Chapter 19 No.19

Now she entered the village street,

With book in hand and face demure,

And soon she came, with sober feet,

To a crying babe at a cottage door.

It wept at a windmill that would not move,

It puffed with round red cheeks in vain,

One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove,

And baby's breath could not stir it again.

So baby beat t