can you not?"

"Yes, sir; I think so."

"Well, then," said the teacher, "you may take your slate and go out
behind the schoolhouse for half an hour. Think of something to write
about, and write the word on your slate. Then try to tell what it is,
what it is like, what it is good for, and what is done with it. That
is the way to write a composition."

Henry took his slate and went out. Just behind the schoolhouse was Mr.
Finney's barn. Quite close to the barn was a garden. And in the garden,
Henry saw a turnip.

"Well, I know what that is," he said to himself; and he wrote the word
_turnip_ on his slate. Then he tried to tell what it was like, what it
was good for, and what was done with it.

Before the half hour was ended he had written a very neat composition
on his slate. He then went into the house, and waited while the teacher
read it.

The teacher was surprised and pleased. He said, "Henry Longfellow, you
have done very well. Today you may stand up before the school and read
what you have written about the turnip."

Many years after that, some funny little verses about Mr. Finney's
turnip were printed in a newspaper. Some people said that they were
what Henry Longfellow wrote on his slate that day at school.