d any stranger pass him without being
struck with pleasure, if he caught a glimpse of his happy face--for
clearly there was sunshine there; yet not the full, bright sunshine of
the cloudless summer, but the sunshine that gleams through the storm and
lights up the rainbow.

"Knives to grind!--scissors to grind!"

The cry went on as the old man toiled along. But just now no one
appeared to heed him. The rain kept pattering down, and he seemed
inclined to turn out of his path and try another street. Just then a
woman's voice shouted out,--

"Ould Crow--Ould Crow! Here, sithee! Just grind me these scissors.
Our Ralph's been scraping the boiler lid with 'em, till they're nearly
as blunt as a broom handle."

"Ay, missus, I'll give 'em an edge; but you mustn't let your Ralph have
all his own way, or he'll take the edge off your heart afore so long."

The scissors-grinding proceeded briskly, and soon a troop of dirty
children were gathered round the wheel, and began to teaze the old man.

"I'll warm thee!" he cried to one of the foremost, half seriously and
half in joke.

At last the scissors were finished.

"I'll warm thee, Ould Crow!" shouted out the young urchin, in a
mimicking voice, and running up close to him as he was returning to his
wheel.

The long arm of the knife-grinder darted forward, and his hand grasped
the lad, who struggled hard to get away; and at last, by a desperate
effort, freed himself, but, in so doing, caused the old man to lose his
balance. It was in vain that he strove to recover himself. The stones
were slippery with the wet: he staggered a step or two, and then fell
heavily forward on his face. Another moment, and he felt a strong arm
raising him up.

"Are you much hurt, old friend?" asked his helper, who was none other
than Jacob Poole.

"I don't know--the Lord help me!--I'm afeerd so," replied Old Crow,
seating himself on the kerb stone with a groan.

"Those young rascals!" cried Jacob. "I'd just like to give 'em such a
hiding as they've ne'er had in all their lives afore."

"Nay, nay, friend," said the other; "it wasn't altogether the lad's
fault. But they're a rough lot, for sure; not much respect for an old
man. Most on 'em's mayster o' their fathers and mothers afore they can
well speak plain. Thank ye kindly for your help; the Lord'll reward
ye."

"You're welcome, old gentleman," said Jacob. "Can I do anything more
for you?"

"Just lend me your arm for a mome