"I think it was a Dublin boy," said Jimmy. "If I can find out for certain, I shall state it so in the poem.
| "They came up slowly from the gate, And Fido—that is to say, Prince—walked behind; Their parents sat about the door, Or on the grass reclined. "Their fathers said—at least Joe's father did—'It grieves us much That you no luck have found.' Their mothers said, 'Our precious boys, We're glad you are not drowned.'" |
"That's a good poem," said I, as we rose from the horse-block. "I like that."
"Yes," said Ned; "it ought to be printed."
"I'm glad to hear you say so," said Jimmy. "But I think I can improve it in a few spots, if I can get at the facts. At any rate, I shall try."
Jimmy continued his walk up the street, while we sauntered toward home.
"I think you were too severe in your criticisms on the poem," said I. "I'm afraid Jimmy felt hurt."
"Do you think so?" said Ned. "Well, now, I didn't mean to be. I wouldn't hurt that boy's feelings for the world. I suppose I must have been a little cross on account of my lightning-rod. But I shouldn't have played it off on Jimmy, that's a fact."
"I think he has great genius," said I, "and it ought to be encouraged."
"Yes, it ought," said Ned. "I've often thought so, myself, and wished I could do something for him. Perhaps I can, now that I have capital. Father says nothing can be done without capital."