Old Phil’s a beggar-man— He goes from door to door With a little basket on his arm, Because he’s very poor. Poor Phil! he must be cold— His clothes are full of holes; He has no stockings, and his shoes Are ragged in the soles. When I’m a bigger girl, I’ll make old Phil some clothes, And I’ll buy a pair of shoes for him That won’t let out his toes. Mamma has made a place For my pennies, in her drawer, And she shows me how to put by some For Phil, till I get more. Our cook is named Cathleen; Nice gingerbread she bakes; And little pies, with our names on, She very often makes. Cathleen gets sick sometimes In bed she has to stay; And then I take to her up stairs Some good things every day. I have four sisters: Kate, Sophy, and Jane, and Grace; And when they all come home from school, We run a merry race. Mamma just looks at us, With Willy on her lap, And Willy jumps, and crows, and tries His little hands to clap. Pa thinks it makes us grow, To swing and play and run; And grandpa says he likes young folks To have a little fun. My grandpa cannot read His Bible, now he’s blind, But all the pretty stories there, He knows just where to find. And when it gets quite dark, Before I go to bed, He says, “Come hither, Anne Lyle, My little curly-head.” And when he takes me up, Right in his face I look; I love to sit and hear him tell About the Holy Book. The stories there are true, And I wish, on grandpa’s knee, Some other little boys and girls Could hear as well as me. When I go up to bed, Ma stays by me awhile; She says, “God keep thee safe and good, My little Anne Lyle.” * * * * *