I turned to look at the ragged form, That, in the midst of the pitiless storm, Pinched, and haggard, and old with care, In accents pleading, was standing there. 'Twas a little boy not twelve years old; He shivered and shook in the bitter cold, His eyes were red--with weeping, I fear-- And adown his cheeks there rolled a tear E'en then. His misery struck me dumb; 'Twas a street in a crowded city slum, Where an errand of duty led my feet That day, through the storm and blinding sleet. "Poor little fellow!" at last I said, "Have you no father?" "No, he's dead!" The answer came; "You've a mother, then?" "Yes, sir," he said, with a sob; "She's been Sick for a year, and the doctor said She'd never again get up from bed." "You are hungry, too!" I asked in pain, As I looked at his poor, wan face again. "Hungry," he said, with a bitter groan That would melt to pity a heart of stone; "I am starved; we are all starving," he said, "We haven't had a crust of bread--Me, nor mother, nor baby Kate--Since yesterday morning." I did not wait To ask him more. "Come, come!" I cried, "You shall not hunger;" and at my side His poor little pattering footsteps fell On my ear with a sadness I cannot tell; But his eyes beamed bright when he saw me stop Before the door of a baker's shop, And we entered. "Now eat away, my boy, As much as you like," I said. With joy, And a soft expression of childish grace, He looked up into my friendly face, And sobbed, as he strove to hide a tear: "Oh, if mother and baby Kate were here!" "But eat," said I, "never mind them now," A thoughtful look stole over his brow, And lo! from his face the joy had fled. "What! while they're at home!" he said; "Oh, no, sir! I'm hungry, indeed, 'tis true. But I cannot eat till they've had some too." The tears came rushing--I can't tell why-- To my eyes, as he spoke these words. Said I: "God bless you! here, you brave little man, Here, carry home all the bread you can." Then I loaded him down with loaves, until He could carry no more. I paid the bill; And before he could quite understand Just what I was doing, into his hand I slipped a bright, new dollar; then said, "Good-bye," and away on my journey sped. 'Twas four years ago. But one day last May, As I wandered by chance through East Broadway, A cheery voice accosted me. Lo! 'Twas the self-same lad of years ago, Though larger grown--and his looks, in truth, Bespoke a sober, industrious youth.