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Boo by Eugene Field. Read for LibriVox.org by James Semenck. On afternoons, when Baby Boy has had a splendid nap, and sits like any monarch on his throne in Nurse's lap, in some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face, and cautiously and quietly I move about the place.
Then with a cry I suddenly expose my face to view, and you should hear him laugh and crow when I say, Boo. Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared, and really, when I first began, he stared and stared and stared. And then his underlip came out, and farther out it came, till Mama and the Nurse agreed
it was a cruel shame. But now, what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do, but laugh and kick his little heels when I say, Boo? He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then, in shrill despotic trouble, bids me, Do it all again!
And I, of course I do it, for as his progenitor, it is such pretty pleasant play as this that I am for. And it is, oh, such fun! And I am sure that we shall rue, the time when we are both too old to play the game. Boo.
End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
