SHE is off to the fields where her father is working, 

  No flowers has she lingered to pluck by the way; 

He waits for his dinner, and duty not shirking, 

A dear little daughter will bring it to-day.

Don't frighten her, Rover; it is not for you, sir;

All ready at home are nice bones for your share; 

Come, let her pass by, as she's wanting to do, sir;

The clock has struck twelve, and she ought to be there.

Fear not, little maiden, he never will harm you,

Though Rover is hungry and dinner smells good; 

He is gentle at heart, though his looks may alarm you,

Not like the sly wolf that once roamed in the wood.

Then off to the fields where kind father is sowing.

He'll welcome you gladly, he tired must be! 

And on your way home you can get, if they're blowing,

Some flowers to deck mother's table at three.