But above our human woes

Bends an always loving Heaven;

And to every hungry cry

Is there somewhere answer given.

Kind eyes watched the wandering ones,

Pitied their forlorn distress;

Grieved to note Tom’s ragged coat,

And Margery’s tattered dress.

’Twas the village clergyman,

And he sought them tenderly,

Gave them warm, soft clothes to wear.

Ordered shoes for Margery.

“Two shoes, two shoes,

Oh, see my two shoes!”

So did little Margery cry,

When the cobbler came to try

If they fitted trim and neat

On the worn and tired feet:

That is how and why she came

By so strange a name.

Tom went off to London town;

Margery went to village school;

Apt she was, and quick to learn,

Docile to the simplest rule.

Out from the long alphabet

Letters looked at her and smiled,

Almost seemed to nod and speak,

Glad to know so bright a child,

Ranged themselves in winsome words;

Then in sentences. Indeed,

Quite before she knew the fact,

Margery had learned to read.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes,

Eager Goody Two-Shoes!

When the magic art she knew,

She planned to help poor children too;

And those who had no chance to learn

Their letters, she would teach in turn.

Now, in the days of good Queen Bess,

Few books were printed, very few—

None, scarcely, for the little folks;

So Margery studied what to do.

She cut from proper blocks of wood

Sets of the letters: A, B, C;

And in some cosy shady place

Would group the children round her knee

And teach them—not alone to read,

But how to spell, and how to sing;

And how to practice gentle ways,

And to be kind to everything.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes,

So grew Goody Two-Shoes!

First a maiden, comely, sweet;

Then a woman, wise, discreet;

Called now, as a courtesy,

Little Mrs. Margery.

An honored, faithful teacher she!

And every year an added grace,

More fair than youth’s fair roses are,

Blossomed upon her charming face.

All living things seemed drawn to her:

A helpless lamb, whose dam had died,

She reared and tended till he ran

Tame as a kitten at her side;

A sky-lark stolen from its nest

Sang on her finger, though he knew

His unclipped wings were free to soar

At will into the heaven’s blue;

A raven which had fought and torn

Its captor’s hand with savage beak,

And which at first could only croak,

She taught in gracious words to speak;

Jumper, the dog, watched all her steps

With constant eyes and jealous love;

A great cat purred and rubbed her dress;

And on her shoulder perched a dove.

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’Twas Nickey Noodle, a simpleton, Who raised the cry, “A witch, a witch!” Then she was summoned to the court, Amused, or grieved, she scarce knew which. Plenty of friends, however, proved How false was Justice Shallow’s plea That “She must be a witch, because— Because of the raven, don’t you see?”
Sir Edward Lovell, a baronet, Who stood in court and saw her grace Her sweet good sense, her dignity, And the pure beauty of her face, Sighed heavily in his high-born breast As Mrs. Margery was set free, Saying, “I know she is a witch, For, ah, she so bewitches me!”

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He watched her go her quiet ways,

And vowed, whatever might betide,

If his best love could win her heart

And hand, then she should be his bride.

Two-Shoes, Two-Shoes—

Lady Lovell, if she choose!

Her the noble lover wooed,

Humbly, as a lover should,

Eagerly, as lover ought,

With entire heart and thought.

What her answer, all may guess,

For the old church chime that rung

Its next wedding anthem sung

With a most delighted tongue:

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