One, Two, Three

It was an old, old, old, old lady,

And a boy that was half-past three;

And the way that they played together

Was beautiful to see.

She couldn't go running and jumping,

And the boy, no more could he;

For he was a thin little fellow,

With a thin little twisted knee.

They sat in the yellow sunlight,

Out under the maple tree;

And the game that was played I'll tell you,

Just as it was told to me.

It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing,

Though you'd never have known it to be—

With an old, old, old, old lady,

And a boy with a twisted knee.

The boy would bend his face down

On his little sound right knee,

And he guessed where she was hiding,

In guesses One, Two, Three!

"You are in the china closet!"

He would cry, and laugh with glee—

It wasn't the china closet;

But he still had Two and Three.

"You are up in papa's big bedroom,

In the chest with the queer old key!"

And she said: "You are warm  and warmer;

But you're not quite right," said she.

"It can't be the little cupboard

Where Mamma's things used to be—

So it must be the clothespress, Gran'ma!"

And he found her with his Three.

Then she covered her face with her fingers,

That were wrinkled and white and wee,

And she guessed where the boy was hiding,

With a One and a Two and a Three.

And they never had stirred from their places,

Right under the maple tree—

This old, old, old, old lady,

And the boy with the lame little knee—

This dear, dear, dear old lady,

And the boy who was half-past three.