ONE OF GOD'S LITTLE HEROES.
By Margaret J. Preston
THE patter of feet was on the stair,
As the editor turned in his sanctum chair,
And said—for weary the day had been—
"Don't let another intruder in." But scarce had he uttered the words, before
A face peered in at the half-closed door,
And a child sobbed out, "sir, mother said
I should come and tell you that Dan is dead." "And, pray, who is Dan?" The streaming eyes
Looked questioning up with a strange surprise:
"Not know him? Why, sir, all day he sold
The papers you print, through wet and cold. "The newsboys say that they could not tell
The reason his stock went off so well.
I knew. With his voice so sweet and low,
Could anyone bear to say him 'No' ?" "And the money he made, whatever it be,
He carried straight home to mother and me;
No matter about his rags, he said,
If he only kept us clothed and fed. "And he did it, sir, trudging through rain and cold,
Nor stopped till the last of his sheets was sold;
But he's dead, he's dead, and we miss him so,
And mother—she thought you might like to know." In the paper, next morning, as "leader," ran
A paragraph thus: "The newsboy, Dan,
One of God's little heroes, who
Did nobly the duty he had to do,
For mother and sister earning bread,
By patient endurance and toil, is dead."
—Margaret J. Preston, in Youth's Companion.