While Jocko thus lamented, through the crowd
There came a little girl who sobbed aloud
And clutched her Mother’s hand; ’twas Betsey-Jane,
Who all the afternoon had sought in vain
Her Jocko cast away in Endless Street;
Tired are her little gaitered legs, her feet
So weary, each new thought of Jocko brings
New tears to wet her woollen bonnet strings
And drip from each blue tassel to the ground.
She would not look on all the beasts around,
But Jocko saw her coat, and “Betsey-Jane,”
He cried, “Do come and take me home again!”