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.