Nor the most prosperous

Going without needed more but cared less. So far did his thoughts carry they often had to speak to him twice dependent on no one’s hire. With hammer and needle and knife he could lay his hands far beyond. A rude wooden shelf contained everything out of the same piece of calico except on their backs the four shining plates spotless and tidy. Reverent fingers turned foolish dreams into small garments. (Her shiftless parents had driven her to beg nor a decent dress.) To be a scholar! Frustrated in boyhood (as from scorn) his mind under the rumpled blonde thatch was never meant. He broke the silence. She pushed. Indignantly for the poor little one he read aloud from the plays of Holberg.

from ‘The Son of a Shoemaker’ (Hearing Eye 2012)