Emily climbed over the big white fence
and set out to find who had stolen her persimmons.
At first she thought it might’ve been a squirrel.
“Do squirrels eat persimmons?” she asked herself,
and then she decided that they did not.
“Then perhaps it was a bat,”
she mused to herself.
She did not think that she wanted to meet a bat.
“Do bats eat persimmons?” she asked herself.
She could not answer that question
because she had never seen a bat.
There was another house
on the other side of the big white fence;
a tiny cottage, just like hers.
But it was much older
and built of stone,
and it was painted white
while hers was painted yellow.
What a peculiar little house it was,
and how pretty!
Emily thought someone very nice must live there.
But then she saw the two persimmons
lying askew beside the white steps.
She thought they must not be so nice after all.
Emily cautiously walked to the door—
up one white step, then the other, then the third.
She didn’t know what she was ought to say,
but she knew she must get her persimmons back.
She knocked on the door.
One, two, three little knocks…
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