'And when I come out she shall have some more,' answered the Dustman
in a soft, thick voice; 'as much as ever she can use.'
He flitted in his turn towards the stream of gold. His feet were
already in it when he paused a moment to shift from one shoulder to
the other a great sack he carried. And in that moment was heard a low
voice singing dreamily the Dustman's curious little song. It seemed to
come from the direction of the train where the Guard stood talking to
a man the children had not noticed before. Presumably he was the
engine-driver, since all the passengers were out now. But it may have
been the old Dustman himself who sang it. They could not tell exactly.
The voice made them quite drowsy as they listened:--
The busy Dustman flutters down the lanes,
He's off to gather star-dust for our dreams.
He dusts the Constellations for his sack,
Finding it thickest on the Zodiac,
But sweetest in the careless meteor's track;
_That_ he keeps only
For the old and lonely,
(And is very strict about it!)
Who sleep so little that they need the best;
The rest,--
The common stuff,--
Is good enough
For Fraulein, or for Baby, or for Mother,
Or any other
Who likes a bit of dust,
But yet can do without it
If they _must_!
The busy Dustman hurries through the sky
The kind old Dustman's coming to _your_ eye!
By the time the song was over he had disappeared through the opening.
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