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How everything that was beautiful and tender and helpless in nature appealed to him we know from his poems. There is the field mouse the "wee sleekit,* cow'rin', tim'rous beastie," whose nest he turned up and destroyed in his November plowing. "Poor little mouse, I would not hurt you," he says *Smooth. "Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin; Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'!"
Now all them flowers an' candy that's been comin' here lately so reg'ler, they means business on Mr. Van Brandt's part if pleasure on yours. He's strewin' your path with roses an' pavin' it with Huyler's chocolates, so's some day in the near future he can come marchin' along it, an' walk straight up to the captain's office an' hand in his applercation for the vacancy.
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