Excerpt from "Sheltering Arms," or the Entrance of God's Word Gives Light
IN a remote and little-visited part of our British Isles there lived a boy whose name was Patrick, but he answered to the Shorter name of Pat, and his mother called him Patsy.
He was eleven years Old, straight, active, and ﬂeet Of foot as a wild roe. He had large dark gray eyes, with long black lashes; and a wide. Mouth, whose frequent laughter displayed a set of white and wholesome looking teeth. But though he laughed Often, his eyes were dreamy and sad. I don't mean that the child himself was sad - he was as jolly as a sand-boy most. Of his time - but his eyes had that sort of look in them, I never could make out why.
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