And I hardly believe that he says his prayers.
Oh, Jim, dear Jim, if you do such things
You’ll never be dressed in a harp and wings.”
He talked to the boy as a father should,
And begged him hard to be grave and good.
The lad lounged out with a brazen air
And whistled derisively down the stair.
But they found him hid in the hole for coal,
Sobbing and praying in grief of soul.
Old “Rover” came next, sedate and good,