What care they tho' he smothered a sigh,
Or wiped off a tear as they coom.
But luk! thear's a man wi' a heart!
He's gien th' poor child summat at last:
Ha his een seem to twinkle an' start,
As he watches th' kind gentleman past!
An' thear in his little black hand
He sees a gold sovereign shine!
He thinks he ne'er saw owt soa grand,
An' he says, "Sure it connot be mine!"