The Hunter And His Ferret

Well tired, and exhausted
With the heat of the sun,
But loaded with rabbits,
A Hunter turned home.

Near by--to a neighbor
He met in the way--
He recounted the labor
And spoils of the day.

"A long tramp,--my old lad,
All day did I trudge;
But the luck is not bad,
If I am the judge.

Since the break of the day
I 've been out in the sun;
Hot enough, I should say,--
But fair business I've done.

Without too much bragging,
I say and repeat it,--
No hunter in bagging
The conies can beat it."

The Ferret's quick ear,
In his box as he hung,
His master did hear--
His own praise while he sung.

His sharp nose he poked
Through its lattice of wire;
"Now surely you joked,--
I should like to inquire,--

That I did the work,
Can you truly deny?
These rabbits of yours,
Who caught them but I?

So little desert,
In my toils do you see,
That you never can make
Some slight mention of me?"

* * * * *

That this cogent remark
The master might sting,
A body might think;
But it did no such thing.

He was cool as some writers,
Who play the mean game--
To borrow from others,
Yet breathe not their name.