'There is not much that I can do
For I’ve no money that’s quite my own!'
Spoke up the pitying child—
A little boy with a violin
At the station before the train came in—
'But I can play my fiddle to you
And a nice one ‘tis, and good in tone!'

The man in the handcuffs smiled;
The constable looked, and he smiled, too
As the fiddle began to twang;
And the man in the handcuffs
Suddenly sang
With grimful glee:
'This life so free
Is the thing for me!'

And the constable smiled, and said no word
As if unconscious of what he heard;
And so they went on till the train camе in—
The convict, and boy with the violin