"Nous vous mettrons a couvert,
Repondit le pot de fer
Si quelque matiere dure
Vous menace d'aventure,
Entre deux je passerai,
Et du coup vous sauverai.
. . . . . . . .
Le pot de terre en souffre!"--LA FONTAINE.

["We, replied the Iron Pot, will shield you: should any hard
substance menace you with danger, I'll intervene, and save you
from the shock.
. . . . . . . . . The Earthen Pot was the sufferer!]

"SIDNEY, come here, sir! What have you been at? you have torn your
frill into tatters! How did you do this? Come sir, no lies."

"Indeed, ma'am, it was not my fault. I just put my head out of the
window to see the coach go by, and a nail caught me here."

"Why, you little plague! you have scratched yourself--you are always in
mischief. What business had you to look after the coach?"

"I don't know," said Sidney, hanging his head ruefully. "La, mother!"
cried the youngest of the cousins, a square-built, ruddy, coarse-featured
urchin, about Sidney's age, "La, mother, he never see a coach in the
street when we are at play but he runs arter it."

"After, not arter," said Mr. Roger Morton, taking the pipe from his
mouth.