty babes smile in their sleep.