“Papers, mister? Morning papers?” Then the cry fell to a moan,
Which was changed a moment later to another frenzied tone:
“Black yer boots, sir? Just a nickel! Shine ’em like an evening star.
It grows late, Jack! Night is coming. Evening papers, here they are!”
Soon a mission teacher entered, and approached the humble bed;
Then poor Jim’s mind cleared an instant, with his cool hand on his head.
“Teacher,” cried he, “I remember what you said the other day,
Ma’s been reading of the Saviour, and through Him I see my way.
“He is with me! Jack, I charge you of our mother take good care
When Jim’s gone! Hark! boots or papers, which will I be over there?