6
So he sailed away, for a livelong day;
Till the wind began to roar,
And the waves rose high, and, to briefly say,
He never was heard of more.
H. PYLE.
[Illustration]
FARMER GRIGG'S BOGGART
Did you ever hear of a boggart? No! Then I will tell you. A boggart is a
small imp that lives in a man's house, unseen by any one, doing a little
good and much harm. This imp was called a boggart in the old times, now
we call such by other names--ill-temper, meanness, uncharitableness, and
the like. Even now, they say, you may find a boggart in some houses.
There is no placing reliance on a boggart; sometimes he may seem to be
of service to his master, but there is no telling when he may do him an
ill turn.
Rap! tap! tap! came a knock at the door.
The wind was piping Jack Frost's, for the time was winter, and it blew
from the north. The snow lay all over the ground, like soft feathers,
and the hay-ricks looked as though each one wore a dunce-cap, like the
dull boy in Dame Week's school over by the green. The icicles hung down
by the thatch, and the little birds crouched shivering in the bare and
leafless hedge-rows.
But inside the farm-house all was warm and pleasant; the great logs
snapped and crackled and roared in the wide chimney-place, throwing red
light up and down the walls, so that the dark night only looked in
through the latticed windows. Farmer Griggs sat warming his knees at
the blaze, smoking his pipe in great comfort, while his crock of ale,
with three roasted crab-apples bobbing about within it, warmed in the
hot ashes beside the blazing logs, simmering pleasantly in the ruddy
heat.
Pages:
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84