ONE OF BILL NYE'S SELECTIONS, WRITTEN BY HIMSELF--ARRANGED WITH SPECIAL
REFERENCE TO THE MATTER OF CHOICE, DELICATE AND DIFFICULT WORDS.
One day as George Oswald was going to his tasks, and while passing
through the wood, he spied a tall man approaching in an opposite
direction along the highway.
"Ah," thought George, in a low, mellow tone of voice, "whom have we
here?"
"Good morning, my fine fellow," exclaimed the stranger, pleasantly. "Do
you reside in this locality?"
"Indeed I do," retorted George, cheerily dropping his cap. "In yonder
cottage, near the glen, my widowed mother and her thirteen children
dwell with me."
"And how did your papa die?" asked the man, as he thoughtfully stood on
the other foot awhile.
"Alas, sir," said George, as a large hot tear stole down his pale cheek
and fell with a loud report on the warty surface of his bare foot, "he
was lost at sea in a bitter gale. The good ship foundered two years ago
last Christmastide, and father was foundered at the same time. No one
knew of the loss of the ship and that the crew was drowned until the
next spring, and it was then too late."
"And what is your age, my fine fellow?" quoth the stranger.
"If I live until next October," said the boy, in a declamatory tone of
voice suitable for a Second Reader, "I will be 7 years of age."