A Thirsty June 
SONG OF THE SCRATLING 
Oh ! where and oh where do the Scratlings live, 
Where and oh where do the little Scrats live ? 
Scrat lives in a cave tucked under a hill, 
He comes out at night when all is still, 
He runneth about in the lush green grass, 
O say, have you seen a little Scrat pass ? 
A little red pointed cap he wears, 
For nothing on earth or sky he cares, 
He sings a little weird birdlike song, 
As he right merrily skips along. 
He chaseth the owls as they fly by night, 
He plays about in the white moonlight, 
It shines on his curly golden hair 
And little brown feet for ever bare. 
He sings the little Bunnies to sleep, 
He helps the Fairies night-watch to keep 
As they dance by night on the dewy grass, 
O say, have you seen a little Scrat pass ? 
He feeds deserted birds in the nest, 
He rocks the rooks to their airy rest, 
He robs the bag of the Bumble-bee, 
O say, did you ever a little Scrat see ? 
Whenever the winter wind doth blow, 
And drifting comes the weary snow, 
The little Scrat skippeth out to play. 
By field and forest and lone highway, 
You may see afar off something red — 
That’s the cap on his bonny head, 
And a laugh like a far-away sheep’s bell 
Betrays a Scratling by moor or fell. 
June 1 6. — I saw a Guelder Rose-tree with pale pink 
flowers the other day ; it was curious, but I do not think as 
pretty as the old white kind, which last grows wild in some 
parts of the Merse. Snowball-tree it is called here ; “ Tisty- 
tosty ” is a rather nice Wiltshire name ; and Rose-Elder 
was an old Herbalist name for it. The Elder in Sweet- 
briar Lane is full of flower. I pick great bunches of it 
to put in my water-jug, and in the bath it makes the water 
delicious and soft. In some countries it is said one 
should take refuge under an Elder in a thunderstorm, as 
the Cross was made of Elderwood, and therefore the fire 
of heaven will not strike it. Luckily we do not have many 
thunderstorms here, though I remember one curious 
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