Phebe, the Blackberry Girl.
"Why, Phebe, are you come so soon, Where are your berries, child? You cannot, sure, have sold them all, You had a basket pil'd."
"No, mother, as I climb'd the fence, The nearest way to town, My apron caught upon a stake, And so I tumbled down.
"I scratched my arm, and tore my hair, But still did not complain; And had my blackberries been safe, Should not have cared a grain.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.06(d)|