startled at the sound, and again settled forward, his
weedy chin resting on the knuckles of his hands as
they tightly clutched the seat before him. And it
was like being taken into a childish confidence as the
quaint speech continued:--

"I set--while Aunty's washin'--on my little long-leg stool,
An' watch the little boys an' girls a-skippin' by to school;
An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say:
'Who wants to fight The Little Man at dares you all to-day?'
An' nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks
through,
An' they all says: 'Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feard
o' you!'
An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake
mine--
They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the
Spine'!"


"Well," whispered my friend, with rather odd
irrelevance, I thought, "of course you see through
the scheme of the fellows by this time, don't you?"

"I see nothing," said I, most earnestly, "but a
poor little wisp of a child that makes me love him
so I dare not think of his dying soon, as he surely
must! There; listen!" And the plaintive gaiety
of the homely poem ran on:--