To Jane her aunt a work-bag gave,
Of silk with flowers so gay,
That she a place might always have
To put her work away.
And then 'twas furnished quite complete
With cotton, silk and thread,
And needless in a case so neat,
Of all the sizes made.
A little silver thimble, too,
Was there among the rest;
And a large waxen doll, quite new,
That waited to be dress'd.
But Jane was very fond of play,
And loved to toss her ball;
An I am quite ashamed to say,
She scarcely worked at all.
But if at any time she did,
'Twas but a stitch or two;
And though she often has been bid,
But little more would do.
The pretty little bag, indeed,
Was hung upon her chair;
But cotton, needles, silk, and thread
Were scattered here and there.
Her aunt, by chance, came in that day,
And asked if the doll was dress'd;
Miss Jane has been engaged in play,
And careless of the rest.
The silk, to make her little dress,
Was on the table laid,
And, with an equal carelessness,
The cap had also strayed.
With gauze and lace the floor was strewed,
All in disorder lay,
When, bounding in with gesture rude,
Came Jane, returned from play.
She little thought her aunt to find,
And blushed to see her there;
It brought her carelessness to mind,
And what her doll should wear.
"Well, Jane, and where's your doll, my dear?
I hope you've dress'd her now;
But there is such a litter here,
You best know when and how."
So spoke her aunt, and, looking round
The empty bag she spied;
Poor Jane, who no excuse had found,
Now hid her face and cried.
"Since," said her aunt, "no work, you do,
But waste your time in play;
The work-bag, of no use to you,
I now shall take away."
But now, with self-conviction, Jane
Her idleness confessed,
And ere her aunt could come again,
Her doll was neatly dressed.