A Baby In The House

I knew that a baby was hid in the house;          Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry,     But the husband went tiptoeing round like a mouse,          And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby;     And there was a look on the face of that mother     That I knew could mean only one thing, and no other.     "The mother," I said to myself; for I knew          That the woman before me was certainly that,     For there lay in the corner a tiny cloth shoe,          And I saw on the stand such a wee little hat;     And the beard of the husband said plain as could be,     "Two fat, chubby hands have been tugging at me."     And he took from his pocket a gay picture-book,          And a dog that would bark if you pulled on a string;     And the wife laid them up with such a pleased look;          And I said to myself, "There is no other thing     But a babe that could bring about all this, and so     That one is in hiding here somewhere, I know."     I stayed but a moment, and saw nothing more,          And heard not a sound, yet I knew I was right;     What else could the shoe mean that lay on the floor,          The book and the toy, and the faces so bright?     And what made the husband as still as a mouse?     I am sure, very sure, there's a babe in that house.