The Naughty Boy

Along time ago, there lived an old poet, a thoroughly kind old poet. As he was sitting one evening in his room, a dreadful storm arose without, and the rain streamed down from heaven; but the old poet sat warm and comfortable in his chimney-corner, where the fire blazed and the roasting apple hissed.“Those who have not a roof over their heads will be wetted to the skin,” said the good old poet.“Oh let me in! Let me in! I...