A Busy Little Man - Newspaper History

Again he comes, on eager feet,
His wagon at his heels;
He pauses at my window seat
And for my trade appeals.

“What will you have?” I hear him ask
In brisk, storekeeper voice;
And I must lay aside my task
And gravely make my choice.

And he, as I each package name,
As gravely hands it out;
Then, with my note in pay for same,
He hurries on his route.

For cash, it seems, he little cares—
He knows my word is good;
And so I question not his wares
As good housekeepers should.

I fear the coffee that I buy
Is pebbles, picked with care;
I dare not in the sugar pry
For only sand is there.

My beefsteak is a sorry show—
I think it must be bone;
And for a loaf of bread I know
He’s wrapped me up a stone.

But bless his heart! I help him play
In every way I can;
And so he labors through the day
A busy little man.