away. If he had eaten the green apples he would have died of them, probably; so that his example is a difficult one to follow. In fact, a boy is a hard subject to get a moral from. All his little playmates who ate green apples came 杭州龙凤阁 to Solomon’s [Pg 75] funeral, and were very sorry for what they had done.
RUNNING ON THE STONE WALL
John was a very different boy from Solomon, not half so good, nor half so dead. He was a farmer’s boy, as Solomon was, but he did not take so much 杭州按摩店打飞机 interest in the farm. If John could have had his way he would have discovered a cave full of diamonds, and lots of nail-kegs full of gold-pieces and Spanish dollars, with a pretty little girl living in the cave, and two beautifully caparisoned horses, upon which, taking the jewels and money, they would have ridden off together, he did not know where. John had got thus far in his studies, which were apparently arithmetic and geography, but were in reality the Arabian Nights, and other books of high and mighty adventure. He was a simple country boy, and did not know much about the world 杭州419百花网 as it is, but
he had one of his own imagination, in which he lived a good deal. I dare say he found out soon enough what the world is, and he had a lesson or two when he was quite young, in two incidents, which I may as well relate.
If you had seen John at this time, you might have thought he was only a shabbily dressed country lad, and you never would have guessed what beautiful thoughts he sometimes had as he went stubbing his toes along the dusty road, nor what a chivalrous little fellow he was. You would have seen a short boy, barefooted, with trousers at once too big and too short, held up, perhaps, by one suspender only; a checked cotton shirt; and a hat of braided palm-leaf, frayed at the edges and bulged up in the crown. It is impossible to keep a hat neat if you use it to catch bumble-bees and whisk ’em; 杭州按摩女技师 to bail the water from a leaky boat; to catch minnows in; to put over honey-bees’ nests; and to transport pebbles, strawberries, and hens’ eggs. John usually carried a sling in his hand, or a bow, or a limber stick sharp at one end, from which he could sling apples a great distance. If he walked in the road, he walked in the middle of it, shuffling up the dust; or, if he went elsewhere, he was likely to be running on the top of the fence or the stone-wall, and chasing chipmunks.
John knew the best place to dig sweet-flag in all the farm; it was in a meadow by the river, where the bobolinks sang so gayly. He never liked to hear the bobolink sing, however, for he said it always reminded him of the whetting of a scythe, and that reminded him of spreading hay; and if there was anything he hated it was spreading hay after 杭州养生足疗 the mowers. “I guess you wouldn’t like it yourself,” said John, “with the stubs getting into your feet, and the hot sun, and the men getting ahead of you, all you could do.”
Towards evening once, John was coming along the road home with some stalks of the sweet-flag in his hand; there is a succulent pith in the end of the stalk which is very good to eat,