LITMIR.BIZ

      Twice every week a poor, thin man,

      Holding his little daughter’s hand,

      Walked feebly to a hospital,

      Close by the busy London Strand.

      He hoped the clever doctors there

      In time would make him strong and well,

      That he might go to work again,

      And live to care for little Nell.

      Beside wee Nell, her faithful friend,

      Good old dog Tray was always seen,

      Never a day apart the pair

      Since Nelly’s babyhood had been.

      But all the doctors’ skill was vain,

      Poor William Bruce soon passed away,

      Leaving his little orphan child

      Without a friend—save poor dog Tray.

      The little money he had saved

      He left to his landlady’s care,

      That Nelly, till she older grew,

      The woman’s humble home might share.

      He thought her honest—but, alas!

      Most sadly was poor Bruce deceived;

      She kept herself the orphan’s gold,

      That as a trust she had received.

      She dressed poor little Nell in rags,

      All her good, decent clothes she sold;

      She scarcely gave her daily bread,

      And kept her shivering in the cold.

      For in an empty loft she slept,

      A ragged blanket all her bed;

      And there till sleep her sorrow hushed,

      Poor Nelly’s nightly tears were shed.

      But ever crouching at her side,

      With pitying love lay faithful Tray;

      He nestled up to keep her warm,

      And licked her bitter tears away.

      And Nelly shared with him her crusts,

      And both were hungry and forlorn;

      While many a kick and cruel blow,

      Most patiently by Tray were borne.