Next night, as I pushed in, there was no tinkle: And, glancing up, I saw the bell was gone; Although, in either window, the gas shone; And I was greeted by a cheery twinkle Of burnished tins and bottles from the shelves: And now, I saw the father busy there Behind the counter, cutting with a string A bar of soap up for a customer, With weary eyes, and jerky, harassed air, As if his mind were hardly on the task: And when ’twas done, and parcelled up for her, And she had gone; he turned to me, and said: He thought that folks might cut their soap themselves. ’Twas nothing much ... but any little thing, At such a time ... And, having little doubt The boy was worse, I did not like to ask; So picked my paper up, and hurried out. And, all next day, amid the glare and clang And clatter of the workshop, his words rang; And kept on ringing, in my head a-ring; But any little thing ... at such a time... And kept on chiming to the anvils’ chime: But any little thing ... at such a time... And they were hissed and sputtered in the sizzle Of water on hot iron: little thing... At such a time: and, when I left, at last, The smoke and steam; and walked through the cold drizzle, The lumbering of the ’buses as they passed Seemed full of it; and to the passing feet, The words kept patter, patter, with dull beat. I almost feared to turn into their street, Lest I should find the blinds down in the shop: And, more than once, I’d half-a-mind to stop, And buy my paper from the yelling boys, Who darted all about with such a noise That I half-wondered, in a foolish way, How they could shriek so, knowing that the sound Must worry children, lying ill in bed... Then, thinking even they must earn their bread, As I earned mine, and scarce as noisily! I wandered on; and very soon I found I’d followed where my thoughts had been all day. And stood before the shop, relieved to see The gases burning, and no window-blind Of blank foreboding. With an easier mind, I entered slowly; and was glad to find The father by the counter, ’waiting me, With paper ready and a cheery face. Yes! yes! the boy was better ... took the turn, Last night, just after I had left the place. He feared that he’d been short and cross last night. But, when a little child was suffering, It worried you ... and any little thing, At such a moment, made you cut up rough: Though, now that he was going on all right... Well, he’d have patience, now, to be polite! And, soon as ever he was well enough, The boy should go to Cornwall for a change-- Should go to his own home; for he, himself, Was Cornish, born and bred, his wife as well: And still his parents lived in the old place-- A little place, as snug as snug could be... Where apple-blossom dipped into the sea...