and then he got a good word and a bowl of coffee and his wages in gold
and silver - and went his way rejoicing, leaving behind him the glory of
labor well performed blending with the refreshing fragrance of new-cut
logs that sifted through the cracks of the old barn.



The Rain



It is early, and Saturday morning - very, very early.

Listen! . . . An unmistakable drip, drip, drip . . . and the room is
dark.

A bound out of bed - a quick step to the window - an anxious peering
through the wet panes . . . . and the confirmation is complete.

It is raining - and on Saturday, the familiar leaden skies and steady
drip that spell permanency and send the robin to the shelter of some
thick bush, and leave only an occasional undaunted swallow cleaving the
air on swift wing.

In all the world there is no sadness like that which in boyhood sends
you back to bed on Saturday morning with the mournful drip, drip, drip
of a steady rain doling in your ears.

Out in the woodshed there is a can of the largest, fattest angle-worms
ever dug from a rich garden-plot - all so happily, so feverishly, so