He was nine years old, he said;
His face shone bright with mottled soap,
His hair curled on his head.
He had a cockney, saucy air,
And he was sparely clad:
His eyes were black, and very black;
—He looked a thorough cad.
“All sorts of marbles, little boy,
How many may there be?”
“How many? Seven in all,” he said,