Joey was a rare listener, his face had a sparkle in concentration seldom seen. It was an inspiration to the retailer. Wherever this is found, to my notion, it gives to a face an unusual distinction and charm. As I finished he drew a deep breath.
“Mothers gives kickshaws to their girls and boys ’most always, I ’spose,” he murmured questioningly. His eyes were wistful, and hurt me in a strange way.
“Almost always, I think, Joey.”
I smiled at him, and he smiled back bravely.
“I’m your boy—almost really and truly your boy—ain’t I, Mr. David?”
I nodded.
“Pooh,” he said with a swagger, “I’d liever be your boy than—than anything! You give me kickshaws and make me magpie cages, and—and flutes and bow-guns, and you builded me a bed—”
He broke off suddenly, and without seeming to look at him I saw that his eyes were tear filled, and that he was winking fast and furiously to keep the drops from falling.
“Now then,” I said, speaking somewhat huskily, “I shall give you ‘Nine Little Goblins.’” Clearing my throat I began:
“They all climbed up on a high board fence,