  Little James, full of play, Went shooting one day, Not thinking his sister was nigh; The arrow was low, But the wind raised it so, That it hit her just over the eye. This good little lad Was exceedingly sad At the pain he had given his sister; He look'd at her eye, And said, "Emma, don't cry," And then, too, he tenderly kiss'd her. She could not then speak, And it cost her a week Before she recover'd her sight; And James burn'd his bow And his arrows, and so I think little James acted right. |
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