thin gray hair.

"Ye're a brave darlin', and my own handy Nimble Jim," said the fond
mother, smilingly.

"Ah, well, boy," the neighbors said, "be about it if ye will, for
there's no cobbler hereabout now, and the shoes must be mended. But
ye'll do the work fairly, mind, or we'll no' pay ye a penny!"

"I'll try my best, and bide your good favor, neighbors," was Jim's
cheery answer.

And so he succeeded to his father's old bench by the window, the
lap-stone and hammer and awl; and as he waxed his thread and stitched
away, singing the old songs, the country folks passing by would
listen, look at each other, smile and nod approvingly, or say:

"Hark to that, friend! One might think auld Jamie back again, with the
whack o' the hammer and the blithe song, though the voice ben't so
crackit like as th' auld one."

"Aye, it's a bit clearer, but no happier. Auld cobbler Jamie was a
merry soul," says one.

"And the lad'll prove worthy his father, I warrant. Listen to the
turn of that song, now; I've heard Jamie singin' it many a day," says
another.

"Whack! whack! thump-pet-ty crack!
In go the shoe-nails with many a smack.