Simpson; and she did, and so do I--till
next time.
NIMBLE JIM AND THE MAGIC MELON
BY J. A. JUDSON.
Once upon a time, in a snug little cottage by a brook under a hill,
lived an old widow and her only child. She was a tidy, pleasant-faced
dame, was "Old Mother Growser;" and as to her boy, there wasn't a
brighter lad of his age in all the village. His real name was James,
but he had always been so spry and handy that when he was a little
bit of a chap the neighbors called him "Nimble Jim." At work in the
cottage garden, or at play on the village green, even at his books
and slate, he was ever the same industrious, active "Nimble Jim," and
always a comfort to his mother.
His father had been the village cobbler, and when he died the folks
said: "Who'll mend our shoes now, and auld Jamie gone?"
Then up sprang the boy, saying: "I'll mend them, now father's dead."
The simple folks laughed at him. "Hoot! toot! lad," said they; "ye
canna mend shoes!"
But he answered bravely: "Am I not fifteen years old, and e'en a'most
a mon? Haven't I all father's tools? Haven't I seen him do it day
after day ever since I was a wee boy? It's time I was doing something
besides jobbin' and runnin' and pretendin' to work! I may take to th'
auld bench, and e'en get my father's place among ye in time, so I be
good enough. Mother canna allus be a-spinnin', spinnin', spinnin'. The
poor old eyes are growing dim a'ready,"--and Jim gently stroked her
thin gray hair.
"Ye're a brave darlin', and my own handy Nimble Jim," said the fond
mother, smilingly.
"Ah, well, boy," the neighbors said, "be about it if ye will, for
there's no cobbler hereabout now, and the shoes must be mended. But
ye'll do the work fairly, mind, or we'll no' pay ye a penny!"
"I'll try my best, and bide your good favor, neighbors," was Jim's
cheery answer.
And so he succeeded to his father's old bench by the window, the
lap-stone and hammer and awl; and as he waxed his thread and stitched
away, singing the old songs, the country folks passing by would
listen, look at each other, smile and nod approvingly, or say:
"Hark to that, friend! One might think auld Jamie back again, with the
whack o' the hammer and the blithe song, though the voice ben't so
crackit like as th' auld one."
"Aye, it's a bit clearer, but no happier. Auld cobbler Jamie was a
merry soul," says one.
"And the lad'll prove worthy his father, I warrant. Listen to the
turn of that
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