And waved his hands to the rest of them.

But we saw that his eyes had lost their fire,

And his dear little voice began to tire;

He lay quite still for a little while,

With eyes half-closed and a peaceful smile.

Then “Mammy,” he said, and never stirred,

And his mother bent for the whispered word;

“Give him his carrot each second day,”

Our Tommy murmured, and passed away.

Going to Market.