And now, far removed from that
loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the
well:
The old oaken bucket, the ironbound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in the
well!
Samuel Woodworth.
[Illustration:]
* * * *
*
Make a list of the describing-words of the poem, and
tell what each describes. Use each to describe
something else.
Make a list of the words of the poem that you never
use, and tell what word you would have used in the
place of each had you tried to express its meaning.
Which word is better, yours or the author’s?
Why?
* * * *
*
33
blouse receipt’ed coun’ te nance ab
sorbed’ con trast’ ed for’ tu nate
ly mir’ a cle stock’-still good-hu’
mored ly
My friend Jacques went into a baker’s shop one
day to buy a little cake which he had fancied in passing.
He intended it for a child whose appetite was gone,
and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him.
He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even
the sick. While he waited for his change, a little
boy six or eight years old, in poor but perfectly
clean clothes, entered the baker’s shop.
“Ma’am,” said he to the baker’s
wife, “mother sent me for a loaf of bread.”
The woman climbed upon the counter (this happened
in a country town), took from the shelf of four-pound
loaves the best one she could find, and put it into
the arms of the little boy.
My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and
thoughtful face of the little fellow. It contrasted
strongly with the round, open countenance of the great
loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care.
“Have you any money?” said the baker’s
wife.
The little boy’s eyes grew sad.
“No, ma’am,” said he, hugging the
loaf closer to his thin blouse; “but mother
told me to say that she would come and speak to you
about it to-morrow.”
“Run along,” said the good woman; “carry
your bread home, child.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said the poor
little fellow.
My friend Jacques came forward for his money.
He had put his purchase into his pocket, and was about
to go, when he found the child with the big loaf,
whom he had supposed to be halfway home, standing stock-still
behind him.
“What are you doing there?” said the baker’s
wife to the child, whom she also had thought to be
fairly off. “Don’t you like the bread?”
“Oh yes, ma’am!” said the child.
“Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little
friend. If you wait any longer, she will think
you are playing by the way, and you will get a scolding.”
The child did not seem to hear. Something else
absorbed his attention.
