But luk! thear's a man wi' a heart!
He's gien th' poor child summat at last:
Ha his een seem to twinkle an' start,
As he watches th' kind gentleman past!

An' thear in his little black hand
He sees a gold sovereign shine!
He thinks he ne'er saw owt soa grand,
An' he says, "Sure it connot be mine!"

An' all th' lads cluther raand him i' glee,
An' tell him to cut aght o'th seet;
But he clutches it fast,--an' nah see
Ha he's threedin his way along th' street,

Till he comes to that varry same man,
An' he touches him gently o'th' back,
An' he tells him as weel as he can,
'At he fancies he's made a mistak.

An' th' chap luks at that poor honest lad,
With his little naked feet, as he stands,
An' his heart oppens wide--he's soa glad
Woll he taks one o'th little black hands,

An' he begs him to tell him his name:
But th' child glances timidly raand--
Poor craytur! he connot forshame
To lift up his een off o'th graand.